I feel like Joe's the type of guy during a heatwave to complain about the heat but still insist on cuddles. And I just imagine both parties being grumpy from the heat but also from not being able to just cuddle.
lil short one! sticky sweaty cuddles with a lil side of grump!
Wordcount: 1.5K
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That Better?
"Where do you think you're going?" you can barely make out the words Joe's mouth tries to shape. He's pressed up against your chest, his whole cheek stuck to your skin in a way that makes his lips go funny.
It's uncomfortable. Way too hot and sticky. Outside you can see another flash, and hear the sky rumble in the distance. No rain yet, though. Just humidity.
"Joe," you warn when he tightens his grip on you as you try to move away a little. "Please, it's too hot." You use both hands to find his shoulders to create some space in between the two of you.
It's difficult, because you're fatigued with the heat, and Joe is stronger than you.
"The fan's on." Joe argues, though it's dry and flat, no energy to put any heat behind his words. It's already hot enough.
He holds on, quite tightly at that, and you huff a breath into his face as you relax again. You're too weak. The room already feels stifling and heavy without a person stuck to you, but Joe's lying right on top, and you desperately need the fan to hit the areas of your body that he's covering with all of his right now.
But Joe doesn't want to move.
He's grumpy for it too, but he needs the cuddles to get to sleep, no matter how warm and sweaty and gross it feels.
Which, it does.
Everything feels damp.
It's silent for a while, until you can feel a drop of sweat make its way down your scalp, sliding through your hair slowly and then picking up speed when it gets to your neck.
It's disgusting.
"I'm not even moving and I can feel myself sweat." you complain, but Joe just hums. Adds, "Yea, it's sweltering." in agreement. He can feel you sweat too, but knows that it just means that the fan feels nicer for it. He doesn't add that bit of information - fan feels like a sensitive subject now. You had just had a big fight over whether or not to sleep with the floor fan on.
It wasn't exactly a silent one - the fan or the fight.
Joe desperately wishes for the fan to be moved out of the bedroom; it's a big floor fan that sounds like an airplane taking off, he'd always say. But you need it on. You'll take the loud constant whir that will bring you an actual breeze over suffering in a dead silent humid room that feels more like a sauna than anything else.
"Baby, you know I can't sleep with it on. It's too loud."
"Can't sleep with a fan on, but can fall asleep in the middle of The Expendables." you'd sarcastically said, making a face at him. The Expendables was basically a whole film of big loud explosions. He'd insisted on watching it the other day, and then fell asleep about 15 minutes into it.
"You know that's not-" Joe sighed with frustration. "That's hardly the same."
You could feel the sweat sit between your toes, it was that hot.
"Joe, without the fan on, I don't even want to touch my own body! Let alone yours!"
You fought, back and forth until you'd cut it off by going for a cold shower. When you got out, you found Joe in bed with all the lights off and the fan on, and you silently accepted Joe's kind compromise.
When you'd laid down on the bed, Joe had immediately rolled half onto you, and you knew that in return for the fan being on, he wanted to at least be able to fall asleep the way he wanted to. Needed to.
Touching.
All snuggled up.
Breathing your breath, limbs crossing limbs, bare skin pressing into bare skin. Feeling heartbeats and hearing heartbeats, until one of you can't feel their arm anymore from lying on a shoulder weird. Joe needs the comfort of a whole person to make a psychical connection with to feel instantly at ease.
It not his fault that you calm him down so much. That he loves you.
And you love Joe too.
But it's definitely too fucking hot for any of it. You feel too grumpy, and you know Joe isn't in the best mood either.
Joe might feel at ease, but you don't feel at ease at all.
You're still holding out hope that the clouds that had threatened rain all day will actually give way. The heat needs to break already. So far, no luck though. Just some flashes and some rumbling thunder up high in the sky.
You're not a fan.
You don't like thunder storms. There's something so very threatening about them. Every loud crash makes you jump a little, surprising you every single time.
Joe knows.
He remembers the first time he'd been around you during bad weather, and he had watched you from up close for a little while until something inside of him took over.
I, big giant man. You, small little defenseless woman. Must protect.
Cave man behaviour.
Cute when you're after a little babying, but absolutely awful when the heat and the humidity had you in an awful mood. Like right now.
Another flash lights up your bedroom for a split second, and you can hear how the storm's getting a little closer.
"I'm not scared, you know," you comment softly, and Joe just hums again. Acknowledges what you're telling him, but keeps you close for his own comfort. Doesn't seem to care if you're scared or not - just pretends that you are, because he likes that a little better.
He ducks into his shoulders a little more, curls up to you a little more, and you can feel how the side of his face slides against your chest.
Slides.
You try to hold back an audible wince at how much you hate that, and you endure Joe's weight for a little while longer. But then, slowly, the itch under your skin becomes too much and it builds until you feel like you're about to burst.
"I can't," you suddenly sputter, pushing at Joe's shoulders again. "Sorry babe, but I cannot." you say definitively, groaning as you move to sit up. This time, Joe lets you go.
When you see Joe's sad little face, half of you wants to reach out to wrap your whole self around him. But the other half wants you to go sit in the freezer.
Unfortunately for Joe, the latter wins.
"M'sorry, just..." you turn in the bed and find a piece of cold mattress to lie down on, your head near the foot of the bed now, your feet near your pillow. You get the best bit of air from the fan from there too, right in your face, and it feels a little better.
It really does help that you're damp all over.
Makes the air actually cool you down.
You suppose that's what sweat's meant to do in the first place, so it makes sense.
Joe watches you from his spot.
Watches as you starfish on top of the bed in the dark, hair blowing in the breeze, and Joe wants to frown, because this isn't what he wants. But then he sees how the creases on your face slowly disappear, and just witnessing you be a little more comfortable makes his own frown smooth out a bit too.
"That better?" Joe asks, and you're not sure if it's a sarcastic question or not. If saying yes will hurt his feelings or not. You detect a little hidden bite in there though, so you don't answer.
Instead, you sigh a little contently and say, "Come over here."
Joe doesn't need telling twice.
In an instant, his legs have swung around on the bed and he finds a nice much cooler spot next to you.
"Here," you say, and you hold out your hand.
Joe gives it a glance before looking at your face. He knows you've only just showered, but your hair's mostly dry already. He notices it now as it drapes over the edge of the bed, swaying in the wind. You may be sweaty, grumpy, sticky, and uncomfortable, but you're still gorgeous. It's almost annoying how he likes the way the heat makes you look.
"Hold my hand." you say when it takes too long for Joe to grab hold of it.
It's your compromise.
Joe smiles.
Takes it.
It's not as nice, but Joe will take it, fingers intertwining as your palms glue together.
"That better?" he asks again, and this time there's no doubt about his intentions, voice much sweeter and softer, no hidden bite left in there at all.
"Hmm." It's your turn to hum now, agreeing as you add, "Better."
Joe gets to touch you.
You get the fan on.
It's not the best of both worlds - it's still fucking boiling - but it's definitely better than before.
And then, just when you think, maybe you actually could fall asleep like this, you can hear the soft patter of a few raindrops hitting the bedroom window.
Just a few at first, but it quickly picks up into a gentle, rhythmic pattern as the sound grows.
You squeeze Joe's hand, and there's still a slight slick to your palms and fingers, kind of clammy, definitely warm.
But it's kind of nice to be stuck together like this.
Joe squeezes back, and you let a happy sigh escape you.
no no no no no NO no NO! NO! joe can NOT get away with this! he's gonna deny us our *fun* isn't he? this absolute bastard can NOT think that this is an acceptable way to keep us around! NO!
you know what? you're right. you're so very, very right.
Wordcount: 3.3K
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All The Aces
part one - part two - part three
Joe was wrong.
Joe was wrong, but... he wasn’t stupid, as so it turned out.
So that first time, you hadn’t really fully realised what was happening, which – fine. Who could blame you? And you would argue that, the next two times after, it also wasn’t really your fault that you hadn’t caught on...
The fourth time; obvious. You would’ve been an absolute idiot had you not put the pieces together... which, you had, so, you also weren’t stupid.
And also, if it wasn’t for Izzy, maybe it would’ve all clicked into place on the third time.
It was just that... Joe went about it a little too calculated at first, the sneaky fucker. Likely because he was also testing the waters, trying to figure out what he could get away with.
And.
Well.
The answer was: A Lot, Apparently. But again; who could blame you? Joe wasn’t stupid.
Joe wasn’t stupid at all.
When he’d buzzed you up into his flat whilst he was making dinner, you’d barged in with a million things on your mind. All of them extremely negative and ultimately: unimportant.
“I know you’ve not invited me over to just rant at you for ages, but, can I just rant at you for ages?” You dropped your bags right where you were standing.
Joe, spatula and pan in hand, eyes on the food, went, “Ages?”
“Okay, fine. A minute. Can I rant at your for a minute?”
You hadn’t even said hello to each other, priorities elsewhere right now. This shit was on your mind and you needed it off your mind.
Joe’s eyes quickly found his oven timer and he reached for it to set it. To a minute. Because he was a comical genius, you see.
“All right, one minute…. And, go!”
You ignored the stupid joke and just, unleashed. There was some work shit, some small annoying things that had frustrated you throughout the day, but when you got your phone out to read a text thread between you and a childhood friend, you really got into it.
The oven timer went ignored. It beeped, but Joe just silently turned it off and put it to the side. You were in the middle of a sentence and whatever the problem was, this seemed important to you.
He knew it was all petty shit you likely already had all the answers to, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t listen.
Joe tried his best to follow along. Really, he did. But he was also finishing your dinner, peeling potatoes and cutting vegetables, and you were going a hundred miles an hour, straying off the main story every ten seconds to explain whatever was going on better. Which, it didn’t. It only confused Joe more, but he nodded along. Said things like, Oh my god, no way and what the fuck at all the right moments like a good friend would do. Like a good boyfriend would do.
“It’s not my fault we’re not as close as we used to be, she went off and had four children- four, Joe. Four.”
You’d started pacing.
“And then she went, “oh you still living with that girl?” That girl – Izzy, we’re talking my best friend since uni, Izzy. That girl. What the fuck does she think she’s even saying?”
Arms were flying, and Joe silently covered a pan with a lid for fear of your phone landing in it.
“And remember when, like, four years ago, I went to celebrate new year’s with her instead of with our group, just because she’d asked a million times, and she didn’t want to come down to join our party? And then she mixed drinks and got me so drunk, I didn’t even make it until midnight? She’s still holding that over my head, look,” you just kept going, read a text message aloud about maybe trying that again and just doing mocktails so she would actually be able to see the fireworks this time.
You sighed aggressively and turned its back end into a frustrated cry.
“Am I insane? Don’t actually answer that, but… am I insane?”
You stopped pacing to look at Joe, and... you had to take a second to take in what you were seeing.
Joe was stood leaning against the countertop where, behind him, potatoes were sizzling loudly in a frying pan. He had his arms crossed over his stomach, head cocked to the side and he was just… staring at you. Slightly biting into his lip. Smiling, a little. It was a way of looking at you that you could feel within your chest. That made you whole face heat up as you felt how the tops of your cheeks blushed.
Rude.
Had he even been listening at all?
“Be helpful, please. Am I insane?” you asked again, arms flying once more, outraged and in need of a very specific answer.
Joe let his smile grow a little wider and kindly assured you, “You’re not insane.”
He got it right.
“Thank you.” You let your shoulders visibly drop, glad to have heard Joe say what you needed him to say. But then you looked behind him.
“You’re burning the potatoes.”
Joe just kept his eyes on you and said, “I know.”
Didn’t unfold his arms. Just kept his warm eyes on you, that fondly stared a little dreamily.
“Joe,” you scolded, half laughing as you stepped closer to take the pan off the fire, but Joe was faster and turned the hob off just before you could intervene. Then he immediately took advantage of you being closer and used both of his hands to cup your cheeks. To hold you by your jaw, and to tip your head back for him.
Then he gave you that same look again.
Half-lidded, soft, adoring eyes that just stared down at you as he smiled a little.
“What?” you asked, expecting him to lean down for a kiss that didn’t come.
“Not insane.” Joe cooed.
You sensed a but coming.
“But?”
“But…” Joe leant down a little, got a little closer. “But you’re very pretty.”
“But I’m very… Joe, that has nothing to do with–”
Joe cut you off with the kiss you’d been waiting for. Soft lips brushed to yours in a funny position because he caught you in the middle of a word, strong hands holding you in place. You let your fingers wrap around his forearms and attempted to pull away, but Joe wasn’t having it. He used the very brief moment your lips parted to whisper, “So pretty.” into your mouth before he was back on you, arm now curling around the back of you to keep you from leaning back any further.
The kitchen smelled of delicious food, and you’d just spent at least ten minutes pacing around Joe’s kitchen whilst tirading about something ultimately so very insignificant, especially to Joe, but the boy was kissing you.
Told you that you weren’t insane.
Said that you were so pretty.
Had cooked you dinner and had let you spew about an old friend trying her best to reconnect without telling you that you were being silly.
You probably were being silly.
Today just hadn’t been the best day.
And written communication had the tendency to change in meaning depending on your mood.
You could read everything again the next day and interpret all of it differently.
You were being silly.
But the boy was kissing you now, and it was just the perfect remedy to a shitty day.
Joe held you in place and kissed you until he felt you sigh into him. Until you gave in, and decided that, yea, sure, Joe could just make out with you in his kitchen for a while if he wanted to.
Joe swallowed the soft sounds you made and softly groaned in return. He loved how he could feel you grow more relaxed under his hands, loved the way you were pulling him down to you to get more of him, loved how you started denying him to pull back, now more desperate for him than he was for you.
When you felt Joe’s hands start to wander down your back and round out over your bum for a squeeze, you managed to break free from Joe just long enough to say, “Should we have dinner first?”
As an answer, Joe bent through his knees a little and you felt how his grip grew stronger as he was about to lift you up. You got your arms around his neck just in time.
“Nah,” Joe murmured into your mouth, hands firmly under your thighs as he encouraged you to wrap your legs around his waist. “Dinner can wait.”
You got walked over to the bed where Joe laid you down and then just lazily kissed you for a bit longer.
Where you sunk into his mattress and tangled up into his sheets whilst dinner out in the kitchen grew cold.
Where roaming hands were heavy and wandering, pulling at the hems of shirts as palms searched for smooth, bare skin to touch.
Where you eventually grew a bit impatient and tried undoing Joe’s trousers with fumbly fingers, not breaking your kissing.
Where you slipped a hand inside and felt how hard he was.
Where Joe pretended to suddenly care about dinner until you got your mouth on him and he let himself fall back into his pillows and let his eyes flutter shut.
Where the sun was setting outside, casting the room in soft warm oranges as Joe used careful, gentle hands to get you out of your clothes.
Where Joe wanted to see all of you.
Where Joe wanted to feel all of you.
Where Joe made you laugh when you bit into his shoulder, and panted, “I take it back, what I said earlier. You are insane.”
Where, after a while, when Joe burrowed his face into your neck and didn’t remove it, you knew he was in the homestretch. Mind blank. Just feeling.
And you were right.
It didn’t take long for pants to turn into groans, for rhythmic thrusting to turn into sloppy hip-clashes, and for Joe to tense up all over with a held breath before turning into a boneless collapsed man who felt like all the strength within him had just left him through his dick.
It took a while for Joe to return back to earth. He just laid on top of you, face pressed into the crook of your neck, breathing so close to your ear it almost sounded like he was inside of your skull.
When Joe finally did remove his face from being pressed into your neck, there was a spit-string connecting you together still.
“Oh, ew,” you laughed, moving your face away slightly, “That’s disgusting.”
Hovering over you, cheeks flushed and hair messy, you saw how Joe looked at the spot where he’d been drooling all over you, and he grimaced.
“Oh, no, maybe,” he leant onto one elbow to get a hand into the crook there, already laughing. “Maybe don’t,” he started wiping, tried to get a bit of duvet in there which only made you feel how wet it actually was. When you moved a little more to get a look, Joe tried to stop you from seeing the wet patch of saliva he’d left behind.
“No, don’t look! Stop!” he was laughing now, and against his advice, you got a hand in there to feel.
“What the fuck, Joe, you drooled all over– Joe! There’s a fucking puddle!”
For a short moment, Joe acted like a child caught sneaking a snack he wasn’t supposed to have taken from the pantry, very cute yet very guilty. That quickly changed into a more indignant attitude, where he gave you a face for giving him a hard time about enjoying himself.
It was only a bit of spit.
“I’ve cooked you dinner!” Joe exclaimed as he climbed off of you, and he said it like the argument was meant to make your neck less wet somehow.
“Which has absolutely gone cold.”
“Come on,” Joe held out a hand. “I’ll heat it up and we’ll have it outside.”
“How about,” you started, grabbing the hand and letting him pull you up. “You go heat up dinner, I’ll wash your sheets, and, um, shower.”
Joe didn’t let go of the hand he was holding, and pulled at it until you were up on your feet where he was quick to lock his arms behind your back to keep you close.
“How about,” Joe copied your tone to make you laugh, and got his face back into the same crook of your neck where he blew a raspberry to make you squirm. “We both take a shower, and then we get the rest sorted after?”
You’d never taken a shower as long together before. No funny business - just actual washing. Except, Joe would keep kissing you places he would then wash straight after, because you clearly thought his spit was dirty now, so every press of lips got chased by a soapy shower sponge and it took for fucking ever for Joe to stop thinking the bit was hilarious.
To be fair, you hadn’t quite figured out how to not laugh every time he did it, so... partially your fault, you guessed.
But what wasn’t your fault, was how not orgasming hadn’t been weird at all. How that hadn’t consciously crossed your mind once. You’d been distracted with wet sheets and soapy kisses and then after all that, a lovely home cooked meal outside on the balcony where you had it with your hair still wet, dressed in just T-shirts and underwear.
It wasn’t your fault the first time, it wasn’t your fault the second time, and it definitely wasn’t your fault the third time, when Izzy barged in right in the middle of it.
It also wasn’t exactly her fault, though.
All Izzy had done was get home from work.
You were right in the middle of the hallway of your shared flat, pressed up against a wall, half naked, in Joe’s arms.
And then Izzy walked in.
Now… you’d seen Izzy freak out before. But to see two of your friends mid stand-up-fuck in your own hallway after a long day at the office triggered a new form of anger within your flatmate. It didn’t help that, as you were trying to get out of Joe’s grip to rush into your bedroom, that Joe’s hold on you only strengthened.
Izzy was the first to start shouting, and a fraction of a second after her first, “Oh my God!” you and Joe started shouting too.
Izzy was stood in the doorway where she was shielding her eyes, workbag sliding from her shoulder into her elbow, and she was screeching on the top of her lungs, “Oh my God, Oh my GOD, no! No! What the fuck! No!”
Joe shouted, “Leave! Leave!” right into your ear with an unmistakable urgency in his voice whilst the cutting edge left no room for argument.
And then there were panicked screams coming from you, high-pitched words tumbling over each other, all sentences unfinished, half telling Izzy to close the door behind her, half telling Joe to let you go.
Which, he didn’t do.
Joe just held on stronger and used his legs to press you against the wall like he was trying to make the two of you disappear into the brick there, and it hurt.
The chaos lasted maybe four seconds. Five tops. It was all overlapped loud voices, all frantic movements and then… to make an already awful situation even worse… Joe orgasmed.
You shrieked, “Wh– Are you coming? Are you coming right now?” as your eyes nearly bulged out of your head with shocked outrage, hands trying to push at his shoulders whilst your legs tried to find the floor.
It was the worst evening you’d had in a good while.
After everything, you sat on the foot of your bed, hugging your knees and Izzy stood on the threshold of your bedroom, asking what she’d ever done to you for you to decide that having sex in the shared hallway at twenty minutes past six in the evening was a totally normal thing to do be doing.
Joe’d quickly left after. Was out the door in a flash after the world’s most awkward apology ever.
“Sorry Izzy, for, um... yea, for making you see… and, um, hear that.”
“Fuck off Joe.”
“Yea, I’m… sorry, I’ll leave. I’ll see you Friday, yea?”
“I said, fuck off, Joe.”
“So sorry. Sorry.” Joe had paused, and then a single look of Izzy had made him go, “Yea, yea. I’m going.”
He hadn’t even dared to turn around to find you in your bedroom first. He’d just walked straight out and texted you, “Got sent home. Call me in a bit?”
Promises were made of removing clothes behind closed doors from now on – preferably locked doors, please. And if you couldn’t take four more steps to get yourselves into your bedroom first, for the love of God, please, just go over to Joe’s. He’s got a whole place to himself and you could fuck on the doormat for all Izzy cared.
You apologized too.
Said it would never happen again.
And then Izzy said she had to not look at your face for the rest of the night because she kept reliving the visuals, and – fair. That made sense.
You kind of didn’t want to see your own face for a second either.
And there was no way that Joe had planned to deny you an orgasm like this, but... it was real fucking convenient that Izzy always came home from work around the same time each day. It was real fucking convenient that he’d gotten you incredibly worked up with cute little text messages all throughout the day. Real fucking convenient that he walked in with his shirt tucked tightly into his jeans and far too many of the buttons undone for you to be normal about it.
There was no way he’d planned it.
But he’d definitely given the situation a little nudge into the direction it had eventually headed into, and no one could blame you for not having seen it then.
Not yet.
But then the fourth time happened, and Joe’d just edged you all night. Was very open about his teasing. Made you tell him if you were getting close, and then when you did, he’d just… ease off. Pull back. Let you whine and cry for it until he thought you’d pleaded enough for him to be nice again.
He’d gotten you so close.
So, so close.
But not close enough.
And then, when he came and just rolled over after, you knew.
This guy was having sex with you without letting you orgasm on his behalf.
“You’re sick, you know that? Like an actual sociopath.”
“I’m just following instructions.”
Yea, all right.
Yea.
Fine.
He’d gotten away with it up until now, which, well done, Joey. This idiot really thought he held all the aces, didn’t he? Smug little bastard.
But you know what?
Good.
He could feel that way.
You were going to let him feel that way.
There were loopholes.
Easy ones too.
Joe was wrong, and clueless, and maybe, actually… he was a little stupid, after all.
And you were stubborn. Determined. Persistent.
Dead set on proving yourself right.
Which you were.
You held all the aces.
Not Joe.
Joe was wrong.
You were going to outplay the player at his own thought-up little game, and he would see. Oh, absolutely, he would see.
sorry, SORRY, sorry! this took a second longer than originally anticipated, but, here it is, live from italy! enjoy! (tw: we get spicy, and we also cut our finger on a kitchen knife, but it's only minor, and it ultimately gets kissed better, so we're fine)
Wordcount: 2.8K
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All The Aces
part one - part two
You laid on your side, face pressed firmly into your pillow, and looked at Joe who was doing something on his phone. Answering someone who should’ve gotten a reply hours ago, most likely.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, sheets loosely covering him up to about his waist, and his hair looked insane.
It always did, after.
You loved it like that. Frizzy, wild, completly unruly, every piece curling a different way.
Gorgeous.
Little shit.
Joe must’ve felt how you were looking at him, because you caught him sneaking a little look from the corner of his eye before he pretended he didn’t just make direct eye-contact with you and shifted focus right back to the small screen in his hands.
“I know what you’re doing…”
You saw how a slow smile grew on his face. One that he immediately tried to hide, which was of no use.
“Yea?”
Joe couldn’t lose his grin if he wanted to. Giving you another glance made him lock his phone before putting it down on his beside table.
“Wow. Fourth time.” Joe commented, and he phrased it like he was impressed, but you knew it wasn’t with you.
Joe was impressed with himself.
“You’re sick, you know that? Like an actual sociopath.”
It felt a bit silly how you hadn’t fully realised what was going on until just now. After the fourth time it happened.
Four times.
Joe laughed as he got comfortable in bed, tucking himself in for the good night’s rest his smug little face suggested he thought he really deserved.
“I’m just following instructions.” Joe leant over a little and planted a chaste kiss to your forehead before he turned over. “Night night.”
And you know what… you kind of agreed.
You were sort of impressed with him too, but you would never tell him to his face. Obviously. Although, in a weird twist of the truth, it was actually proving yourself right more than Joe probably thought he was doing.
You’d not been fucking around when you said that sex wasn’t just about the orgasm. And the first time, with hindsight, you kind of couldn’t believe that you hadn’t immediately known.
It was a couple days after you’d had that whole discussion with Izzy present, and Joe had challengingly said he was going to prove you wrong. He’d not said a word about it since, and so you’d forgotten about it.
You’d been play bickering all day - mild bullying that touched lines, but skillfully never crossed them.
You’d caught Joe looking into a mirror for a while, and had just watched him for a little bit before you went, “Just admiring, are we?”
He’d nearly jumped out of his skin. Hadn’t seen you were there.
“You fucking...” Joe said through his teeth before loudly exhaling.
You couldn’t help the giggles that escaped you as you said, “Sorry, sorry! I’m clearly interrupting something. I’ll give you and your reflection some privacy.”
“Come here!”
He’d taken three quick steps towards you, but you were faster and scurried away before his extended arms could grab you.
To retaliate, Joe had very innocently asked if you could go grab his charger from his bedroom whilst he was busy cooking dinner, not mentioning that he’d seen a fat spider near it just mere minutes ago.
And who were you to deny him a little help when he was literally making you soup from scratch?
The way you’d shrieked from across his flat had made him smile into a taste-testing spoonfull of cooked veg.
It had gone back and forth like that for a bit, sly comments and inside jokes thrown across the table, silly faces and swearwords that ultimately only fed the joy that sparked.
That was, until you were cleaning up after dinner, filling up and already overfilled dishwasher, when Joe decided it’d be hilarious to jumpscare you.
He snuck up, moved real slow, got real close, and then suddenly grabbed you at the waist whilst you were bent over and gave a loud, “BAH!”
The sound you made as you jumped was immediately followed by a loud wince.
“Oh no,” Joe’s vice grip around your waist lost strength immediately as you curled in on yourself, one hand clasping the other tightly. “Did you cut yourself?”
You kept quiet and focussed on the sharp pain that quickly dulled and replaced itself with a light sting.
You hadn’t cut yourself.
Joe had cut you.
Indirectly.
On his huge chef’s knife that you carefully wanted to give a good spot in between all the dirty pots and pans.
“Let me see. Did you cut yourself?” Joe turned you around by the shoulders, but you fought against it and turned to the sink instead.
Water went from slightly red to a little more orange until it ran clear - the cut was only little, but from the way you’d fallen silent, Joe struggled with immediate onset guilt whilst deeply wishing to keep the mood light and playful like it had been all day.
He wished you’d turn and call him a dickhead.
He wished you’d turn and punch him in the bicep.
“Is it bad? Come on, let me see.” Joe tried again, softer and sweeter now, trying to look over your shoulder.
You turned your head to look at him, and for a moment, you just stared at each other. Joe sort of awkward and entirely unsure of what to do. You sort of blankly, figuring out your next steps.
Which was, be careful what you wish for Joe, an unexpected punch to the bicep.
“What the fuck, Joe – did I cut myself?”
The happy relief Joe felt at your small smile underneath the scolding saved the moment.
“You did that! Did this! Look at it!”
“Sorry, I’m sorry! But, who the fuck holds a knife by the blade?”
“I was trying to make it fit in there!”
“And you had to hold it by the blade for that?” Joe’s smile grew, and you used your shoulder to shove him in response, eyes crinkling from your smile, but gaze back on your finger.
“Can you grab me the scissors?” you asked, reaching for a drawer that held lots of mess, amongst which some plasters, you knew.
“Yea, of course,” Joe got you his pair of kitchen scissors, but before handing them over, he forced eye-contact and turned serious for moment as he said, “That was my fault, sorry. Does it hurt?”
And it only did a little.
You were fine.
Joe helped wrap your finger up with a plaster and the rest of your evening had passed fairly uneventful.
Joe’s little accident had ended the streak of teasing you had going, and instead, he’d turned a little soft. By ways of apologising, you were sure.
And then that mood carried over into his bed, where you sat on the edge of the foot of Joe’s bed after you got into your pyjamas whilst Joe climbed into his side of the bed. You inspected the plaster around your finger, squeezed and pressed over the cut to feel the slight sting there still. Joe’s foot that nudged your bum interrupted you.
You looked over your shoulder and saw how Joe leant an elbow into your pillow, head leant back against the headboard with a slow smile and eyes that twinkled with just enough cheek to let you know he wasn’t all that tired yet.
“Stings.” You said as let yourself fall back just enough to get your legs up on the bed before crawling across.
“Maybe don’t touch it.” Joe said, using a hand to push down covers for you.
“Maybe don’t scare someone when they’re doing you a favour.”
You were about to get under the covers, but then, Joe changed his mind.
“Okay, fine. Come here.” Joe sat up more, spread his legs, and used both his hands to pull you into the spot in between.
“Careful! I am wounded!”
“Yea, yea, yea…” two strong hands started kneading your shoulders even before you’d fully settled with your back against his front. You immediately relaxed and let yourself sag into him, head bumping against his collarbone as you did.
“I did say I was sorry, didn’t I?” Joe said softly, close to your ear.
“Hmm.. if I say you did, will you keep going?”
Joe huffed a small laugh and pressed a kiss to the top of your shoulder before whispering, “Sorry again.” into your skin.
And this was the type of shit that you lived for.
Tender touches that were just firm enough to make you feel something, alternated with feather light touches from finger tips that trailed down your arms slowly before they found their way back to your shoulders again.
Across your back.
To your neck.
Up into your hair, a little.
Joe’s fingertips dug into flesh, and his mouth would leave gentle kisses right in the spot where your shoulder met the side of your neck.
If there was any stress secretly housing somewhere in your body that you didn’t know about, Joe was finding it. Getting rid of it. Let it leak right out of you.
You allowed your mind to go absolutely blank.
No thoughts.
Just Joe’s touches.
Pure bliss.
Joe’s fingers roamed all over, then slid into your hair to massage at your scalp and you let your eyes flutter closed as your breath hitched.
“Does that feel good?” Joe softly murmured, full attention on the soft noises you were making under his hands.
“Mhmm,” you nodded, but only slightly. Couldn’t muster up more movement.
“Here, wait,” Joe suddenly shifted and pulled you from your daze a little as he sat up more. But then you felt how his hands were trying to find the hem of your top, and you leant forward to help him undress you.
“Sit back,” Joe said after tossing it, and this time, his finger tips rounded out to your front where he let both his hands stroke the soft skin of your chest.
You couldn’t help but arch your back, pushing your shoulders back slightly to push your chest forward, presenting more skin for Joe to touch.
“Yea, that feels good, doesn’t it?” Joe softly commented after you let a shuddery breath escape you, and you could hear Joe’s smile in his voice.
You weren’t ignorant, but you were definitely actively ignoring Joe’s hard length that pressed into your back.
You had felt Joe get hard just after he’d just started this.
“Y-yea,” you answered Joe, voice breathy enough to feel Joe twitch. “Feels really good. Never stop, please.”
“Hmm,” Joe hummed, fingers drawing shapes over your collarbones, up the sides of your neck, then down the front over the soft skin of your chest. Joe felt how you started feeling hotter to the touch.
“Want to know what else feels good?”
Before you could even properly answer his question, he was already moving. Moving from behind you, hands that held you by the shoulders and moved you aside to he could slip out of bed.
“Wha– I said, never stop.”
But then Joe got his hands on his knees and placed himself in between on his stomach as he spread your legs, and he raised a stupid eyebrow before mouthing at your inner thigh.
And, yea all right.
This view wasn’t all that bad.
Joe looked up at you as he let his mouth climb up your leg, and you could feel your chest flush.
Joe was so pretty.
You loved his nose. Loved his eyelashes. Loved his stupid freckles and his stupid lines across his forehead.
“Come up here,” you surprised yourself.
“What?” Joe already had a finger hooked in your underwear, but paused and raised his head a little.
“I want you up here.”
Your lips were jealous of your legs; wanted Joe’s mouth for themselves. Wanted Joe’s weight on top of you. Wanted Joe inside.
“But…” you saw how Joe’s eyes flicked down before they looked up and made eye-contact with you again. “What about what I want?”
Your underwear got slid to the side, and Joe let his brow frown a little as you made a little noise of impatience.
“Do you need reminding of how we got here?”
And, Jesus, okay. Fine.
You knew Joe enjoyed getting his mouth on you, but it was somehow also always a surprise that sometimes he seemed to like it more than anything else.
Joe got his mouth on you and from every single move he made, he let you know he wasn’t in a hurry. He let his tongue swirl slowly, would suckle and lick and nose at your velvety-soft skin until you were floating.
Joe knew how to make you feel good.
He’d learnt very quickly how to make you feel good.
And who were you to complain about something so lovely? About having a boyfriend that you had low-key bullied all day wanting to desperately eat you out? You could be kind and let him have what he wanted.
But Joe was working himself up.
Kept trying to find pressure by pushing his hips into his mattress.
And he kept you on the edge.
Just far enough away from an orgasm, but close enough to feel that it was there.
Lingering.
Somewhere off in the distance.
Felt good.
You could live here forever.
And you felt like you did, a little. Because Joe was leisurely taking his time, absolutely in no rush of moving on from what he was doing. Joe went on until his own sounds became more pornographic than whatever you were letting slip past your lips. You then suddenly felt him wiggle, and looked down to see him struggle out of his own underwear urgently without letting his tongue lose contact with you.
“Joe,” you moaned, and you meant, hurry up.
With a final strong flick of his tongue, Joe sat up onto his knees and towered over you a second as he pulled himself free from his boxers.
“Oh, my God.”
Joe was leaking precum, more than what you’d expected. You wanted to tell him, how you liked that. How that was stupidly hot of him. How dared he get so turned on by eating you out? But you didn’t get the chance to say anything, because quickly Joe let his mouth find yours, and you finally got what you’d asked for.
Joe’s kisses were feverish, almost desperate. He let himself slip inside of you, both ways, his tongue doing the most to find yours and his hipbones pushing forward until they pressed you into the mattress.
“I’m gonna come,” you’d never sounded his voice quite as constricted, his hips bucking and not letting up.
Like he couldn’t fucking help himself.
Like he got so worked up eating you out that there was no way back now.
And you fucking loved it.
A man who couldn’t control himself, turning himself on past the point of return by trying to make you feel good?
What a fucking dream.
And he wasn’t joking, either.
Joe pressed his forehead against your cheek, his heavy breath warm on your neck, and then his panting turned into groans.
With shuddering movements and load grunts, Joe orgasmed, pushing you into the mattress with so much strength, you thought he’d never quite been deeper inside of you.
After a few seconds, he stilled, and went lax. Let every single muscle relax as he caught his breath, and Jesus fucking Christ, you loved it so much. Heavy weight on top, blissed out boy. Bare back right there for you to drag finger nails across. Short curls, wet behind his ears, right there for you to play with.
After a while, you felt how soft wet kisses got pressed into your neck, and you smiled at how adored you felt.
Going to sleep after that, being held in his sheets, feeling adored and lovely and so, so sleepy, you almost didn’t register Joe finding your finger, the one with the plaster, and bringing it over to his mouth to give it the smallest little peck.
This was the type of shit being together with Joe was all about.
Everything felt safe, and sweet, and sort of glorious as you slowly drifted off.
That was the first time.
The first time of the four of you not realising.
You hadn’t even cared, or had even noticed for that matter, that you hadn’t orgasmed.
Didn’t cross you mind once.
The sex had been good. You had really enjoyed yourself.
So, see?
Joe was wrong.
And he’d just given you the best example that proved you right.
