summary: you take your dad’s carpenter to the beach as a well-deserved break and he helps you out in more ways than one (1. he pees on your foot after a jellyfish attack, 2. he fucks you afterward)
wc: 4,7k
cw: smut 18+ piss kink! (tit shower), joel pees on r’s ankle (medically but still sexy) dbf sorta, bratty!reader, joel getting many inconvenient boners, banter, showering together (p in v)
note: i’m so grateful for the support on my first fic! that one was pretty sweet so i hope you are also down to get dirty
The beach is the one place that has never failed you — whether it’s the one in your hometown or somewhere out of state, whether the waves are heavy or soft, whether you lay your blanket on small gray colored stones or bright yellow sand, you never return home in disappointment.
Even when you came home, the joy wasn’t over. There’s next to nothing more comforting than soaking the salt out of your hair under a cold, refreshing shower, sweeping up the path of sand you left on your way to the bathroom, and then taking a seat on the couch in your pj’s as you await the pizza that you ordered.
Today’s prospects were a bit… different. But that isn’t going to stop you from fully enjoying this summer day.
It’s been just over a week since you went to stay at your dad’s. To be fair, the main reason for visiting this summer was the beach. You always thought it ironic that the person with the least interest in sand and sea owns a house just ten minutes from one of your favorite beaches. Over time, the place has become a tourist attraction. Gone were the days of being the only person there to watch the sunset, or having it be the most magical moment when a local got proposed to on the long, calm shore. The sting hasn’t yet faded, but neither have the memories that return to you in a childlike joy each time that your feet hit the familiar waves.
You just hoped Joel wouldn’t ruin that today.
It’s weird to take your father’s carpenter on a beach trip with you (you were aware of that and had reminded your dad of the fact multiple times, but he stayed insistent). Joel had been working on the house’s extension for a month now, and the entire time you’ve been around, Joel had been there too. Your dad thought it logical for his daughter to show the hardworking man a place where he could fully relieve stress before starting yet another month of construction.
You think Joel is nice company, you don’t mind having him around. He makes enough small talk at the breakfast table so that the conversations don’t fall silent but keeps to himself enough to not be in your way. And he did work hard — like your father had mentioned — you had noticed that. Noticed a little too well, actually. It was difficult to not stare as he hammered new pillars into the ground with his sleeves pulled up his biceps. Or to not catch a peek when he would pull the bottom of his shirt up to wipe dry the drops of sweat on his forehead after working in the sun, causing you to notice the dusty dark hairs on his abdomen that disappear behind his belt. It was even harder to deny the tension when you handed him a cup of coffee or a glass of water, and he’d hold your stare for a little too long to be casual as his fingers would brush against yours.
Anyhow, it was certain that he deserves a day off.
And you more than deserve a day of looking at Joel Miller in red trunks.
🪼
The sun’s burning heat is undeniable as you throw the passenger’s door shut behind you. Even the small walk from the car to the beach seems dreadful, but that’s long forgotten about when you take a whiff of the salty tang of the sea — your reluctance quickly replaced by anticipation.
An excited flutter of nerves is added to your anticipation when Joel rounds the car to get the coolbox and umbrella out of the trunk. “Do you need some help?”
He releases a small huff (the only visible sign of effort) as he takes the items out and carries them at once. “Nah, I’m good.”
You start walking, not needing to look at the directions on the wooden sign as your feet lead you to sand. There’s a slight breeze in the air, a pleasant relief from the humidity. Every now and then the wind hoists up the skirt of your breathable sundress, but you don’t mind; showing off the bikini you’re wearing underneath feels less scandalous than underwear. Besides, you enjoy the obvious stares you’re getting from Joel as he follows behind you.
“You want it here?”
Joel places the coolbox down on the warm sand, umbrella still in hand as he hovers it above the spot that you had suggested. You give him a nod, and he pushes the pole into the ground, applying pressure with the palm of his hand like he’d done to the fence in your garden earlier that week. The muscles in his back move beneath the faded shirt that he’s wearing, and even the darker stains of sweat blooming across it have an appealing effect on you.
“Perfect! Thanks,” you reply, snapping out of the haze you were in.
The next steps are a routine for you: laying out two towels (making sure to fold the edges into the sand so the wind doesn’t blow them away), pulling your necessities out of the large beach bag you’ve brought with you (sunglasses, a book, and sunscreen), and lastly pulling your dress from your body, struggling as it’s already sticking onto your damp skin.
Joel’s sitting against the umbrella pole, his legs spread lazily across the shaded sand, sandals still on but a little kicked back. He’s wearing his sunglasses, thinking it’s making the act of eyeing you up and down invisible.
You eye him back just as unapologetically as you rub the sunscreen into your skin in slow circles. You move on to your breasts, the tops of your fingers disappearing into the sides of your bikini top to make sure you’re not missing any spots.
“Want some?” you offer casually, playing into the idea that you’re not seeing how he’s obviously peeking over his sunglasses.
Joel stares at the bottle in your hand like you’re offering him a poisonous apple, then darts his attention away to the sea. “I’m good.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Skin cancer isn’t sexy, Miller.”
He makes a face, and you grin when he extends his hand to you. “Fine,” he mutters. You squirt a generous amount of lotion into his palm. He rubs it in his calloused palms before spreading it out over his forearms and legs.
“You’re not gonna get a tan if you keep your shirt on.”
“I can’t get to my back.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” you reply with a bright grin.
“Come onnn, Joel,” you encourage when Joel gives you a flat look. “I’m a professional, I promise.”
His lips twitch slightly. He shakes his head once and then moves on to tugging his shirt off his body, pulling it up over his head and letting it drop onto the towel beside him. You try to not let yourself linger on the broadness of his figure as he stands up. Still, you catch a quick look at his upper body, all sunkissed skin and softness, though the strength that it holds is undeniable.
“Uh, okay, turn around.”
You quickly inhale at the expanse of his back. It’s a wrong thing to admit maybe, but this time you take your sweet time admiring him while squeezing some more sunscreen into your hand.
His breath hitches before your hands had even touched him, just ghosting along his shoulders. His muscles tense when you eventually do, but quickly relax as you massage the sunscreen deep into the ridges of his back. He doesn’t speak about the small groan that escapes his chest when you let your fingers carefully trace down his spine, and he doesn’t stop you either when you let the tips of your fingers linger over the spots you’ve already smeared in.
When you finish, you pull back rather fast. Aware of how long you’ve been touching him, his skin suddenly turned to fire underneath your palms.
“Okay, you’re all done.”
There’s no movement coming from Joel.
You clear your throat, leaning in to see that his eyes are still closed. “Did you hear me?”
Suddenly, he jerks, electrocuted out of his thoughts. “Damn it. Yes, I heard.”
Your second-guessing has now turned to giddiness. Joel has his hands in front of his trunks, obviously covering something. The flush crawling up his neck is enough confirmation.
You give him a playful push against his shoulder. “I’m going for a swim.”
🪼
Maybe Joel did ruin today, was the first thought that popped into your mind when you were knee-deep in the sea. The second thought you spoke out loud. Screamed, more like.
“Fuck! Son of a bitch jellyfish!”
Your hands reach in the water to clutch at your foot, and that’s when you see the dreaded creature: slimy and transparent and petrifying with its long, stinging tentacles as it swims away from you in a fast sweep.
“You fucker,” you curse after him as it disappears in the crowd of people, ready to find its next victim. You whisper-yell a string of curses that has the families with little kids around you attacking you with side-eyes, but you are too busy to care as you slap saltwater onto your ankle in a desperate attempt to lighten the hell-like burn.
The horror stories turn out to be true, as your ankle swells faster than expected. It’s getting difficult to find the energy to swim to the shore, the big waves catching up on you and pulling you under every time you're nearing the beach.
Your dad has always told you you were one for the dramatics, and for a second you thought that this would be your end: dying around a crowd of happy tourists who are not paying a single sliver of attention to the woman who’s visibly struggling to keep her head above water. At least you would die in your happy place.
But then a glimmer of red caught your vision.
Usually, red means danger. This time it meant Joel Miller.
“Miller!” you shout, waving your hand around. “Help!”
He stood just a few feet away from you, still on the sand. He had heard your pleas, though, staring you down with a raised eyebrow, arms crossed against his chest, and… was that a scowl?
“Joel! I’m drowning!”
Joel pushes his sunglasses up his nose, as if he needed a second look first before getting into action. “You’re not drowning,” he grunts in conclusion. Yup, it was definitely a scowl.
With a huff, you wave him off, deciding to be your own savior. Shakily, you manage to get on your feet, and it’s just then that you realize that the beach is a lot nearer than it seemed when you were lying flat in the water.
“You didn’t get in deeper than your knees, babygirl. I watched you.”
A flush of heat crawls up your neck, and you’re not sure whether it’s because of the embarrassment or because Joel just admitted that he’d been watching you.
He crouches down as he catches you struggling to stand on your painful foot, hands reaching out instinctively as he places your foot on top of his thigh, inspecting the nasty burn.
“What’d you do now?”
“I didn’t—“ you start in defense of the false accusation, whipping your head around to try to find the long gone jellyfish. “Jellyfish. It stung me.”
Joel frowns, a rough hand wrapping around your calf and inching closer to get a better look. His palm feels hot around your leg, a different kind of hot than the warmth that’s spreading because of the sting.
It has been a while since someone has touched you. Let alone a man, one like Joel Miller. It seemed like he was able to dissolve the pain by just a few light brushes of his fingers, or maybe it was just that your heart was pounding too hard to think of the throbbing in your leg.
It was the latter.
The second Joel removed his hand from you, the burn reappeared.
A sharp hiss escapes your mouth, and Joel looks up at you in concern. “Christ,” he mutters. “Hurts bad?”
“Yes, fuck, it hurts a lot,” you reply through gritted teeth.
Come on, you’ve been visiting the beach all your life. You know the remedy…
Joel’s shaking his head when you look up at him, already pulling away as he takes two steps back on the sand.
“Nope. Not doin’ it.”
“Doing what?” you snap back in confusion.
His eyes flick to yours, then to your leg, then away. His jaw clenches. “Ain’t pissin’ on ya.”
Your face grows even hotter by the unasked-for rejection. “I didn’t even ask you to—“
“That’s what you were about to say,” he cuts in.
“You’re not a mindreader, Joel.”
He looks you up and down, eyes taking you in like he can see right through you. “Well, you’re not that hard to read.”
You blink, flustered. “Joel, I’m in pain. You need to help me somehow.”
“They probably sell lotion somewhere here,” he grumbles, already turning to leave for one of the beach shops.
“There’s no time for lotion! It hurts, Joel. You need to do something right away when it comes to burns like these. That’s the curse of jellyfish!”
Joel pinches the bridge of his nose. “Darlin’, I ain’t about to stand here and pee on you.”
“Fine,” you snap, mustering up the power to fully stand despite the sting crawling up your leg. “I’ll do it myself.”
That gets his attention. His head jerks toward you as you stumble off. “Where are you even going?”
“To some desolate rocks. I don’t need everyone to see me pee myself.”
“The hell you will.”
“Why not?” you challenge.
“Cause—“ he sputters. “Jesus, that’s not how it works. A woman can’t—“
“Oh?” You say in an insulted tone. “So you don’t have the time to pee on my foot, but you do have the time to teach me — a woman — about my own anatomy?”
He rubs his hands down his face, muttering something about you being “such a menace” and then pulls you by your arm to the nearest hidden spot.
“Get down.”
“Ooh, so dominant,” you tease as you go to sit down, extending your injured leg.
He rolls his eyes. “Thought you were one of those quiet ones.”
You hum as his hands reach for his trunks. “My true nature shows when someone is getting on my nerves.”
His eyes blow wide as if surprised that he’s the one getting on your nerves and not the other way around.
“This is ridiculous, you know that, right?” He complains as he tugs the shorts down his thighs, now only covered by his dark underwear.
“Mhm.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, distracted by the muscles in his thighs and the visibly large bulge that’s facing you.
One more scoff and he rips the bandage off — aka his underwear. His cock jumps free with a slap against his abdomen, having you jolt back against the sand.
“You’re hard.”
“Shit,” Joel curses, as if he’s just come to the realization of the fact. “Just— Just give me a minute.”
You bite your lip to control your laughter when Joel turns around. He’s clearly struggling, nails digging into his fists, his head hanging down, and his mind probably going through the steps of building a roof to distract himself from the other thoughts that are plaguing him.
“Don’t think it worked,” you state when he turns around, his cock twitching at the sight of you leaning on your elbows on the sand.
“Damn it. Shut it will ya?”
“Alright, sir,” you chirp playfully before locking your lips in a dramatic way.
Another shake of his head. It must be his favorite movement. The stillness around you brings back focus to the burn on your calf, still not fucking gone. The pain allows you to hold still and keep quiet as Joel takes hold of his cock. With his other hand he rubs over his bladder, trying his best to let the stream escape.
And then it does.
A breath of relief escapes the both of you as warm liquid spills onto your leg, coating the skin. Funnily enough, it’s rather intimate, Joel hovering over your frame, completely nude, relieving himself as he watches you with careful eyes. It makes your stomach tingle.
“Quit acting like you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Only when you do.”
The smart retort annoys him. But you can tell that he’s into it. Fuck, it’s pretty obvious. You can tell by his pupils that have grown twice their size, visible even from the distance you’re at, and the heaving of his chest is another undeniable sign.
You don’t know what overcomes you when you move forward, crawling onto your knees so the stream lands perfectly in the dip between your breasts.
“Fuck, what are you—”
You moan, way too fucking loudly. Before you can whip your head around to take a peek over the rocks — to see if someone had heard — you’re distracted by the throaty groan Joel lets out. His hips stutter, and he’s gripping his cock by the shaft to direct the leakage over the rest of your tits.
When the last drops fall down on you, he squeezes himself at the base and gives a few tugs on the length, letting the droplets fall onto your nipples, giving you everything he has.
“Don’t,” he warns, holding his hand up in a halt motion as you open your mouth. “Please just tell me that worked.”
You look at your ankle and cringe. “It didn’t.”
🪼
The ride back is tense, to put it simply.
It’s reminiscent of those nostalgic rides back from high school, your dad picking you up after detention and knowing deep in your bones that you’d be on house arrest without him having to tell you. The ride with Joel also feels like you’re about to be punished, although in a more sexual and fun but still nervewrecking way.
You sit with your arms crossed over your chest, wet bikini sticking stubbornly to your skin. The seatbelt digs into the tender line of your collarbone. Joel isn’t looking much more comfortable; sand is clinging to his chest, some of it having grown hard and dry in the mess of hairs that cover his body. He’s gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands, as if afraid he’d reach out to touch you if he didn’t keep his hands busy.
You wish he would, though — touch you, that is. Your leg is still burning with a passion, and the itching seems to have only gotten worse by the saltiness that Joel has relieved on you. You had both come to the conclusion that trying to wash it off with salt water wouldn’t be of help either, so Joel informed himself at the beach desk and bought a cream. Only to be applied after a shower, so now you’re heading back to your place.
At least the drive wasn’t quiet. Where your dad would keep the volume of the radio down to let you linger in silence, Joel let the rest of the road get swallowed away by some classic rock and acoustic country. You even catch him humming along to some songs and find yourself holding your breath to not remind him of your presence in hopes that he continues.
When he pulls into the driveway, Joel stops the car but doesn’t kill the engine. Instead he reaches in the back to grab the paper bag containing the cream that he’d bought earlier and hands it to you. “Alright. You get inside, shower off. I’ll bring the beach stuff with me tomorrow.”
Your head whips toward him. “What? You’re not coming inside?”
Joel gives a small sigh.
“You promised my dad to stay for dinner,” you argue with a pout. “You can’t bail. I already told him to bring three pizzas after work.”
Joel rubs at the back of his neck, visibly in dubio. “It ain’t smart to—”
“It’s just pizza, Joel,” you cut in. “You’re already here. And you look like you’re a minute away from turning into a sand sculpture. You could have a nice shower.” Preferably not on his own.
“‘M not gonna use your daddy’s shower.”
You cock your head. “Not his, obviously. You’ll be working here for ages if you also have to clean up his bathroom from the mess you’ll make. You can use mine, it’ll be sandy anyway.”
Joel groans, swallowing down some curses before taking the key out of the car.
Nerves are buzzing throughout your entire body as you’re walking the stairs with Joel. He’s got an arm wrapped around your figure, probably against his will, but you needed his help guiding you up the stairs with all of your limping.
You twist the handle of your bathroom door, and Joel lets you sit on the toilet seat as he turns the shower on. The water gushes onto the floor in hot spatters, a shiver crawling down your spine as the sound reminds you of Joel’s earlier act.
Speaking of Joel, he closes the shower doors so the water doesn’t escape and then leans against the cool tiled wall. “You go first.”
You look up at him through your lashes. “Can’t really stand on my own.”
“Jesus Christ,” he groans. “It can’t hurt that bad.”
“It stings!”
He waves his hand out to the shower. “Just get the hell in there.”
You slip out of your sandy bikini, hiding your smirk as the fabric falls from your hand to the ground as Joel’s hand replaces it. He walks you to the shower, eyes focused intently on the ceramic tiling.
“You can hold yourself by the faucet,” he explains.
“I don’t see the point in showering separately if I’ve already seen you naked. And now you’ve seen me. No big deal.”
His mouth parts — like he wants to argue — instead he goes for scrubbing a hand over his beard and letting his eyes drag over your bare skin before snapping away. “This is a bad idea.”
“Why? You’re scared you can’t handle me, Miller?”
“Fuckin’ menace.”
“What’s that?” You tease.
“Just make way, I said.”
The water hisses against your shoulders as you take a step back, making space for Joel to enter. He strips down his cold, half-dried trunks, exposing an evident tan. The thick muscles of his thighs are a shade lighter, and so is his cock, which is still hanging stiff and flushed from earlier.
The spray hits both of you, only adding to the heat that’s hanging between you. You glance at how the droplets drip down the ridges of his stomach and the curve of his waist. Goosebumps rise on your skin as his hand brushes past you, reaching for the bottle of shower gel.
“Turn around.”
It’s the same command you’d given him when you’d rubbed sunscreen into his back, only his voice is lower and rougher. You smile at the flutter in your stomach and turn.
There’s a soft click of the shower gel cap opening, then the slap of liquid into his palm before the sound of the bottle closing fills the foggy cabin. Joel’s hands land on your waist, giving you a light squeeze to indicate to put your arms up as his palms glide across your skin. He rubs his soap-slick thumbs into the line where your bikini used to be, massaging away the tightness that the top had left. Then he slides across your ribs, following the curve of your breasts, until his warm hands palm your tits.
He pauses behind you, asking you for your permission with his body language. You don’t move. Don’t breathe. Just let out a small moan to indicate how badly you want him to continue.
His palms spread wider, his fingertips grazing over the soft skin. He releases a low growl, rough thumbs dragging over your nipples through the bubbles of soap. You arch your back into the solidness of his chest, and then his mouth is at your neck, breathing you in as his beard grazes you. His lips part, wet and hot against the curve of your throat, before he presses them into a kiss.
“Joel—” the soft moan you release is inevitable.
“Should tell me to stop,” he murmurs against your throat before placing another open-mouthed kiss on it. His thumbs roll over your nipples, catching them between his thumbs. “Should’ve told me a long time ago.”
“Don’t want you to stop,” you whine, rolling your hips into the hard press of his length.
“Christ, babygirl,” he groans, the sound vibrating through your chest. His hands trail down your body, holding you by your waist. “You’ve got no idea what you’re asking for.”
“Then show me.”
The second Joel kisses you, you know that it’s over for you — that nothing else will ever compare. His hand is gripping your jaw, tilting it to him and keeping your face in place as he wraps his tongue around yours. Fully taking what you’ve been teasing him with all day — what belonged to him.
One hand is still on your hip, the other is pinning your wrist against the tiled wall above your head. You gasp when he pulls your leg up — the same one that burned from the jellyfish sting — and hooks his hand behind your knee, opening you up for him. He lowers himself through his knees as well, just enough to point his swollen cock at your entrance.
“Ah, yes. Yeah,” Joel groans into your ear. “Keep holding on like that, that’s it.”
The blunt head of his cock rubs along your slick folds, stretching you out as he pushes in. Your cunt is gripping his cock, coating him in your wetness, before he has even fully entered. A hiss leaves his teeth as he braces against you; his warm body squeezed is against yours. The water splashes loudly as he starts thrusting his hips, all the way in, and then pistons his length out of you, leaving no time to waste.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, voice strangled. “Pussy’s killing me.”
“You’re loving it,” you shoot back in a smug laugh, one that quickly turns into a whimper when he deepens his motions. You almost stumble if it weren’t for him holding you so firmly.
“I love makin’ it hard for you to stand. Wish you could see yourself, lookin’ like a pretty deer on those shaky knees.”
The water rolls down his body and falls onto yours with his movements. His thrusts are fast yet deep, kissing your cervix with every drag of his cock. His hand squeezes your ass, forcing you to meet every thrust. Wet squeaks fill the cabin, not only from your breasts as they rub over cold tile but also from the water mixing in with the sloppiness of your bodies colliding,
“Fuck, feel you squeezin’ me so tight.”
You whine. “Feels good, Joel! God, feels so fucking good.”
“Feels good, hm?” he hums in your ear. “Then be good to me too. Come for me, you can do it. I’m right here.”
His permission was all you needed. Your climax tears through you, core clenching as sudden hot waves take over your body. Cries of his name echo off the shower walls, motivating Joel to fucks you more erratically. His grip bruises, pace picking up as he’s desperately chasing his own release.
With a strangled groan, he buries himself inside of you, spilling hot white release, so much that it drips down your thighs. Your eyes are fluttered shut, completely overwhelmed with the sensation coursing through you.
For a moment, neither of you move. The air is filled by your heavy breathing, by the running water that washes away the last traces of sand, sea, and sex. “That was too fuckin’ naughty,” Joel sighs against your temple but takes away the momentary guilt you’ve felt by pressing a calm kiss against the spot.
“Worked though,” you smile cheekily, turning in his grasp so he’s facing you. “Sting’s gone.”
“Bet you still feel a sting in here,” Joel whispers, thumb tracing your stomach.
You hum, tilting your head to smile against his shoulder. “Think it will take some time for that one to fade away.”
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