Nothing makes you throb more than hearing the clink of his belt start to become unraveled. If there’s one thing about Tommy, it’s that he never leaves the house without slapping on an over sized solid metal belt buckle. You can take the man out of Texas, but you can’t take the Texas out of the man. You wouldn’t have it any other way though. It’s his signature style, and knowing that you’re the only one that gets to peel his belts off his waist at the end of the day is enough to have you clenching your thighs together.
On your last patrol with Tommy you simply couldn’t contain yourself. Looking over at him you noticed the evening sun glow on his face, spotlighting his freckles like a showpiece. His hair messily tied back into a bun, a few defiant strands hanging out. Rifle slung across his strong back. That big belt buckle peeking out over his flannel, ever so slightly digging into his belly with each trot of his horse. God that damn buckle. Your mind had wandered, imagining what it would feel like pressed against your wet heat.
You were staring, hard. And you were caught in the act.
“Baby you’re burnin’ a hole in my face with how hard you’re starin’.”
Tommy knew though. He knew what that look meant. He’s a good man too, never keeps his girl needy and wanting.
“C’mon now honey, gonna show you a spot I think you’ll like real nicely.” The last two words came out slow and thick with a deep southern drawl.
He leads the two of you out to a small clearing in the woods, ties up each of your horses and gives them both a carrot to occupy themselves with in the meantime. Tommy takes your hand and gently tugs you so you’re following him down a man-made path. Your mind is so foggy with anticipation of what’s to come that you don’t even realize he’s stopped walking. Before you can protest, he has you up against a tree, arms caging you in, face inches away from yours.
“Y’know baby, I pride myself on being a very level headed man. But with you? Fuckin’ hell. You give me one of those looks like ya did and I’m wrecked until I can have you wrapped around me right where you belong. You feel what you do to your old man, huh sugar?”
He presses his erection into your thigh and starts attacking your lips with hungry kisses. Tommy is a man who likes to take his time. He lives to kiss, lick and grope every inch of you. Sure, he loves a good quick fuck - but to him you're something sacred that deserves to be worshiped and adored, this is a man who prefers the term "making love" because to him, that's exactly what it is. You can feel him wanting to take his sweet time with you, but right now that just simply wont do. You’re so wound up all you can think about is his heavy cock inside of you, absolutely nothing else matters. That’s when you break away from your kiss and urgently plead with him to just take you as is. His dark brown eyes lock onto yours and seem to grow a shade deeper with your request.
“As much as I love tasting that sweet cunt of yours baby, who am I to deny such a request from you huh?”
He starts frantically messing with his belt before your hands fall over his, intervening. Confusion falls over his soft features for a moment, but Tommy puts the pieces together and seamlessly reads your mind.
“Ohhh I get it now." His eyes flick to yours, pupils blown wide. A crooked and sly smirk forming. "Filthy fuckin’ girl. I see the way you’ve been starin' at my belt buckle lately. Yeah that’s it ain’t it? Well, what my baby wants, my baby gets. Fuck that’s so goddamn hot darlin', you're makin' me blush."
His calloused hands undo the button and zipper of your jeans before finding the trim of your panties and yanking both down in one fell swoop, too heated to bother taking any of your other clothes off. You watch him intently as he clicks his buckle back into place, flashes you a quick smile, and instead pulls his zipper down and takes his leaking cock out. He’s so hard and throbbing it’s almost a struggle to get all of him out and through his zipper hole. He manages though, and when he’s all done he looks at you with a devilish grin and taps at your thighs to signal he wants you to do a little jump up for leverage. You happily oblige and feel the delicious weight of him pressed against you keeping you steady.
"Atta girl. Always such a good listener f'me. You ready for this cock sweetheart? I know you are baby, just look at her drippin' wet and I ain't even done nothin'. Prettiest pussy I ever seen and shes all mine, goddamn. You have any idea what you do to me babygirl?"
After stealing a tender kiss, Tommy lifts your chin up to look at him as he starts to sink into you, eye contact never breaking. The sounds are obscene as he feeds his hungry length further inside you.
"Gonna take real good care of my baby, this is what'cha wanted yeah? Couldn't even wait till we got back to Jackson. Needed me to fill you up out here like the desperate little girl that you are, ain't that right?"
Your breath hitches as the hilt of his cock is almost completely flush with your cunt. Tommy stops and admires the view where you two are joined before sliding the last inch in, bottoming completely out and finally letting his buckle rest atop your pulsing clit. The coolness of the metal buckle rubbing against your bundle of nerves made you cry out in ecstasy. This is exactly what you craved. You knew it would feel good, but not this good. Your nails dug into the backs of his shoulders, a silent plea to get him moving, to get him fucking into you. Tommy groaned and started bucking his hips into yours with a feverish intensity you've never seen before, it was downright carnal. Both of your arousal mixing and spilling out of your hole in long strings, connecting the two of you when he pulled out and slammed back in. The friction of his buckle bumping into you combined with the sweet sting of his pounding cock made your head dizzy. Tommy was fucking you so hard you felt yourself becoming dumb in the head, nearly drooling from the sheer pleasure coursing through your body.
Between whimpers Tommy was sucking and biting on your lips, always trying to be as close as possible to you, tasting you in any way he can. Breathlessly you looked down to watch his filthy ministrations. You could see your slick coating the shiny metal of his buckle, and a small fogged over reflection of your puffy cunt getting the attention she so desperately craved. You moaned and closed your eyes, softly rolling your head back, finding purchase on the tree behind you. The sights and sounds were too much, nearly driving you to the edge.
Tommy took the opportunity to start sucking on your exposed neck before making his way up to your ear and planting a kiss just under the lobe. Always so sweet to you, even with your pants around your ankles as he tears you apart in the woods.
"You feel like heaven darlin'. Squeezin' me so tight, taking all of me like the good girl you are. Ain't gunna last much longer honey and I can tell you're barely holdin' on too. I've gotcha sweet girl, go 'head and make a mess on me, take what you need."
Tommy's words make your stomach flutter and drive you over the edge with a cry. Tears spilled out the sides of your eyes as you shake through one of the best orgasms you can ever recall having. As you start to come down from your high you grab onto Tommy's face, scrunch your eyebrows together and beg. He knows what you're begging him for, because you do this to him every damn time. Neither one of you have the self control to stop it either.
"Always such a needy little thing. Fucking you with my belt wasn't enough, you need me to fill you up too? Shit baby you know I cant ever say no to that. Dont you worry in that pretty little head of yours, 'm gonna stuff this cunt full and you're gonna take every drop of it, just like you wanted."
Tommy presses closer into you, wrapping his arms around you clinging as tightly as he can, and nudges his face into your neck. With a few more sloppy thrusts he groans through gritted teeth and comes hard and hot inside of you. Fulfilling your request, and his word. After a few moments he pulls out, the both of you sighing from the loss of contact, and starts to tidy you back up sweetly. You can start to feel his release slowly dripping out of you and falling onto the mossy floor of the woods.
"I thought I told you to take every drop of me baby girl. C'mon now don't be wasteful."
Before you can craft a snarky reply, you gasp as you feel two of his thick digits scooping his spend up from your legs, and pushing it back into your fucked out hole. He does this until every last drop is cleaned from where it leaked out, and your cunt is stuffed white with all of his come. He mumbles something along the lines of "that's more like it", and brings his fingers up to his mouth to suck them clean. The sight alone could have made you ready for round two, but the sun was setting fast and you had stupid patrol obligations to complete. He pulled you in for a passionate kiss, tongues connecting and tasting the mixture of the two of you. He helped you bring your jeans back up and into place, even fixing up your zipper and button. Tommy gently pats his hand in between your legs as a sly reminder of the fun that was just had, and starts to kiss your face again.
You walk side by side, his hand wrapped around yours as you make your way back to your horses, whose carrots were eaten long, long ago. Always the gentleman, Tommy helps you up and onto your horse before he saddles himself. You look over at him to find he's already staring at you, flashing you the biggest grin, crows feet on full display.
"Y'know, I ain't ever washing this damn buckle. Look at the shine on it now baby." He pauses and chuckles for a moment. "I've got at least 10 more I think you should polish up f'me yeah?"
Yeah. You think you can handle that.
A/N: Hi everyone! This is my first smut that I have ever written, so please be gentle with me haha. If you liked it let me know! I have plans to do some Tommy Miller head cannons very very soon. Gabriel Luna, the man that you are. 🫡✨
You and Joel have a good thing going. One where he cannot keep his hands off you. Apparently, not even when you’re in the middle of a party.
tags/warnings: MDNI 18+ content, explicit smut, one mention of reader having hair (imma bush truther sorry), fingering, hickeys, tit sucking/worship, maybe a bit subby!joel?, pet names, joel talks her through it, joel is down so horrendously bad, joel is a fiend for reader’s boobs, no outbreak, dbf!joel, unspecified age gap.
_
Joel can’t keep his hands to himself. For a man so proud of his restraint, humbly boasting about his willpower, he sure can’t seem to help himself when it comes to the warm expanse of your skin.
Fingers brushing underneath your shirt, sliding up, up, up, until they’re appeased with the skin they’ve claimed. Hands gripping and pushing into the fat of your hips, moving down slowly to cup your ass.
As if moving slow will make his actions unnoticeable to you. Like maybe you won’t realize his fingers are leaving indents in your flesh for him to marvel at later when he peels the fabric from your skin.
His only saving grace is he’s doing it when no one can see the two of you. In hidden corners or when everyone is distracted.
The warm callous of his thumb on the back of your neck drags your attention away from the conversation at hand. Your family is hosting a small party in your backyard. Little tents put up with tables of food and drink underneath them.
There are children running around screaming and laughing with waterguns and parents scolding them when they try and splash the adults. The bright sun is setting on the horizon, casting everything in a golden hue. Cicadas chirp all around, the sound creating a pleasant hum that doesn't help your focus.
The hand on the back of your neck leads you inside from the porch. Now you’re being pulled into the small downstairs bathroom.
Joel is your father’s friend. Albeit a much younger friend, but he wasn’t yours first. Deep down, you know that your parents would be fine with your relationship with Joel. Your father would take some time to come around to it, no doubt having choice words with Joel and then you, but he’d accept it eventually.
That still doesn’t mean you want to broadcast your incredible relationship, incredible sex life, to everyone around you with his hands trying to find purchase in your panties.
“Joel!” You hiss and smack his hands away. His large hands skating up your dress to tease at the edge of your underwear. Dipping just below the waistband and brushing against the curls of hair beneath.
He gives you a lazy smirk and chuckles. You think you hate him when he’s the laid back one. Normally he’s on edge, anxious about how people will interpret your interactions while you give him an evil smile and slip your hand into his back pocket.
You guess this is payback.
“What’s wrong, darlin’?” He asks, leaning in to place a warm kiss to your neck, lips trailing up to your jaw. “Ain’t no one gonna see. Just lemme have you for a min’.”
His words are muffled by your skin, lips never ceasing their movements against your neck. When you feel the slight graze of his teeth against your skin you pull back quickly with a warning glare.
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare, Joel Miller. I’ll bite your dick off.”
Joel gives you a lazy smile and mocks insult in his voice, “What did I do?”
“You know exactly what you were trying to do. Like hell I’ll let you give me a damn hickey mid-party.”
Lips are on your cheek, kissing down to your neck once more. When you try and push him away again, half-heartedly, he begins to tickle at your sides.
“Joel!” You giggle at the feeling of his strong hands teasing the skin of your waist.
“C’mon, baby. Just one.” His mouth continues its decent finding the valley between your breasts, “I’ll put it somewhere no one will see.”
He’s leaning slightly against the counter to make himself shorter, head resting on your chest as he looks up hopefully.
“You’ve got two minutes.” You cave, unable to deny him.
“Only two?” He scoffs, brows rising into his hairline.
“Clocks ticking. You just lost 10 seconds, Miller.”
He doesn’t waste any more time after that. Mouth capturing the skin of your chest as one of his hands comes to brush your shoulder. Calloused, warm fingers slide underneath the strap of your sundress and peel it down slowly. Exposing half of your chest to Joel’s eagerly awaiting mouth.
His lips latch around your nipple immediately. Tongue flattening over the hardened peak as he suctions gently. The feeling sends tingles down your spine and you gasp lightly, wary of your volume in the small bathroom anyone could walk by.
His other hand pinches the nipple not currently in his mouth before roughly grabbing the entire weight of your breast. His fingers dig into the skin and you tilt your head back to try and keep yourself from groaning.
Joel’s mouth releases your nipple to begin sucking on the skin of your breast, tongue licking at the sweat that’s gathered in a light sheen over your entire body. He hastily pulls down the other strap to reveal your full chest to his hungry gaze.
When he’s greeted with the sight he groans, looking physically weakened. His hands rise like he’s preparing to touch something sacred and he moves to gently palm over your breasts.
“Fuckin’ perfect tits. Could cum in my pants like a teenager every time I see ‘em.”
His hands are on your waist now, pulling you into the space between his legs as his lips work over your skin again. Sucking and biting and licking everything he can reach.
“Do it then.” You challenge, hand carding through his hair and tugging firmly.
The groan he releases into your chest is more of a whimper in your opinion, but you say nothing.
“Later. Right now I gotta take care of my girls.” Joel doesn’t even try and pull away to say the words, instead pressing them into your skin.
His comment makes you laugh and he uses the distraction to bunch up your dress once more, not giving you time to realize what he’s doing before sliding one of those warm fingers beneath your underwear.
He instantly finds your clit, giving it a small, firm circle as you suck in a harsh breath. Hand tightening on his hair as the other moves to grip his shoulder, nails digging into his flesh through his flannel.
“Joel.” You warn. You hope your voice sounds more stern and sure than you feel.
“Reckon I still got another minute, don’t I? Think you can gimme one that fast, baby?”
You don’t think he’s giving you much of a choice as his fingers continue down to your opening. Already wet and ready, clenching around the promise of his fingers.
Okay fine, maybe you’ve been wanting him to drag you away and fuck you since he showed up at your door with his flannel rolled up to his elbows. Those tan, gorgeous forearms on display. Looking like fucking temptation given human form.
“S’already so wet for me. How long you been like this?” His teeth gently nip at your breast and you moan as he pushes one long finger into your wet heat.
His finger starts pumping, curling the way he knows you like, as if the motion will drag the response out of you.
“C’mon baby, tell me.”
Another finger slides in beside the other, minimal resistance due to how wet you are, but just enough stretch and ache to make you keen into him.
“Since you got here.” You lean your head down, burying your face in his hair as a whine builds in your throat.
He’s set a brutal pace right off the bat, fingers curling and stretching you the way he knows you love. The way that always gets you desperate and needy for his cock.
“Poor baby. Been drippin’ all night, why didn’t you tell me? Know I woulda taken care f’ya. Made you cry and cum all over my cock. All’s you gotta do is ask pretty baby. Can’t never say no to you.”
The words are sloppy, pressed against your tits like he can’t be bothered to come up for air. The sounds coming from your core as you feel yourself begin to drip down Joel’s hand are sloppy as well. His filthy words getting to you so much you think you’re going to cum in record time.
“Joel.” You whine into his hair. The hand on the back of his neck digging its nails into his scalp as you feel the familiar tingles of your orgasm approaching.
The hand on his shoulder slides down to grasp at his bicep, feeling the strong muscle move with each pump of his fingers into your sopping core.
“Oh, fuck.” You’re close, so fucking close, so fucking fast. You feel dizzy, overwhelmed by the pleasure flooding through you. “Joel, please.” You’re not sure what you’re begging for as you clutch onto him with everything in you. Needing something to anchor yourself to reality.
Joel pulls his head off your chest, lips swollen from his assault of your breasts. It forces you to pull your head back to look at him.
“I gotcha, pretty baby. Let it go f’me. Cum on my fingers like the good girl I know you are. So fuckin’ desperate for it, ain’t ya? Just couldn’t help yourself.”
Eyes screwing shut, your jaw drops in a silent scream as you clamp down so hard against Joel’s fingers he wonders if you’ll break them. He takes the moment to slip his tongue into your open mouth, brushing his tongue sloppily over your own.
Your hips are stuttering to meet each pump of his fingers, desperately chasing your release. When Joel’s thumb begins to work fast circles over your clit, you’re done for.
Deep groans come from your chest with every pant you heave to keep from passing out. Joel works you through it, mouth clamped over yours to keep you from getting too loud. He feels the vibrations of your moans against his chest and groans into your mouth at the sensation.
When the aftershocks stop making you whine into his mouth and press your bare tits into his chest, he slows his movements. Letting you regain some sense of lucidness before gently pulling his fingers from you.
Holding the evidence of his efforts up before you, he gives you a devilish smirk before placing his fingers in his mouth. Swirling his tongue around them and pulling them free with a dramatic pop.
He carefully pulls the straps of your sundress up over your shoulders once more, careful not to use the fingers he had stuffed in you only moments ago. When he’s got you decent once more, he leans in to give you a deep kiss.
It’s all tongue and spit. The wet glide of the drool that’s pooled in your mouth and your slick coating his tongue making you feel delirious. Making you consider dropping to your knees to suck him dry.
Joel pulls away from your mouth with a fond smile, leaning in to give you a sweet peck before turning to wash his hands.
“You good?” He asks over his shoulder.
“Yeah. You?” Your breath is still shaky, but you’ll recover soon enough.
Drying his hands, Joel’s deep voice drawls out smoothly, “Fuckin’ great.” Then that southern accent turns mocking, “Did I go over my two minutes, ma’am?”
Turning to face you, his hands come up to help smooth down your hair. You flick his ear in retaliation as you do the same for him, fixing the strands you tugged every which way.
Giving yourself a once over in the mirror, you decide you look relatively unscathed and unsuspicious enough. You’ll blame the flushing and fast pound of your heart on the heat if anyone asks.
“Ready?” You ask, planning to peek your head out before sneaking the two of you out of the small bathroom.
“Nah, you go on ahead. I’ll catch up.”
Furrowing your brows, Joel sighs. Hands on his hips as he shakes his head, scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “Needa minute, darlin’”
Looking down you see what the issue is. Joel is obviously, painfully, undoubtedly hard in his jeans.
“Do you want me to-”
“No. I got my fill. Make it up to me later.” With a kiss to your temple, Joel opens the bathroom door slowly and looks around out of the small opening. Confirming that the coast is clear, he backs away and lets you out with a warm hand on your waist.
“See you out there, Mr. Miller.” You wink. Calling him that always gets a reaction out of him. Either a stuttering in his thrusting above you as he buries his face in your neck or your face pressed into the pillows as he sets a punishing pace.
Joel only groans at the name this time, “I’m tryin’ to calm down here, sweetheart. Stop tryin’ to fuckin’ rile me up.”
Smiling sweetly, you glance around to make sure no one has suddenly snuck up on you before stepping into his space once more. Placing a sweet peck to his lips you give him a look of mock sympathy. Well, he doesn’t know it’s mocking.
Joel lets his guard down for a moment, thinking you’re actually giving him some respite. Then you open your mouth again.
“Yes, sir.”
Joel’s definitely getting back at you for this later if the look on his face is any indication. You can’t wait.
Joel takes off your boots, and you make out. Isn't life great?
warnings: fluff, kissing, established realtionship, lovesick musings
a/n: I promised y'all some Joel, and here he is. Be gentle with me -- it's been a while! A love letter to my red cowboy boots and how fucking hard they are to get off.
--
The orange fingers of tonight's summer sunset reach across the valley and tangle in the clouds. It's a damn near perfect evening to walk home.
Home.
Your boots click with every step. They're a real find, hand-stitched genuine leather in a muted red. Someone else owned these a long time ago. Stiff from disuse when you found them, but worn in enough to tug on comfortably, to walk into town for some dancing. To run in, if you had to.
But tonight you don't have to.
Joel didn't come with you. He does, sometimes, but dancing isn't really his thing. His knee bothers him more days than not, and he's hell-bent on avoiding being too likable so he doesn't go and get himself voted onto the town council. God forbid he be appreciated for everything he does around Jackson.
But you don't mind. He'll dance with you in the living room if you ask.
He'll crawl on his hands and knees through fire if you ask.
Devotion is rooted deep in him. It wraps thick vines around his battered heart and guides his steady hands, always looking for the next way to take care of you. Of the people he loves. The dying world is a hard place for a man like him -- he can't fix everything. Some days you know he feels like he can't damn near fix anything.
But he does more than enough for you. And you try your hardest to take care of him in return.
Joel is a dream you've had your whole life. A home to return to at the end of every night, someone you love on the other side of the threshold. Safety, comfort, belonging. Things you thought were long gone for so many years, ripped away just like everything else at the end of the world.
You and your boots stroll the rest of the way through town, around the corner and down your street. The summer breeze makes the familiar wind chimes on your porch sing, their sweet song reaching you and quickening your step until the house comes into view.
Home, home, home.
The outside light is on, but the chair out front is empty. On a night like this you'd expect to find Joel with his guitar, often with Ellie at his side. Sometimes he just sits, takes it all in. Rest remains shiny and new, a daunting and unfamiliar state of living.
But he's not on the porch tonight.
His absence doesn't worry you.
And what a thing that is -- not worrying. It's a muscle you forgot you could relax. Maybe not totally, never again totally, but this life you've found yourself in is good.
Joel is good.
You thud up the stairs and through the door he's left unlocked for you. There's hardly reason to lock doors in a place like Jackson, but some habits are hard to break, so you latch it behind you.
The lights are off, but you hear humming upstairs. He's working on something, probably, maybe folding laundry. You were at ease before, but now everything in you really relaxes, slots back into place. You just stand in front of the door for a moment, overcome with gratitude.
There's nothing special about today. But after so many years of waiting for death, of sometimes wanting it, having a life you want to fight for and hold onto with both hands is nothing short of a miracle.
"That you?" Joel calls from upstairs. His drawl sets you alight, a tether that brings you back to reality. The gratitude remains, but it simmers.
"Sure is," you reply. "I need your help with my boots."
"I'm comin'. Just gotta --" There's a thud above you. "Shit. Gimme a second, sweetheart."
You can wait. Joel is worth every second.
The kitchen still smells like the herbs you used for dinner hours ago before you went dancing. Joel seems to have done the dishes and put everything away. You pour yourself a glass of water from the faucet -- another novelty of this life you'll never get used to. Fresh water from pipes! You just about fainted when Tommy told you Jackson had running water when you arrived.
That's one of the positives about living past the end of the world, you suppose. The smallest things are marvels. Flicking on a light switch and knowing it'll work, storing the elk Ellie shot over the winter in a freezer, sleeping in a bed with clean sheets. Waking up every day with a little less fear than before, a warm, breathing, beloved person next to you.
You hop up on the counter and wait for said beloved. You're careful not to scuff the cabinets with your heels.
Joel's footsteps can be heard above you, the gentle creaks of the house as he moves around and eventually makes his way down the stairs.
"Alright," he sighs, finally coming into view. "Hey, there."
He's got his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and he's wiping his hands on a rag. It's only been a few hours since you saw him last, but even so, it's the last piece of the puzzle. Now you're home.
"Did you get bested by the laundry?' you ask him. "Sounded like you were fightin' a battle up there."
He scowls. "Was oilin' laces on your boots," he says. "Knocked over the tallow pan. Cleaned it up, though."
You tilt your head slightly, and he presses a kiss to your cheek as he rounds the kitchen island, his beard lightly rubbing against your skin. He smells like fresh wood and the soap you make for your bathroom.
"I was going to do that tomorrow," you remind him. You told him so just this morning. This is his way -- he's always clearing the path for you. Making sure you have everything you need.
Joel shrugs. "I had time." He stands in front of you and you spread your knees to make room for him. He taps the outside of one knee and you extend your leg. "Y'always need help with these damn things," he says. "Ain't they hurtin' you?"
You shake your head, cheek pressing into your shoulder as you lean back on your hands and admire him. If they were, you're sure he'd find a way to stop it. Joel is in the business of keeping you safe, even if it's from something as small as shoes rubbing the wrong way.
"Nah," you say. "They're comfortable. The angle is just weird. But they're cute, right?"
Joel chuckles as you wiggle your still-booted leg, heel tipping forward and back like you're line dancing in midair.
"Mighty cute," Joel echoes.
He slides his hands up under your jeans until he finds the edge of your boot. His fingers curl around the top of your calf, warm and gentle, and his other hand tugs the heel.
These boots are easy to get on, but hell to get off by yourself. Maybe it's by design. A deep nudge by someone long-dead to find hands gentle enough to help you. Loving enough to welcome you home, to pull off your shoes with care and keep you safe. Maybe you found them for this moment right here.
"Did you have fun?" he asks.
"I did," you tell him. "The band played way too much Dave Matthews, though."
Together you tug in opposite directions and the boot comes off smoothly. Joel sets it gently on the floor and scoffs.
"Dave Matthews?" he says. "Who the hell requested that?"
"Some kids," you say. "Think they found a tape, or somethin.' Must be going through a phase."
"Hell of a phase," he mutters. "Christ."
You tell him more about it as Joel tugs off your other boot. The line dancing, the warmth of the whiskey, the gossip you heard along the edges of the hall. He listens with warm eyes and a small smile, like he's exactly where he wants to be.
"They're probably still at it," you say. "Felt like folks had a lot left in 'em."
Joel drags his palms up and down your thighs.
You would touch him all the time, if it was practical. There's nothing in the world that grounds you more, that makes you feel safer, than Joel's hands on you.
"Not you?" he asks.
You smile at him, fondness radiating out of you.
"Wanted to come home," you tell him.
He ducks his chin and clicks his tongue. He's not a shy man, but sometimes you know he's just as surprised as you are that you've found yourselves here. Safe, happy, together. That you love him so much. It's your mission to make sure he never doubts it.
"We goin' upstairs?" Joel asks.
You hook your legs around his thighs and pull. He goes easily, willingly, hands pressing into the counter on either side of you.
"In a minute," you whisper, so close to him that your noses brush. Joel readjusts his hands, sliding one wide palm over the curve of your waist and down your thigh. He hitches your leg higher on his hip. The other hand goes to your face, thumb tracing a line down your cheek to the corner of your lips.
"A minute," he huffs. "Wonder what can happen in a minute."
He clears your path, but he's also always by your side, ready to go where you want to take him.
You tuck your fingers in the waistband of his jeans and he leans forward. Your lips slot together.
There are countless romantic ways to describe kissing someone you love. They're all true, and they're all not enough.
Joel knows you. All of his touches are certain, practiced. He holds you just right, your pulse thrumming against his palm. His kiss is unhurried. He knows very well he's got more than a minute. He's got all the time in the world.
But your want has only grown over the years. Being close to him both relaxes you and sets your body alight. Safety and desire wound together in their own embrace. So when Joel pulls back for a breath you chase him and are rewarded with a low laugh.
"Got somewhere to be?" he teases.
"I like kissing you," you tell him. "Sue me."
He huffs, eyes crinkling the corners from his pleased smirk.
If anyone asked, you'd say he gets more handsome every day. He's lighter, too. The weight he carries around all the time is still there, but you know he breathes easier in this town, this house, you arms. Everyone he loves is here. His kid, his brother, you.
Life looks good on Joel Miller.
You could stare at him forever, admire the warmth in his eyes and the strong line of his jaw. You know he'd let you drink your fill.
Even now, he waits for you to make the next move, to take whatever it is you want from him. He'll always give it freely.
"Are you flirtin' with me?" he asks.
You scoot closer to the edge of the counter so he's not leaning over quite so much.
"Is it working?"
Joel hums as you drag your hands up his chest and drape your arms over his shoulders.
"Might be," he drawls.
You've had enough. You kiss him again, this time tracing the seam of his lips with your tongue. He makes an amused noise but opens for you, palms finding your hips as you lick into his mouth.
Your fingers sink into the hair at the nape of his neck and tug a little. Joel presses his fingers harder into your flesh in response. It makes you gasp and he takes control of the kiss, taking his turn to explore you like it's the first time all over again.
Joel kisses you like you're an answer. Like this is the end of a long road.
And the thing is, this is hard won. From the world, but also from the man in your arms. You'd swear on your life that he's easy to love, but refused for a long time to see it. To see that he's more than a protector, than a father, than a partner. That he's a man, a man who can be held and helped and loved. A man who deserves to have someone make his coffee on slow mornings so he can sleep later, a man whose long-healed wounds are allowed a tender touch, a man who does not have to look over his shoulder and see no one at his back.
You're here, now. And will be here by his side as long as you can.
You kiss and kiss and kiss. You could probably do this forever, the familiar scratch of Joel's beard on your skin, the noises you can pull from him with a tug of his hair, the firm weight of his hands on your hips, your back, your jaw.
But the counter is cold and firm, and there's a soft bed upstairs.
Joel drags his lips down your cheek and laves at your pulse point. You let him leave what will certainly be a bruise come morning before leaning back from him and pressing one hand over his heart. He ceases his attentions immedietly.
"You okay?" he murmurs, a mouth full of gravel.
His pupils are blown and his lips are swollen and spit-slick. You must look much the same.
"Now we can go upstairs," you say. He huffs and squeezes your hip before stepping back.
You hop down from the counter. Joel makes to pick up your boots, but before he can you catch him in the circle of your arms. He makes a low noise of surprise but lets you hug him and wraps his arms around you.
"Thank you," you say into his shirt. You can feel his heart beating.
You're thanking him for helping you with your boots, but also everything else. Oiling your laces. Cleaning up the dishes. Making this house a home for you both.
He'll rarely allow it, your gratitude. Not for the way he watches your back, trusts you with his. Not for the things he does for you, the books he brings back from patrol and the nights he holds you when you can't face what's behind your eyelids. Not for the way he loves you, the way he lets you love him.
But tonight he just presses his lips to your hair and breathes with you.
Summary: On the hottest summer day Texas has to offer, the heat brings out the worst in you and Tommy both. But Tommy knows his girl like the back of his hand, and he isn't above tiring that attitude out of you if he has to.
Warnings: +18 MDNI, bratting and brat taming, established relationship, no outbreak au, unspecified age gap, porn with some plot, domesticity, heat induced bickering, reader has hair but no other description, oral sex m!receiving, clit stimulation, unprotected piv, dirty talk, begging, kinda mean!tommy, praise and light degradation, creampie
note: i hear u i see u asking for more tommy miller and i aim to please, so here i am returning to my roots for my tommy girlies (but mostly for @havensucks <3)
wc: 4.6k
[masterlist] [AO3]
It's fucking hot.
Unbearably so.
Hot enough that even the chilly air from the vents of his truck only just barely cool him down. The kind of weather that makes the air look wavy with refraction and has him thinking about moving states for relief because, surely, he can't keep living like this.
Tommy's hair is up, pulled back with an elastic tie, but the curls still feel too thick and heavy. There's beads of sweat trickling down his neck and his belt buckle sticks to the curve of his soft belly.
He knows it's effecting you, too. Can see the way your shoulders deflate while you sit in the passenger seat, the backs of your thighs sticking to the leather beneath you.
The iced coffee he'd got you this morning sweats in the cup holder, ice nearly gone before you're even halfway done drinking it. He'd gotten it for you in hopes of keeping the peace today.
All you had to do was get groceries and do a couple loads of laundry at the laundromat. Errands that Tommy often finds enjoyment out of doing with you most days. A Sunday afternoon ritual he'd come to love.
But when it's hot like this? You're both irritable and quick to anger. All it takes is one thing to go wrong and you're snapping at each other, frustration building with the temperature.
And to no one's surprise, you start bickering first thing.
While you carry the bag of detergent and quarters, Tommy carries the basket of clothes down from you shared apartment. He puts it in the back seat of his truck at a weird angle, and you try to warn him, but your warning only serves to provoke him.
"Has nothing to do with the angle, it's this stupid fucking basket."
You roll your eyes, angrily shoving a pair of jeans back into place. "Sure, yeah. It's definitely the basket that's been the same size and shape for the last two years. Makes sense."
His jaw ticks, and the thought crosses his mind to take you over his knee. His bratty girl and her smart ass mouth.
But he keeps quiet.
You accidentally drop the bag of quarters in the laundromat, and Tommy spends five minutes of his life chasing them around on a floor that probably hasn't been properly mopped in months.
When you see the irritation plain as day on his face you say, "I didn't mean to drop them. Don't get mad."
"I'm not mad," he argues. "Never said I was."
"Yeah, well. You look mad."
"I'm not."
"Then why do you look it?"
"Can we just put the quarters in the fucking machine?"
You scoff. "You curse at me like that again and we're gonna have a fucking problem."
It's so stupid, such a silly argument, that it makes Tommy laugh.
Your brows furrow in disbelief at first but then you laugh, too. And it lightens the mood, if only for a while.
The two of you sit in the air conditioning of the laundromat until your clothes are folded and neatly put back in the basket, no further damage made to the easy energy you've created.
But the moment you're back outside in the grueling heat, the tension returns.
The two of you are discussing what sounds good for dinner this week on the way to the grocery store when he says, "We've gotta pick up cake mix, too. You still gonna make one for Mike's birthday so I can bring it in to him Wednesday?"
"Wednesday?" Your nose scrunches in that cute, frustrated way he loves. "You told me it was Friday. I was going to go to that bakery in San Marcos to get that pistachio frosting he said he likes—"
"Can't you do that tomorrow?"
"No, tomorrow is Sarah's recital."
"Okay, so Tuesday then."
"And get home at nine and be up until midnight making a damn cake?"
Tommy sighs. "So skip the pistachio frosting. What's wrong with vanilla?"
"It's his fiftieth birthday, Tommy. You should've warned me ahead of time—"
"I did. Twice, matter of fact."
"You told me it was on Friday."
"No I didn't. Why would I say that?"
"I don't know, you tell me!"
His jaw feathers as he clenches his teeth. He hates arguing with you at all, and it's even worse when it's arguments like this.
It feels like you're fighting against each other instead of with each other. Like you're on opposing sides and not two people in love working together to solve a problem.
He makes the decision right then and there, stopping in the middle of the road and pulling into a random driveway to turn the truck around.
"What are you doing?"
"Turning around."
"Oh my god," you huff. "No shit. Where are we going? Tommy, we need groceries. We're out of milk and eggs and the cake—!"
"The store's not closin' anytime soon. And I'm not doin' this today. S'too fuckin' hot out. So just sit there and let me drive," he says. And for good measure adds, "Please."
You fold your arms over your chest, bratty little thing that you are.
But it's okay, Tommy doesn't mind. He knows it's not you, it's the heat. It's the sweat on your skin and the humidity that sticks like glue and the uncomfortable weight of it all.
There's a boat launch a short fifteen minute drive away. Joel and Tommy used to rent boats there to go fishing all the time. They hadn't been back in a while, a couple of years at least.
But today's the perfect day.
When he pulls into the dirt lot just outside the small, wood cabin office building, Tommy unbuckles and climbs out of his truck. He levels you with a stare and says, "Don't move."
"Wasn't gonna," you argue. "Just gonna sit here and let you drive, Tommy. Just like you wanted."
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," he hisses, shaking his head.
Inside the cabin is blessedly air conditioned. It's a small, one room building with cluttered paperwork on a desk and a cash register that looks like it's from the eighties. An old woman sits behind it with a pair of floral framed reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose and a book in her hand titled The Dirty Cowboy.
It makes Tommy chuckle softly to himself. Reminds him of all those filthy books you read on your phone before bed. "You guys got any rentals available for today?"
The woman looks up at him over her worn paperback. "Got a pontoon, a center cabin and a bowrider left. An' no extra poles, so I hope you've got your own. What d'ya want?"
"Let's go with the center cabin."
"You got cash?"
"Sure do." Tommy pulls his wallet from his pocket and hands over the cash once she reads off a total. He waits patiently as she prints out a few pages on what he assumes is the slowest printer still in use and sets it in front of him with a fuzzy red pen.
"Gotta sign the waiver and take a life jacket for each passenger," she says. "There's some extras around back."
Tommy does what he needs to. Dates and signs and leaves a copy of his ID. When she hands him the keys, he leaves the cabin with a newfound relief.
He finds you with your feet on the dash and every AC vent in the car turned towards you, scrolling on your phone with a crease between your brows. Tommy pulls the door open and says, "C'mon."
That snarky little tone still resides in your voice when you ask, "What are we doing?"
"Goin' out on the lake," he answers, unbuckling your seatbelt and tugging you out of the truck. He tosses his cellphone onto the floor at your feet. "Let's go."
"Tommy, I don't want—!"
"Baby." He closes his eyes and takes a slow, steadying breath. The heat is already getting to him again, the sun unbearably hot at his back. "I'm gonna need you to just trust me. Leave your phone, ya won't need it."
That scowl still remains, but you no longer argue. You let him take your hand in his and lock the truck behind you.
Tommy leads you around the back of the cabin and plucks two life jackets from the racks before starting down the familiar path to the lake. It's not a long walk, but it feels that way. Sweat trickles down his spine and his breath feels hollow.
He finds the boat tied to the end of one of the docks and doesn't give you time to argue some more before he begins to untie the rope. Tommy tosses the frayed jute cord into the front of the boat, climbs in, and holds out his hand for you to take. "C'mon."
"We have stuff that needs to get done today, Tommy," you tell him, hand on your hip. The sunshine reflects off of your hair and he thinks you look so fucking pretty like that it almost makes the hellish temperature worth it.
"Our errands aren't goin' anywhere."
"We still need to get groceries—"
"The store will be open late."
"—and put away laundry—"
"Baby."
"—and I promised Sarah I'd—"
"Baby, get in the damn boat."
"It's just so hot and I need to—!"
"You think I don't know what you need?"
The question silences you, and your eyes soften just slightly. "That's not what I'm trying to say, I—"
Tommy takes your hands in his, pulling you forward. "C'mon."
You let him pull you begrudgingly onto the deck, mumbling those smart ass remarks under your breath all the while.
Tommy just laughs. Puts the key in the ignition switch and settles into the seat behind the wheel in the cabin. It roars to life, propellers spinning beneath the water. He pats his thigh twice and says, "Get over here, brat."
"I'm not a brat," you argue, coming up to his side and sitting in his lap right where he likes you. Even when you say it, your mouth turns up at the corners.
"Mhm, sure," Tommy teases, voice thick with sarcasm. He squeezes the hand throttle behind the wheel and the boat surges forward through the water.
And the wind—god. It might be the most soothing thing he's ever felt in his entire fucking life. It cools the sweat that sticks to his skin, lifting the collar of his shirt and reaching beneath the fabric.
Tommy sees you visibly relax at the sensation and knows he made the right choice, bringing you here today.
Silence settles between you as he drives further and further away from the dock. The sun still shines painfully bright in the clear blue sky, but with the chill of the water spray it feels far less daunting.
He turns the radio on and the soft, bluesy ballad of a Santana song plays through the open space. The lake is surprisingly empty for a day like today, but Tommy finds himself grateful for it.
He slows the boat to a stop a handful of miles out, until he can no longer see the shore or the docks or any other boats. He stands to his feet, pulling you up with him, and says, "Take off your clothes."
You shake your head, but when you speak there's ease in it for the first time since you'd left the apartment this afternoon. "I don't really want to swim today," you confess.
But Tommy's not having it. He pulls his shirt over his head and tosses it aside, toeing off his boots next. "Wasn't askin', sweetheart."
With a sigh, you say, "I'll admit it, the boat is nice. It's cooler out here and I don't feel like I'm dying in the heat anymore, but I don't want to get in the water. I'll just…I'll watch you. How's that?"
Tommy undoes his belt buckle with a clink and shoves his jeans down his thighs, leaving his boxers. He wears one of those big, toothy grins as he explains, "You can either get undressed or you can get in fully clothed. Your choice."
"I said—!"
He shrugs. "Suit yourself."
And without another word, Tommy squeezes you in an embrace and hauls you overboard with him.
The water is cold. Not just cool, but borderline freezing. It feels so refreshing that he lets out a low groan when he breaches the surface, letting out a breath that's been stuck in his lungs for what feels like hours.
You come up for air half a second after he does, wiping water from your face. Droplets cling to your eyelashes and all Tommy can do is smile wide.
Because he thinks you're the most beautiful woman to ever live, and he will never take for granted that even on the hottest day of the year, you still choose him to do laundry with.
"You're the worst," you say, but there's no salt to your words. There's a smile on your face and laughter on the tip of your tongue instead. The tension that's been building all day dissipates, washed away by the cold water.
Tommy nods and takes your face in his hands. "Mhm," he says. "You're right. I am the worst. Tell me more."
"You get this awful attitude when it gets hot out. You know that?"
It makes him laugh hard enough that his shoulders shake. "We got that in common, sweet girl."
"Nuh-uh. Not me. I'm an angel, actually."
He leans forward, grin still on his wet lips when he presses them to yours. "Yeah you are," he mutters. "My bratty, angel girl." He kisses you again, this time at the corner of your mouth. And then he kisses your cheek, your temple, the tip of your nose, , the tickling hairs of his mustache making you giggle.
"M'sorry I've been mean today," you say with sorrowful eyes.
Tommy wraps his arms around your shoulders and pulls you close, delighting in the way your soft, warm skin glides easily against his underwater. "I'm sorry too, baby. S'alright. Just the heat."
You nod in agreement and reach behind his head to pull the elastic band from his hair. "Yeah, I know," you say. "But I'm still sorry. And I love you."
"Even though I'm the worst?"
With a laugh, you shake your head and pull away from him, swimming towards the back end of the boat.
Tommy watches, floating on his back with his arms outstretched, as you pull yourself up over the hull and onto the deck.
You peel your top off, wring the water out of it, and lay it over the leather seat at the front of the boat. Your jean shorts are next, and then your sandals, leaving you in nothing but your sports bra and a flimsy pair of blue panties.
The fabric clings to your wet skin so closely that Tommy can almost see right through them, to that pretty pussy that lies beneath. It makes him feel hot in an entirely different way.
"Don't stop on my account," he urges, a playful tone in his voice. "If I knew takin' you to the lake would get me a free striptease we would'a been here hours ago."
You scoff and say, "Shut up."
But Tommy sees it; the way your pulse picks up, the way your thighs press together, the way you consider it, just for a fleeting second.
But you leave the last two articles of clothing on before jumping right back into the water.
Tommy's not sure how long you stay out in the lake. You do back flips under the water and splash each other and kiss with slippery mouths.
He takes to doing cannonballs off the side of the boat and your laughter echoes across the water's surface. An Aerosmith song comes on the radio and you both sing along so loudly that he forgets all about the heat and the frustration and your bickering.
By the time you decide you're finished, the muscles in his legs are tired and the tips of his fingers are pruned.
Tommy helps you back into the boat and drops down onto the leather bench near the front of the deck. He spreads his legs wide and drapes his arms over the edge, head tilted back just slightly. Water drips off his skin, sliding down his neck and the broad expanse of his shoulders. "C'mere," he orders.
There's no argument to be had, not this time. You simply walk over to him, leaving little wet footprints in your wake, and stand between his spread knees.
"You feelin' better?"
With a nod, you admit, "Yeah, a little."
"Just a little?" Tommy playfully clicks his tongue. "Now, that just ain't gonna work."
You narrow your pretty eyes at him, a smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth.
"Why don't you g'head an' take off your clothes, baby," he says. And when you begin to protest he adds, "Need to get dry before we head back, don't we?"
You see right through him, shaking your head. But you do as he instructs, struggling for only a second before tugging the wet fabric of your bra up and over your head.
Tommy just watches, leaning back, enjoying the sweetest view of his bratty girl listening so well. He's not shy in his assessment, eyes roaming greedily over the swells of your breasts and the hardened peaks of your nipples.
And when you peel your panties down your legs, Tommy's cock stirs beneath his boxers. You ring the water out of them and lay them out to dry.
"I oughta get dry, too," he says. "Wanna give your old man a hand?"
He watches it happen in real time, that shift in you. Watches what begins as suggestive amusement turn into want. Your pupils flare and your lips part just so.
You drop to your knees slowly, each breath a manual inhale. And then you slide your hands up his calves, still dripping with water. They move over the bend of his knee and through the coarse hair that litters his thighs. And when you finally reach the waistband of his boxers, your fingers curl around the edge to tug them off.
Tommy lifts his hips, and that's the only assistance he allows himself to give. His cock hangs heavy and hard between you, resting against the softness of his belly.
Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and he hears the silent question before you ask it.
"G'head, baby. Give me a little kiss." He thinks that sweet smile you give him in response is real cute. And it's even cuter when you take his cock in your hand and lean forward to lick a long, wet stripe up the underside of him.
The muscles in his thighs flex at the sensation, at the sight of you. Naked and pretty and on your knees for him, with all that worship in your eyes that always makes him feel weak.
Your tongue laves over every hardened inch of him, following the path of each vein, swirling around the tip and coating him in a different sort of wet. Your spit is warm and slippery, providing the perfect amount of ease when you take him into your waiting mouth.
Tommy's head falls back even further as you swallow him down. He groans low, fingers curling tight around the edge of the boat to try and fight off his urge to touch you. To hold your pretty face in his hands and rest his fingers against the side of your throat to feel himself inside it.
But he wants it to be you. All you.
So Tommy just lets you suck his cock, lets you enjoy it the way you want to. Spit pools at the corners of your mouth and you whimper around him, the sound ratcheting his pleasure even higher.
"Yeah," he muses. "That's it. So fuckin' pretty with my cock in your mouth, baby. Look at ya. Fuckin' droolin' on it."
You look up at him through your lashes, and smile around his length. Tommy thinks he could fall off the edge right then and there, just seeing how happy you are to taste him, how pleased you look with him in your mouth.
But he resists, pulling his hips back just slightly to say, "S'enough, now. Get on up here."
You do as he says, wiping the spit from your mouth with the back of your hand. When you climb into his lap, knees on either side of his wide thighs, Tommy stops you just before you're fully seated.
"Hang on now, greedy girl," he says. "Lemme see her."
Carefully, you place your hands on the edge of his knees and arch your spine, giving him the most beautiful view.
Tommy can't resist touching you. Not this time, not when you look like this. He gently squeezes your breasts in his hands, smoothing away the water droplets that still sit on top of your soft skin.
His thumbs ghost across your nipples before he glides his palms down your torso, over the dip of your navel, and then finally—blessedly—between your legs.
"Oh, baby," he sighs. Tommy gathers his saliva at the front of his mouth and brings his hand to his lips. "No wonder why you're only feelin' a little bit better." He spits on his fingers before bringing them to your clit, already pulsing the moment he touches you.
You moan when he begins to stroke gently at your pussy, spreading his spit and your slick. His fingers move slowly, just feeling you without true intent, gliding through your arousal.
When he slides his hand a little lower and begins to circle your entrance with the pad of his middle finger, your hips begin to move. Trying desperately to pull him inside, muscles clenching around nothing.
Tommy just grins. Chuckles low when you start to whine, nails digging into the skin of his thighs. "You want it?"
You nod comes feverish and instantaneous. "Please," you moan. "I need it."
He thinks you sound so pretty, begging like that. He moves his fingers back up to your clit, stroking with just enough pressure that you gasp in relief.
But as soon as he gives, he takes away.
Tommy removes his touch completely, stretching his arms back over the boat's edge, resting casual and cocky the way he always is. "Go 'head, baby. Take what ya need."
You don't waste a second, scooting up his lap. You take his cock in your hand and line it up with your entrance before sinking down on him fully.
The sensation of it nearly knocks him on his ass; the tight, wet grip of your cunt around him. His fingers flex against the leather seat, and you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders.
It starts easy. A gentle rocking of your hips, his cock pressing in deep, the swollen head flush against the tip of your cervix.
But each movement grows more and more desperate, your sounds echoing across the lake. "Such a cute little thing," he says, eyes dark and lids hooded. "Takin' it so good. You feel me in there, baby? Stretchin' you real wide?"
"Mmhm," is all you can manage right away, breath coming fast, chest heaving with each ragged inhale. "Feels so…god—feels so good, Tommy. So big."
You start getting real whimpery, slick dripping down his cock, wet sounds coming from between your legs.
Right about now is when Tommy will normally take over, thrusting up into you, giving you the roughness you always seek.
But he stays still today. Let's you roll your hips over his, fucking yourself on his thick length until you're begging him. "Please, Tommy—touch me."
He cruelly clicks his tongue. "Had the energy to give me all that attitude this morning, didn't ya? Still got stuff to do today, sweet girl. Gotta tire you out before we head back."
A sweetest sounding groan leaves your mouth. "But—please!"
Tommy's real weak when it comes to you. The temptation to give in is there, building inside his chest, right beside the warmth of impending release. "Nuh-uh," he says. "You wanna cum? You're gonna work for it this time. Not gonna have all that sass by the time you're done. Gotta sweat it out, little girl."
You're still moving, still grinding yourself down on his cock, pace ragged and out of rhythm now. "Tommy please, I can't—!"
"Yeah you can," he encourages, taking one a low, condescending tone. "Got full faith in ya. C'mon baby, you're almost there. She's squeezin' me."
He can feel the tension in your thighs and the way your fingers dig into the hard muscles at his shoulders. "Will you at least—" you stop, a moan tearing its way through your chest. "—kiss me. Please, just a kiss. Need to feel you, to taste you."
The request is so spoken so softly, so sweetly, that it send a shock of delight down his spine. And Tommy—God. He can do nothing to resist it. "'Course I can give you a kiss, sweet girl," he says.
Tommy leans in, and the moment he touches his lips to yours he can feel the velvety walls of your cunt clench around him.
He kisses you deep, tongue slipping into your mouth, licking and sliding against yours. You moan his name and it sounds so fucking pretty that his fingers find your clit on instinct.
He strokes it in small, tight circles. And only a few seconds later, you're falling off the edge. Thighs shaking, whimpering into his mouth, riding him as hard as your strength will allow.
"So fuckin' pretty," he whispers. "Such a good girl for me when you're all full, huh? Oughta make you work for it more often."
"Feels so good—hmm."
"You're my good girl, baby. Ain't that right?"
"Yes, yes. I'm your good girl, I'm—oh, god—"
"Uh-huh. That's right. Mine. My baby."
His.
Tommy follows you off the precipice, his release rushing up to greet him, that tight coil around his spine pulling taught just to snap.
A low groan rumbles through his chest as he fills you with his release, so much of it that it spills out of you and drips onto the thatch of dark hair between his legs.
You roll your hips a few more times, until you're spent and aching, before collapsing on top of him entirely.
Your shoulders drop and your muscles go slack, head falling into the crook of his neck.
Tommy laughs and finally touches you, arms wrapping around your waist to hold you close, fingertips stroking lazily over the relaxed curve of your spine. "You're alright," he says. "I've got ya."
He's not sure how much time passes. Tommy just holds you for as long as you need, cock still twitching inside you, the mixture of your release and his dripping down the inside of his thighs. He lets you catch your breath, and doesn't move until you do.
When you finally ease yourself off of him and stand to your feet, you do so on shaky legs. The heat has dried your shorts and top now, and you pull them back on while Tommy does the same with his jeans.
Once you're dressed he asks, "You ready to head back?"
You nod soundlessly, an ease on your face. Tommy sits behind the wheel of the boat and flips the ignition switch, and this time he doesn't even have to ask for you. You just come to him without a word, sitting in his lap and resting your head on his shoulder.
Tommy kisses your temple with a syrupy smile. "Feelin' better?"
The answer this time is paired with a soft, sleepy sigh. "Much better. Thank you."
His heart swells. And even though the heat persists, warming him back up already, Tommy feels himself relax fully for the first time all day.
"Ain't gotta thank me, baby," he says. "M'always gonna make you feel better."
sort of based on this prompt by the lovely 🐞 anon! i hope you see this and as always, thank you for the inspo <3
summary: You don't understand Joel Miller's interest in preventing you going on patrols.
rating: 18+, MDNI
word count: 7.3k words, one-shot
tags: Implied Age Gap, Reader is AFAB with no overt descriptions except for having hair, Mentions of Sexism, Romance, Smut, Fingering, Kissing, Joel finishes in his pants because I said so, Jackson!Joel
a/n: been a rough couple of weeks (mental health wise lol) but inspiration hit for this one. title from 'Francesca' by Hozier. this isn't very edited b/c i just couldn't bring myself to re-read this all over again. hope you enjoy and as always, please let me know what you think! comments are so appreciated.
credit to @/saradika-graphics for the divider!
When you come to, you can feel the solid warmth of something against your weak frame. Your entire body is shaking from the cold and you can feel the chill right down to your bones. It's only then that you realize that you're being carried and even in your weakened state, you try put up a fight. You let out a weak groan and try elbow whoever it is that's carrying you. You don't want to be taken by someone who is clearly strong enough to lift you. You've spent long enough surviving on your own and you know how people have become, now that there's nothing good left in this world. Feebly, you kick your leg but you can't remember the last time you had something to eat that wasn't frozen snow and the meager crumbs of crackers you had found in an abandoned backpack a few days, or maybe weeks, ago. You can't tell how much time has passed.
"Shh," a low voice says. "It's alright, I've got you."
You try protest, you want to say no. You want to scream at whoever it is, tell them to let you go. You don't want to go with them. You don't want to be taken. But your throat feels dry, and your voice is lost to you. You try move but whoever it is that has you, tucks you closer to them. You can smell the faint trace of sawdust and something clean, almost like the detergent your parents used to buy, before the world had ended. But luxuries like that no longer exist. You try move your arm again but every part of your body feels as heavy as lead.
"You're safe," the voice says again, a soothing murmur. It's the last thing you hear before you lose consciousness.
It takes you sometime to adjust to life in Jackson. You haven't been around so many people in years — since you left your QZ really. You struggle at first, to make small talk with curious neighbours and to come across as well adjusted and forthcoming. You aren't used to the hustle of a town, of people laughing loudly at social gatherings. But slowly, you grow to enjoy it. You begin volunteering in the kitchens once you've regained most of your strength, around four weeks after you were first found. You like helping with peeling carrots and cutting up vegetables for hearty stews. It gives you a purpose and you've never been good at sitting still. But you had spent years on your own, and with that, you've become good at scouting and combat. So you give it some more time, make certain that your legs feel strong and that you can run without feeling a tug in your lungs and you broach the topic of joining patrols to Maria.
"I think we could arrange something," Maria says, smiling at you. "I'll talk to Tommy since he usually works on the schedules, see where we can fit you. We always need the extra manpower."
"Thanks Maria," you say, beaming. As scary as the outside world can be, you miss it. You miss seeing the smudge of green trees in the horizon and the melting snow sliding off icy branches.
"Tommy'll come by later today with an update," she says and you nod in thanks, before bidding her farewell. You take the long way back to your house, meandering through the streets and avoiding the piles of snow which are slowly beginning to melt as the spring sun begins to break through the cloud of frozen cold that has settled over Jackson. You're too busy avoiding the puddles of muddied water and slush, looking down at your ragged winter boots which is why you end up walking into what feels like a wall of muscle.
"Shit," you say, reaching up and holding onto whoever it is you've just rammed into. The other person grunts, more in surprise than anything. You look up and are met with Joel Miller's dark eyes. His cheeks are red from the cold, as is the tip of his strong nose.
"Alright?" Joel asks, steadying you. Even through the layers of clothes, you can feel the heat of his large hand against your bicep.
"Sorry, Joel," you say, standing up straight. You let go of his arm, taking a small step back so that you're no longer toe to toe. "Wasn't watching where I was going."
"I can tell," Joel says, but his voice isn't sharp. There's a teasing lilt to it. You give him a sheepish smile, shrugging. You've interacted with Joel quite a few times, mostly when Maria would invite you over for supper to her and Tommy's house. He had been quiet at first, almost aloof. But slowly, the two of you had built some sort of friendship, making small talk whenever you ran into each other in town or in the dining hall. Joel was surprisingly easy to talk to once he let his guard down, quick to tease you and crack jokes, which had surprised you at first but was now something that you looked forward to whenever you saw him. If you're being honest with yourself, you're nursing a small crush on him. But can anyone blame you? He's all gentle smiles and little jokes and the flannels and long sleeves he wears are always so tight around his biceps and you're only human.
"What's got you so distracted then?" he follows up and you grin, unable to hide your excitement.
"I'm going to start on patrols," you say. "Maria gave me the all clear and she said she'd talk to Tommy about fitting me into the schedule."
You expect Joel to smile and nod, maybe make some comment about how you're going to have to start waking up at the crack of dawn. Instead, his mouth pulls into a small pout, and his brows furrow. You watch as his jaw clenches and he looks past you for a moment before settling on you again. His gaze always feel weighted when it's on you but now, it feels even heavier.
"Right," he says. "You sure you wanna go on patrols?"
There's something in his voice — stern and serious. You haven't seen this side of Joel ever. It makes you bristle. Sure, you might not be as seasoned as him but you're still capable. You've been able to handle your own since you were thirteen and you won't have anyone doubt you. Not even someone as experienced as Joel.
"I'll be fine," you say, voice more serious now. "I can take care of myself plenty well."
Joel nods, but his eyes are focused and his jaw is still clenched, beneath the greyish brown of his beard.
"I gotta go," he says, sidestepping you. "I'll see you around."
It's abrupt and something is most definitely off but you're still annoyed by his insinuation. So you nod. You can feel his heavy footfalls become fainter and only when you're sure he won't see you do you turn around to catch him turn onto the main street and out of your sight.
A sharp knock on your door interrupts your cooking, if you can call it that. You've been making what you hope is stew for the last hour but there's an almost burnt smell to whats bubbling on your stove and you're fairly sure you've over salted the broth. You turn the stove off, not wanting to burn it any further before you wipe your hands on a terry cloth and head towards your front door. When you swing it open, Tommy Miller stands on the other side. His hair is tied away from his face and he looks flushed from the cold air. You usher him inside, not wanting the frigid weather to seep into your warm home.
"Hey there," Tommy greets. "Maria told me about your interest in startin' on patrols."
"Yeah," you say, voice pitching higher with excitement. "I think I'm good to go back out there. Been itching for it really. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love Jackson but I miss seeing the outdoors."
"Don't much like feelin' cooped up, huh?" Tommy asks and you shake your head.
"Not the biggest fan, no," you agree and he nods. You watch him shift on his feet, something nervous filling the air.
"Listen," Tommy begins. "It's been a bit tricky sortin' out schedules for patrols 'cause we've got so many new people now so I was thinkin' you could help out with construction for a bit. Just until I figure out how to organize the newcomers."
You can feel your brows furrowing. Maria's been talking about how badly they need more people on patrols, especially since a whole unit came back injured a few weeks ago. A couple of people had died at the hands of Clickers, a bloody ambush that had left tensions running high in Jackson.
"Construction?" you ask, sounding incredulous. You haven't built anything, ever, really. "I'm not sure I'd be much help with building things, Tommy."
Tommy chuckles, but he's avoiding your gaze. His shoulders are tense.
"I'm sure Joel will find somethin' for you," Tommy says and you pause. Joel? You think of earlier today and how Joel had reacted when you had told him about being put on patrols. And now, you're magically being reassigned to his team. You can feel your patience wearing thin, irritation slowly building up inside of you.
"Did he put you up to this?" you ask and Tommy rubs the back of his neck, meeting your gaze. He looks as if he'd rather be anywhere but here.
"My brother's a complicated man," Tommy says. "I think it'd be best if you spoke to him."
You scoff, rolling your eyes.
"That's not fair," you say. "How come what he says goes? He's not in charge of me. I'm perfectly capable of going on patrol, Tommy. And you know that. I don't really give a damn if Joel thinks I'm too young or weak or whatever."
Tommy shakes his head, a curl falling loose against his jaw. "It's nothin' like that —"
"Then what is it?" you interrupt. You had spent most of your life being second guessed by people in your QZ and those you had traveled with — people who thought you were too weak because you were a girl. People who viewed your empathy as a flaw, rather than a strength. People who second guessed your decisions, who had been arrogant men who thought they knew it all. And you had let them, because that's what survival meant. But now, you were safe in Jackson and you weren't going to allow Joel Miller of all people, to bully you into submission again.
"I think it's best if you speak with him," Tommy says. "I know you're tough and can handle patrols. So does Maria. Hell, so does Joel, alright? It's just complicated, I suppose. Talk to him."
You sigh, shoulders slumping.
"I just don't get why he has a say in this," you say and Tommy nods.
"He doesn't," Tommy says. "He just…asked me to keep you on construction for a bit and my brother can be damn frustratin' if he doesn't get his way and I don't have the time to argue with him today. M'sorry, this isn't a reflection of your abilities. I know you'd do great on patrol and so does Joel. He's just a fuckin' idiot sometimes. Plus, his crew really are short a couple. We had to put most people on patrol so other things have taken a backseat."
You still don't fully believe him but Tommy sounds desperately tired and you know he has a toddler to get home to so you acquiesce.
"Alright," you say. "But I'm gonna give him hell during my shift."
"I'd expect nothin' less from you," Tommy says, giving you a smile. "You're actually on duty tomorrow mornin'. Bright and early at seven a.m near the west gates. They need reinforcin'."
"I have no idea what that means," you say and Tommy chuckles, shaking his head.
"Get some rest tonight," Tommy says and you nod, waving in farewell.
Once you lock up, you make your way back to the kitchen and spoon some stew into a chipped bowl. It isn't terrible but you're definitely sticking not winning any awards for your culinary skills. You had traded for some fresh cheese earlier in the week so you cut a generous slab into your stew, hoping the creamy saltiness of the dairy might add some level of flavour. While you eat, you think of how you might confront Joel. You don't want to do it in front of the rest of the crew, knowing how quickly gossip spreads in a town as small as Jackson. So maybe you'll pull him aside at the end of the shift. And you'll be firm. You have to be. It doesn't matter if you sometimes think he has dreamy eyes or nice arms. He's making you feel less than, weak, and you won't allow it. Not from anyone.
"Right," Joel says, in a dark green flannel that you would admire on him if you weren't already annoyed with him sabotaging your patrols. He's looking at the crew which consists of you, a man named Landon who you've seen around but never really spoken to and Ellie, who looks like she'd rather be anywhere but here. At least Tommy hadn't been lying when he said they had been understaffed. Still, it doesn't explain why Joel's being such a dick about you going on patrols. Before you can work yourself up, he continues speaking.
"Today's goin' to be fairly simple. We need to move those logs of wood," he gestures to an almost perfect pyramid of wood with a gloved hand, "and place them on the marked areas. If we have time, we'll start reinforcin' with metal wirin' but let's focus on making sure the wood is exactly where it should be."
"Sounds riveting," Ellie says and you snort before you can stop yourself. Joel gives her a stern look but there's softness in his eyes, something fond even though his mouth is pulled into an unamused frown. His eyes then land on you, and now there's something else in his gaze. You don't back down, still frustrated that he had thwarted your opportunity to go on patrol. He's the first to look away, clearing his throat before he speaks once more.
"M'glad you think so," Joel answers and Ellie rolls her eyes. "Ellie, you and I can work together." He then looks to you and Landon. "You two pair up. Grab a pair o' gloves and start with shiftin' those logs and placin' them on the right end of the gap. Ellie and I'll work on the left. That way no one's gettin' confused."
You give Joel a short nod, before you slip on the thick pruning gloves. Landon follows and soon enough, you're slowly moving logs of wood that are deceptively heavy. You already know that your back's going to hate you tomorrow and you make a mental note to pick up some salve from the apothecary.
"You familiar with construction?" Landon asks as the two of you shift a log so that it aligns with the markings. It's maybe been twenty minutes since you started but somehow it feels like two hours.
"No," you sigh. "Can't say I am."
That's about all the small talk that he makes, and you don't make an effort either. You're still stewing in your annoyance. You're not one to stay angry but there's something about this. You had thought Joel was different. He treated you like an equal, never condescending the way most men were. And the truth is, you feel foolish for thinking so. You had developed a fondness for him, for his low drawl and poor attempts at humour. You had considered him a friend, albeit a one you were attracted to, but still. And now, he had questioned your capability just like most other men did.
You're unsure how long it's been when you move the last log in your pile but the position it needs to be laid in is awkward. The angle makes it so you have to hold it on one side, rather than at it's end, while Landon tries to push it into place.
"A bit to the left," you tell Landon and he moves to the right instead. "Your left Landon," you say, and it's at that exact moment that he sneezes. You watch his grip falter and suddenly, the entire log is being supported only by you. It's too sudden and too heavy and you buckle under the weight. You move your feet, trying to widen your stance but your left foot catches on something and your ankle twists. You yelp in pain, and the log falls right onto your newly injured foot.
"What happened?" Joel asks, voice loud and angry. He's looking at Landon who looks, frankly, sort of terrified. Joel's jaw tics and he glares at the log of wood, leaning down to push it off of you. Ellie helps you stand, and when you put pressure on your left foot, you wince. The pain is sharp and unpleasant. You don't think it's anything more than a light sprain, but you'll need to rest it for a few days, at least. Great.
"Here," Joel says, reaching towards you. "Let me."
You feel a flush of embarrassment. All that big talk about being ready for patrols and you've been taken down by a piece of wood. You shake your head, trying to stand up straighter.
"I'm fine," you say, but it's only as convincing as the tears of pain that cloud your vision.
"Your ankle bent in a pretty gnarly way, dude," Ellie says, nose crinkling. "It looked bad."
"Just a light sprain," you say, aiming for nonchalant. "Really. I'll be fine."
"You can't walk on that foot," Joel says, brows furrowed and mouth pulled into a frown. His grey brown hair falls against his forehead, messy from the morning of labour. "I'm goin' to take you home. We're done for the day."
"I'm so sorry," Landon says, eyes apologetic. He sounds genuinely upset.
"S'alright," you say. "It was an accident."
"The next time you feel a sneeze comin'," Joel says, still glaring at Landon. "Let your partner know. This was an easily avoidable injury."
Landon looks like he might cry and it grates on you — Joel acting like you're going to die from a sprained ankle.
"I'm fine," you snap at Joel. "It's a sprained ankle, and I've had much worse. It was an honest mistake, Joel. Let it go."
Joel's sharp gaze falls on you and he looks surprised at your reprimand. He opens his mouth as if to say something and then closes it. You watch his jaw tic and he looks away, his shoulders stiff. An uncomfortable tension settles in the air.
"Okaaaay," Ellie says. "Joel, you should take her back to her house. Me and Landon can wrap up and give Maria and update."
Finally, Joel nods. Ellie and Landon begin moving the fallen log of wood and Joel comes to stand next to you.
"Can you walk?" he asks, and you look up at him. You clear your throat, gently placing pressure on your left foot. It throbs with pain and you suck in a breath, shaking your head.
"Okay," Joel says. "I'm going to have to carry you back to yours. Shouldn't take long. S'that alright?"
You don't have any other options really, and on another day, you'd be glad to be carried by Joel in his strong arms, if you're being honest. So you nod. You feel him wrap an arm around your back, and one under your thighs and he lifts you up slowly. You startle and the sudden shift, wrapping your arms around his neck. You focus on his Adam's apple, not wanting to meet his gaze. All of this feels like too much. You can't remember the last time you've been this close to anyone else. You shift and Joel pulls you closer, adjusting his grip.
"It's alright, I've got you," he says, voice surprisingly gentle. Suddenly, you have the weirdest sense of deja vu. Maybe you dreamed about this or something.
Joel makes his way through the side streets, avoiding any of the main roads, which you're grateful for. You don't like seeming weak and being carried across town by one of the strongest men in Jackson would make you seem exactly that. The only drawback to Joel not using the main streets, is that it makes the journey longer. Long enough that you begin to think of what Tommy had said, how Joel had made it so you wouldn't be put on patrol. How Joel had reacted when you had told him about wanting to go on patrol. And so before you know it, you looking up at Joel and asking him what's been nagging you since yesterday evening.
"Why'd you tell Tommy to take me off of patrols?" you say. "And don't deny it, Joel. He told me himself. Not that he needed to with the way you reacted yesterday."
His dark gaze falls on you and you resist breaking the eye contact, holding your ground.
"I —" he starts before he stops. "I was worried for your safety."
"I can handle myself," you say immediately. "I survived out there, you know. I know I'm not you but I'm strong and capable, you know."
"I know," Joel says quickly. "I know you're tough as nails."
"Yet you still forced Tommy to take me off patrols," you say and Joel sighs.
"It's not like that," he says. His voice is gentler now, a low drawl that you can feel against the side of your head. You shift in his arms and he holds you tighter.
"Then explain it to me," you say, and your voice is softer now too. "Because right now it seems like you think I'm incapable of taking care of myself and others and I don't want to be undermined, Joel. Especially not by you. I thought we were friends."
"Alright," Joel says. "When we get to yours. I'll tell you then."
"Fine," you agree, leaning against his broad chest a bit more. The two of you manage to avoid any passers-by, and when Joel settles you on your old, worn couch, you sigh in relief. Gently, he begins undoing the laces of your boots. He pulls off your right boot and you flex your toes.
"This might hurt a little," he says, holding onto your left boot. You nod and he slowly begins to wiggle it off. You wince and he immediately stills.
"It's fine," you say. "Keep going."
Joel tugs your boot off fully, holding the heel of your foot in his large palm. Slowly, he rolls your sock down, revealing your injured ankle. It looks swollen and he presses his thumb gently into it, gauging your pain.
"How's that feel?" he asks, voice low. He looks up at you and it feels painfully tender. You can't remember the last time you experienced gentleness like this in your adult life.
"Hurts a bit," you say, doing your best to keep your voice even. He nods, standing up. His knees creak and something fond settles in you as you watch him walk towards your fridge. He brings back a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel, gently placing it on your ankle.
"I worry about you far too much," he says, as he adjusts the makeshift ice pack. "Been worryin' about you since I found you all those months ago."
It's an honest confession and you know it takes something out of him, to be so vulnerable. It's also news to you. You didn't know that Joel had been a part of the patrol team that had found you, had always assumed it had been Tommy that had taken you to safety because he had mentioned that he had been the one to come across you, hidden and dying under a frozen oak tree.
"You were the one that carried me back to Jackson," you say. "It's why you carrying me back home just now felt like deja vu."
Joel nods, mouth still pulled into a small frown.
"Never meant to be condescendin' or anythin' like that," he says. "I know I seem old school but I ain't like those men that think women are weak or incapable. Just wanted to keep you safe is all. Didn't go about it in the best way, I can admit that."
You can feel your heart begin to hammer against your chest and you feel warm all over. Joel is still kneeling between your legs, his large palm still holding your throbbing ankle. His eyes are intense as they stay focused on your face. You don't know what this is, where he's coming from, but you have some inclination. And god, you hope you're right.
"How come?" you ask. Joel's mouth twists in a wry smile.
"I like you," he says, voice steady. "I've liked you as long as I've known you. Didn't mean for it to happen and wasn't goin' to tell you at all but I reckon you deserve the truth. Don't want you thinkin' I think any less of your abilities. I know you're a strong woman."
"Oh," you say, shifting. Joel sits up straighter on his knees, so that he's almost eye to eye with you.
"This doesn't have to change anythin'," he says. "I'll talk to Tommy, make sure you get put on patrols once your ankle heals up and I'll stay out of you way. M'sorry about all this."
He goes to stand up but you reach out, settling a hand on his broad shoulders. Joel's eyebrows raise in surprise. It's quiet enough now that surely he can hear the thump thump thump of your pulse.
"Can I kiss you?" you ask, and watch in delight as the apples of his cheeks flush pink.
"Do you want to?" Joel asks, voice low. Up close, you can see the gentle lines of age around his eyes. You nod, moving closer. A hand comes up to cup your face, his calloused palm warm against the line of your jaw. When his mouth presses against yours, you feel hot all over. A flush of warmth consumes you as he gently nudges his nose against your own. You gasp when you feel his tongue against your mouth and open up to him. His tongue presses against your own, and you press yourself closer to him, your chest against his. You're ravenous for more, wanting to feel every point of his body pressed against your own. He presses a thumb at the hinge of your jaw, coaxing it to open more and tilts your head so he can kiss you with more fervour. You lean closer, your legs bracketing his waist, and his other hand is still holding your injured foot. You moan and tug at his grey-brown curls, and you feel him shudder against you. He pulls back, panting.
"Sweetheart," he says, leaning back as you lean forward to kiss him once more. He sounds so damn fond that you can't even bring yourself to be embarrassed at his rejection. "You should get some rest."
"M'fine," you say, voice breathy. "Really."
Joel gives you a gentle smile, rubbing a thumb across your cheekbone. You lean into the touch.
"I'd like to take you out," he says.
"Like a date?" you ask. You didn't think that happened anymore, not in this world. You've never actually been on a date, really.
Joel nods. "Only if you want."
"I just kissed you," you remind him. "Of course I want."
Joel grins now, his crows feet prominent. You smile too.
"Good," he says. "Get some rest. I'll talk to Tommy about puttin' you back on patrols. And I'll come by again, if that's okay. Just to check in."
You nod. You watch him lean forward, pressing a soft kiss to your mouth. He pulls back far too soon for your liking.
"I'll see you soon," you say and Joel nods. His knees creak as he stands up and affection blooms in your chest.
"Are you sure this is fine?" you ask Joel for what's probably the fifth time. You're in your nicest pair of jeans and a fitted long sleeve. Underneath, you're wearing the nicest bra and underwear you own, both black and with lace trimmings although they're not a set. It's been almost ten days since you hurt your ankle, and it's almost fully healed now.
"S'more than fine, you look beautiful," Joel says and you smile.
"You know, if you just tell me where we're going, I'll stop bothering you," you say and Joel shakes his head.
"I told you where we're goin': out," Joel says and you groan.
"Like out to The Tipsy Bison? Or to Lola's cafe? Or to the barn?" you ask and Joel shakes his head.
"Out as in put your boots on and let's go," Joel says but his voice is gentle. You do slip into your boots and grab a coat. Although it's spring in Jackson, the air still has a light chill to it. Joel opens the door, gesturing for you to go first. When you're outside, he steps up beside you. There's a backpack leaning against your porch which Joel slips on, the straps tight against his broad shoulders. He looks so handsome. His hair is combed and pushed back from his face, and he's wearing a dark green flannel and dark wash jeans. He smells like laundry detergent and something smoky.
"When was the last time you went on a date?" you ask Joel as he leads the way to your mystery location. You watch him think for a while before he speaks.
"I think it was the summer of 2003," Joel says. "Went to a bar with someone Tommy tried to set me up with."
"Was it nice?" you ask, genuinely curious. You know it isn't proper etiquette to ask your date about their other dates but it was twenty-two years ago now so you doubt it matters much.
"It was alright," Joel says. "She didn't like it much that I was a single father so we both knew it wouldn't go anywhere."
"Oh," you say. "Well lucky me, then."
You watch Joel's mouth tug in a smile.
"How about you?" he asks and you laugh.
"This would be my first," you say. "Was pretty young when the world went to shit and dating wasn't really a priority after that."
"Well I'd better make it good then," Joel says and you hum.
"Lotta pressure on you," you say, voice teasing.
"Reckon I can handle it," Joel says, eyes dark as they trace over your face. Your stomach flips and you can feel your ears growing warmer. You hadn't even realized until now that Joel's led you to a clearing, near the far edge of the walled part of Jackson. It's beautiful. There isn't anything around except the shade of trees and fresh grass. Wildflowers are beginning to bloom everywhere, along with bunches of lavender and daisies. The sun in warm and the sky is the bluest you've ever seen it. It's a perfect day, really.
"Is this what you meant by out?" you ask and Joel hums.
"You've been cooped up at home because of your foot and I know Tommy's put you on schedule for patrols soon but I thought you might like bein' outdoors for a while. Thought we might have a picnic here," Joel says, rubbing the back of his neck. He seems almost shy, now.
"It's lovely," you say, meaning it. "This is perfect Joel."
He seems pleased, giving you a small smile. You both set up a picnic blanket and Joel insists you take a seat so you do, and watch him lay out the spread. There's a basket of fresh blackberries and sandwiches made with fresh bread and thick slices of cheese. He even has a tumbler of freshly squeezed lemonade. And then he brings out generous slices of chocolate cake, the frosting thick and shiny. You can't remember the last time you had chocolate. Actually, you can. It had been in your QZ, almost a decade ago now. You had traded a pack of cigarettes for a dry bar of chocolate and cried as you ate in your cramped, makeshift bed.
"Joel," you say. "You should have told me. I could have helped, brought something too."
Joel shakes his head. "No need for all that," he says. He hands you a sandwich and then takes one for himself. In between bites of buttered bread and soft cheese, you ask each other questions. It feels like the two of you have been doing this for a long while. There's nothing uncomfortable or awkward about it.
"You're tellin' me your favourite movie was The Princess Bride?" Joel asks and you nod.
"It has everything! Action, romance, drama, humour. It's perfect," you argue and Joel shakes his head, a smile tugging at his mouth.
"That ain't no action movie, sweetheart," he says and the term of endearment settles warmly in your chest. "Now Curtis and Viper, on the other hand."
You laugh, shaking your head. "Absolutely not, Joel. I've never even heard of it."
"Well then I'll just have to show you some time," he says and the prospect of another date, of multiple of them, makes your heart flutter.
"Fine," you say. "Only if you rewatch The Princess Bride with me. You gotta give it another chance."
Joel sighs, but you know he's not being serious.
"Deal," he agrees, passing you the lemonade. You take a swig of it, handing it over to him. You watch him place is mouth right where yours was, taking a drink. You track the movement of his Adams apple, suddenly feeling hot. The two of you haven't kissed since that first time, and if you're being honest, you've been desperate for him ever since. Joel tracks your movement, and you can tell there's a shift in the air. Something tangible between the two of you that you want to reach out and feel.
"I got this cake from Lola's cafe," Joel says, putting a slice in front of you. "So you were sorta right."
You smile, taking a bite. The chocolate is rich and melts on your tongue, the sponge of the cake soft and moist. You can't help but make a noise of pleasure, and when you look up at Joel, his dark eyes are trained on you.
"You should try some," you say and Joel nods. Before he can reach out for his own fork, you spear a piece onto yours and bring it to his mouth. Your gaze stays on him as he takes the bite from your fork, as he chews and swallows, all the while still watching you. It feels shockingly intimate, even more so than your kiss.
"S'good," Joel agrees, nodding. You spend the next few minutes swapping bites of the cake and talking some more. Joel tells you about how he wanted to be a singer, how his favourite colour is dark grey, about how he likes the movie nights in Jackson because the popcorn reminds him of the overpriced kind at AMC. In turn, you tell him about how you tried to dye your hair on your own when you were younger and how you had to end up chopping a good portion of it off, how you don't know how to swim even though it's a necessary survival skill and he offers to teach you. By the time you're done with the slice, you know so much more about Joel and it still doesn't feel like enough. You want to know everything about him, really.
The two of you pack up quietly, something buzzing in the air. You help put the used utensils in his wicker basket, and take turns finishing up the lemonade. When there's no other reason to dawdle, you clear your throat.
"I had such a lovely time, Joel," you say. "You set a high bar for any future dates I go on."
He cracks a smile, taking a step closer to you. You look up, to maintain meeting his gaze.
"Hopefully it's a bar that only I have to meet," Joel says, eyes tender.
"I think that's a fair assumption," you say, voice quieter.
"Can I kiss you?" Joel asks and you're barely done nodding before his mouth is on yours. This kiss feels just as feverish as the first, but there's something else there. Something more tender. He grips the back of your neck, tilting your head upwards, and you grant him access to your mouth. You whimper when his tongue touches your own and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. You slot your legs between his, the seam of your pants and his strong thigh providing a delightful pressure against your core. You can't resist moving your hips, needing more. Joel lets you, his hand going down to grip your hip and guide the movement. He pulls back, looking down to where you're rutting against him and swears.
"Fuck," he says. "I'm trying to be a gentleman."
"I know," you say, leaning your forehead against his chin. "I wish you weren't."
"You deserve a bed, sweetheart. Not me takin' you hear like some sort of animal."
"I don't mind," you say. "Really. Maybe we can do it again, on a bed. Multiple times even."
You feel more than hear him laugh, his chest shaking against your own. He presses a gentle kiss to your forehead before he maneuvers the two of you. You let him. He lays you down on the thick picnic blanket, hovering over you.
"I won't have you like this," Joel says, voice gruff. "You deserve more than that." You're about to protest, tell him you really don't care but before you can, he begins unbuttoning your jeans.
"But I'll give you somethin' to tide us over, hm?" he says, and you lift your hips so he can pull them down to your thighs. You watch his gaze darken when he sees your underwear. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your clothed mound, pressing his nose right to your clit and you shudder.
"Joel," you sigh and he presses another kiss to you. You can feel yourself throb, feel the wetness grow even more. Slowly, he pulls the gusset of your underwear to the side, running a finger against where you're desperate for him. He then presses a kiss to your cunt before he runs his tongue over your sopping folds. You moan, arching your back. His large arm comes to rest against your hips and he settles himself on his front.
"Okay, sweetheart?" he asks, looking up at you. His hair, which was previously pushed back and neat, is messy now with strands falling against his tan forehead. You nod, tilting your hips subconsciously against his arm and he grins before he goes back down. He eats you out like a man that's starving, his tongue moving against you in a rhythm so pleasurable that you think this might be one of the best moments of your life. He presses his nose to your clit and you shudder, moving desperately against him. Slowly, you feel something breach your hole, a thick finger that slowly prods at your entrance. You whimper as he curls his index finger into, finding that spot inside of you that you can never find yourself.
"Oh my god, Joel," you moan, as his tongue and his finger move in unison. He groans against you, his breath hot, and continues his ministrations. He slips a second finger in and pulls back to watch you.
"You're takin' it so good, sweetheart," he says, his mouth glistening in the sun. "Would you take the rest of me just like this?"
You nod, pushing your cunt against his fingers. You can feel the pressure building inside you, a rubber band waiting to snap.
"Joel, I can't, I'm gonna come," you say and he moves back, pressing his mouth to your clit. You can feel yourself dripping onto the blanket below you, so wet that you're thighs are smeared with it too. You whimper when your orgasm hits, hips lifting up off the ground despite Joel's arm holding you down.
"Attagirl," Joel says, lifting up and watching as you shudder. You cover your face with your hands as the waves of pleasure wash over you, your nipples stiff against the material of your long sleeve.
It takes you a few minutes but you come back to yourself. You move your hands from your face and rest your upper body on your elbows, lifting up to find Joel watching you reverently. He gives you a gentle smile, pressing a kiss to where your thigh meets your hips before he moves you underwear so it covers you again. Then, he presses another soft kiss to your sensitive clit through the cotton fabric of your panties and you shiver.
"Okay?" he asks, and you nod, sitting up.
"Better than," you say and he grins. "I want to do the same for you."
You watch his already pink cheeks flush even more as he shifts up so that he's no longer flat on the ground. He kneels between your open legs, and something like embarrassment plays on his face.
"I, uh," he starts. "I'm already taken care of."
It takes you a second to understand what he means. He came from eating you out. You feel a throb of want between your legs and before you know it, you're pulling him down, pressing your mouth to his in a desperate kiss. He tastes different now, something muskier coating his plush mouth. He groans when you push your tongue into his mouth, wanting to taste more. He angles your jaw, pushing at the hinge so your mouth widens and it's almost as if you're both trying to devour each other. You can feel your cunt throb once more. When he pulls back, his chest is moving with the deep breaths he's taking.
"You're gonna kill me," he says and you grin, pressing a kiss to his chin.
"Good thing I'll be on patrol sometimes," you say. "It'll help keep me distracted from you."
Joel hums, pressing another soft kiss to your mouth. You like the way his mustache tickles your skin. Slowly, the two of you part. He helps you button your jeans and slip on your coat. You run your hand through his hair, fixing the messed up strands so that they're no longer falling against his forehead. The two of you pack up slowly, sharing small smiles and warm glances. When you begin walking back to Jackson, Joel pulls you to him, his large arm draped over your shoulder. He tucks you into his side like you're something precious.
"I am sorry about how I went about it but I can't say I regret the outcome of me tryin' to keep you off of patrols, sweetheart," Joel says and you laugh.
"Me neither," you agree, and he presses a kiss to your forehead.
On your first day of patrol, Joel comes by early to give you a pair of soft, leather riding gloves.
"Stay safe," he says, as watches you slip them into your coat pocket. You nod, giving him a smile. You lean up and press your mouth against his own, a gentle kiss.
“what are you doing this weekend” i am going to fantasy land. i am hiding under the covers in bed. i am making things up. i am contemplating events that didnt happen. i am talking to fake people. i am listening to my tunes. i am envisioning scenarios
Everyone Else Is Doing It, So Why Cant We? @ivyinthesun - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
