theme: you can imagine this taking place in the 70s or something when ben was still in payback
cw: age gap, slight nsfw, size difference, corruption, mention of unprotected sex, just a totally fucked up relationship lol
don't have inappropriate relationships with your father's friend. or do. who am i to tell you what to do and to not do.
english is not my first language! :3
dbf!soldier boy who had been friends with your dad during his days in the army or because your dad works for vought.
dbf!soldier boy who watched you grow up, treating you better than he ever would've treated his own son. giving you sweets, buying you gifts, cherishing you like you are the most precious thing.
dbf!soldier boy who does feel a bit sad watching you turn into a handsome young man, always wishing he could keep you the small innocent boy he knew
dbf!soldier boy who doesn't tell you to "man up" because he loves holding you close whenever you're sad
dbf!soldier boy feeling guilty about lusting after you as soon as you grow out of your baby face.
dbf!soldier boy who pats your butt as encouragement. like standing next to you while you hesitate doing something, and he just pats your backside before humming "go on"
dbf!soldier boy who surprisingly doesn't care about liking another man but hates himself for loving his favorite boy like that.
dbf!soldier boy who touches you underneath the table during dinner. letting his hand linger on your thigh, rubbing his thumb along the inside of your thigh while talking to your parents like nothing inappropriate is happening beneath the table
dbf!soldier boy who gives you sweet little nicknames like 'sweet boy', 'sweetheart', 'darling', or even little filthy nicknames that he only whispers into your ear when no one is watching.
dbf!soldier boy who might be into forcefem
dbf!soldier boy who fucks you slow and sweet in your childhood bedroom because the thought of corrupting you turns him on.
dbf!soldier boy who teaches you about sex while touching you everywhere. letting his hand slip between your legs and murmuring things like "touching people here makes them feel warm and good. does this make you feel warm, sweet boy?"
dbf!soldier boy making sure he's your first, definitely not even teaching you about safe sex because he always wants to come inside you.
dbf!soldier boy who keeps a picture of you in his wallet. (and jerks off while holding said so picture in his hands)
dbf!soldier boy who likes the size difference between him and you. the way he can carry you around with ease or flip you over without even breaking a sweat, the way his cock looks so big when he puts it on youe stomach just to let you see how deep he'll go.
dbf!soldier boy who knows he's a dead man when your dad finds out about the things he does with you but is too addicted to stop now.
series: guilty as sin? (part I - all i used to do was pray)
summary: your old neighbor Joel Miller is a good Christian manā¦ until you start to spend too much time on his backyard. He offers up his pool during the long, hot summer. But when your parents leave town and you start sunbathing in tiny swimsuits, smoking weed in your room with the curtains open, something in him begins to crack. Torn between his deep religious guilt and the overwhelming hunger he feels for the hot young jock next door, Joel tries desperately to be the moral fatherly figure you need.
tags: 18+ (mdni). old neighbour joel! x jock!reader. religious guilt. internalized homophobia. angst. sexual tension. slow burn. voyeurism. masturbation. mutual pining. summer romance. it includes joels pov!
wordcount: 6,5k
n/a: part II will be out soon. yeah joel hates weed but drinks... just like every old man lol
the late afternoon sun slanted golden through the kitchen window as joel stood at his counter, sleeves rolled high on his thick forearms, chopping vegetables with rhythmic thunks of the knife. his shutters were open. again. āaccidentally,ā heād tell himself, like he had the last three evenings. he knew youād be home soon.
he was a good man. church every sunday, even when the sermons on temptation made his jaw ache. widowed, steady job in construction, the kind of neighbor who fixed your fence without being asked and brought you bakery boxes tied with string because āthey were just sittinā there, kid, and i thought of you.ā
sweet as pie to you, always. too sweet, maybe. especially when you were stretched out on the lounge chair by his pool in that tiny swimsuit.
youād been coming over all summer. at first it was just you being polite, you two would chat all afternoon. then it became something else. you couldnāt stay away from the old man.
the rumble of your car pulling into the driveway next door made his knife pause mid-chop. he told himself he should close the shutters. instead, he wiped his hands slowly on the towel and moved to the side of the window where the angle was best.
your parents had left for that two-week trip up north. you were alone over there. just you, and him, and these damn open windows.
you stepped out of the car looking tired but loose, backpack slung over one shoulder, hair a little messy from the drive. joelās jaw tightened as he watched you unlock your front door and disappear inside. a minute later the light in your bedroom flicked on.
you didnāt bother closing your curtains. never did lately.
he should look away. he didnāt.
you dropped the backpack by your desk, rolled your neck, then reached down and peeled off your shirt. joelās breath caught.
the late sun caught on the tan lines of your body, this way due spending too much time on his backyardā¦ the way your shoulders flexed as you stretched.
you kicked off your shoes, then shoved down your jeans, stepping out of them until you stood there in nothing but a pair of snug black briefs.
you moved to your speaker, fiddling with your phone. heavy bass suddenly thumped through the open windowāloud, godless music with lyrics joel caught only fragments of, crude and pulsing.
then you pulled open the top drawer of your nightstand, fished out a small glass pipe and a lighter, and flopped back onto your bed. your parents would kill you if they knew.
little did you know that mr. miller was watching you.
joelās grip tightened on the edge of the counter as he watched you pack the bowl, bring it to your lips, and light up. the flame glowed orange for a second, then you exhaled a thick cloud of smoke toward the ceiling, head tilting back, eyes half-closed in pleasure.
another hit, deeper this time, chest expanding as you held it in. your free hand lazily scratched down your stomach, fingers dipping just under the waistband of your briefs before sliding back up.
the music got louder. you smiled to yourself, lazy and blissed out, legs spreading a little as you took another long drag. smoke curled around your body like a loverās touch. joel could see the faint outline of your cock starting to thicken against the thin fabric, the way your hips shifted restlessly on the sheets.
ādamn it, kid,ā he muttered under his breath, voice rough. guilt and lust warred viciously inside him.
this was wrong.
he was twice your age, a man who still got on his knees and prayed for strength every time his thoughts turned filthy.
you were alone over there, no parents, no one to steer you right. and here he was, staring like some pervert while you corrupted yourself with that poison smoke and that devil music.
the sermons echoed in his head āflee from youthful lustsā but his body burned with something far more primal. he could practically taste the salt of your skin, hear the soft whine youād make if he told you to put that pipe down and come here instead.
you were spiraling a little with your folks away, and it was his job, his christian duty, damn it, to look after you. not lust after you.
before he could talk himself out of it, he wiped his hands on the dish towel, adjusted himself as best he could in his pants, and marched out the back door.
the short walk across the yards felt like crossing a minefield.
he rapped his knuckles firmly on your back door, loud enough to cut through the bass.
a few moments later the music lowered. the door opened and there you were, still in just those black briefs, eyes a little glassy from the weed, lips parted in surprise.
āmr. miller?ā your voice was soft, a little raspy from the smoke.
he kept his gaze locked on your face with iron willpower, though it took everything in him. āsaw your folks are still gone. you eatinā proper over here?ā his voice came out gruffer than he meant, laced with that protective edge. āput some clothes on, kid. come over for dinner.ā
he crossed his arms over his broad chest, trying to look every bit the responsible older neighbor and not the man whose cock was still half-hard and leaking at the sight of you.
inside, the conflict raged onāpart of him relieved heād interrupted it, part of him already regretting not closing the shutters and keeping his distance.
āi was just about to order a pizza,ā you said, leaning against the doorframe with that lazy, glassy-eyed smile. āitās no big deal, mr. miller..ā
joelās jaw flexed.
pizza.... of course.
he shook his head.
āno. none of that junk tonight. iāve got fresh vegetables, and potatoes already cut up. real food. youāre cominā over and youāre gonna eat proper. canāt have you runninā on empty while your folks are gone.ā he uncrossed his arms and jerked his chin toward your room. āgo on. put some clothes on, kid. iāll wait.ā
you hesitated for half a second, something playful flickering behind your hazy eyes, but you nodded.
āyes, sir,ā you murmured, the words slipping out a little too obediently.
you disappeared back into your bedroom, leaving the door open. joel stayed on the porch, staring hard at the wooden planks under his boots instead of letting his gaze follow you.
he could still hear the rustle of fabricādrawers opening, the soft snap of elastic.
the mental image alone was torture. your bare ass as you bent over, the way those black briefs had clung to you, the slow drag of cotton sliding up your thighs. stop it, he thought, teeth gritted. heās just a boy who needs lookinā after. thatās all this is. nothing else.
a minute later you reappeared in a loose white t-shirt that clung lightly to your chest and a pair of gray athletic shorts that rode up just enough to make his pulse spike again.
you looked soft, flushed from the weed, and far too tempting.
something protective and possessive twisted in his chest. he clapped his warm hand on your shoulder and guided you across the yard toward his house.
ācāmon. iāve got cold beer in the fridge too,ā he added as you stepped into his kitchen. the smell of sizzling vegetables and seasoned meat already filled the air. āone or two wonāt hurt. but weāre doinā it responsible, you hear me? eat first, drink slow. i aināt lettinā you get sloppy or sick on my watch.ā
you were here now. safe. fed. watched over.
and if his eyes kept drifting to the way those shorts hugged your ass when you hopped up to sit on the counterā¦ well, that was between him and god.
dinner was even warmer than joel expected.
you sat across from him at the wooden kitchen table, legs spread comfortably like the hot young jock you were. broad shoulders filling out that thin white t-shirt, the faint outline of your pecs and the cut of your arms catching the warm overhead light with every small movement. your athletic thighs strained against the gray shorts, still slightly tanned from all those hours sprawled out by his pool.
he cracked open a second beer for each of you, watching as the alcohol slowly loosened you up. your cheeks were flushed, laugh coming easier, that lazy post-weed-and-beer haze making your eyes heavy-lidded and warm when they met his. every time you leaned forward to grab another bite, the fabric of your shirt pulled tight across your chest, and joel felt it like a punch to the gut.
this is wrong, he thought, gripping his beer bottle harder than necessary. heās barely more than a boy. a good-looking, strong, hot-blooded jockā¦ but still. thou shalt not covet. thou shalt not lust after the flesh. the words from sundayās sermon kept looping in his head, but they were getting quieter every time you smiled at him or stretched your long legs under the table and accidentally brushed his calf.
joelās mind flashed to how those strong jock arms would feel wrapped around him. how that powerful young body would look spread out beneath him.
after dinner, you stood up without being asked and started gathering the plates.
āyou donāt have to do that, kid,ā joel said quickly, pushing his chair back. āi got it.ā
you shook your head, already carrying everything to the sink with that easy athletic grace. ānah, itās the least i can do. you cooked a whole damn feast for me. let me compensate a little.ā
joelās throat tightened as he watched you. the way your shorts rode up when you bent slightly over the sink, the flex of your back and shoulders under the thin shirt, the casual strength in your arms as you scrubbed.
he stepped up beside you to help dry, standing close enough to smell the faint of lingering weed. he wouldn't say a word about what you were doing alone in your room.
when you handed him a plate, your fingers lingered half a second too long against his.
once the kitchen was clean, he cleared his throat. ācāmon. letās sit down for a bit. thereās a game on.ā
you followed him to the living room. joel settled into his big leather recliner while you dropped onto the couch, stretching out your legs across the cushions. the tv flickered with the game, but joel barely registered the score.
his eyes kept drifting to youāsprawled there so comfortably in his house, beer in hand, shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of toned stomach. the hot young jock body heād been fighting not to stare at all summer was right there, relaxed and open on his couch.
all he could think about was how easy it would be to cross the small space between you, push those strong thighs apart, and finally give in to the hunger that had been building all summer.
you had sunk deeper into the couch after your third beer, the combination of weed and alcohol pulling you under fast. your head lolled against the cushion, lips slightly parted, chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths.
the front of your shorts had shifted, the thin fabric outlining the soft, heavy shape of your cock. innocent in sleep. completely forbidden.
joelās throat worked as he swallowed. then it happened again. another involuntary twitch of his cock.
his body was confessing without his permission.
betraying him.
offering up evidence of his sin right there in his own living room while a half-drunk, sleeping boy lay trusting under his roof.
eventually you stirred, blinking slowly, voice thick and sleepy.
āshitā¦ sorry, mr. miller. i should probably head home.ā
joel stood before he could think better of it. āno. youāre not walkinā across the yard like this. bedās yours tonight. iāll take the couch.ā
you tried to protest, but he was already guiding you down the hallway with a firm hand on your lower back. his bedroom door was open.
you kicked off your shoes and, without thinking twice, peeled your t-shirt off over your head. joelās breath caught as he watched from the doorway.
the sight of your bare torsoāsmooth, athletic, sun-kissedāhit him like a freight train.
you hooked your thumbs into your shorts next, pushing them down along with your briefs in one tired motion, leaving yourself completely naked. your cock hung heavy between those thick thighs, soft but still impressive. you crawled onto joelās bed, pulled the sheet halfway over your hips, and let out a contented sigh as your head hit the pillow.
his bedroom was so different from yours, but yet you felt home.
ānight, mr. millerā¦ thanks,ā you mumbled, already drifting off again.
joel stood there longer than he should have, staring at the beautiful young jock now sleeping naked in his bed. his bed.
the guilt twisted so sharply he felt nauseous.
he is the man who offered you dinner and a safe place, not the man getting hard while watching you sleep naked in his bed.
he forced himself to close the door and walked back to the living room on unsteady legs.
but the image wouldnāt leave him.
joel dropped onto the couch, breathing hard. the house was quiet except for the low hum of the air conditioning. he sat there for maybe thirty seconds before his hand moved on its own, palming the thick bulge straining against his pants.
āfuckā¦ā he whispered, shame burning in his chest even as he shoved his shorts down.
his cock sprang out, heavy and flushed. he wrapped his hand around it and gave one slow, firm stroke. the relief was immediate and filthy. he closed his eyes and saw you again. naked in his bed, lips parted, chest rising and falling.
he imagined tucking you in properly. sliding into bed behind you.
āgodā¦ iām sorry,ā he breathed, voice cracking. but he didnāt stop. his hand moved faster, slick sounds filling the quiet room as he worked his throbbing cock.
with a strangled groan, he came hard.
thick ropes of cum spilled over his fist, landing on his stomach and chest in messy pulses.
he kept stroking through it, milking every last drop while his body shuddered with guilt and pleasure.
when it was over, the shame crashed down on him even harder. he sat there panting, covered in his own cum, staring at the ceiling like it might offer forgiveness.
morning light poured through the windows. it was saturday. hot, bright, like every other summer day.
you wake up naked and a little hungover but the smell of coffee pulled you into the kitchen wearing only the athletic shorts from last night.
joel was already up, looking rough around the edges but still handsome in a worn gray t-shirt and sweatpants.
āmorning,ā you said, voice husky. āwhat are you doing all day?ā
joel poured you a mug of coffee and tried not to stare at your bare chest. ānothinā planned. figured iād stay cool.ā
you grinned, that easy jock smile spreading across your face. āpool day?ā
and that was exactly what happened.
by mid-morning you were both out in joelās backyard.
the sun beat down mercilessly.
youād changed into that tiny black swimsuit, skin gleaming with sunscreen, every cut and curve of your athletic body on full display. broad shoulders, defined pecs, ridged abs, powerful thighs slightly spread as you soaked up the heat.
joel tried to keep busy adjusting the umbrella and cleaning the filter, but his eyes kept returning to you. sweat was already starting to roll down your chest and stomach. you looked like sin incarnate, young, strong, and completely at ease in his space.
he was in nothing but swim trunks himself, his own thick, muscular dad-bod on display, biceps and chest flexing every time he moved.
the guilt from last night hadnāt faded; if anything, it burned hotter under the bright sun.
the sun climbed higher
āiām gonna head in and make us some lunch,ā he said, voice rougher than usual. āstay out here and cool off. iāll call you when itās ready.ā
you gave him that lazy, sun-drunk smile and nodded. āthanks, joel. youāre too good to me.ā
he clenched his jaw and walked inside before he did something stupid.
through the kitchen window he could see you outside.
youād flipped onto your stomach on the lounge chair, propped up on your elbows with a book in front of you.
back arched, ass pushed up invitingly like some innocent schoolboy fantasy.
those powerful jock legs were slightly spread, the tiny swimsuit wedged tight between your cheeks, the sun kissing every inch of your smooth, muscular back.
joel groaned low in his throat and gripped the edge of the counter.
he was losing this battle.
lunch was simple but goodāgrilled sandwiches and cold pasta salad eaten at the shaded table out in the yard.
you sat across from him in that tiny black swimsuit, legs spread wide in that effortless jock way, laughing at his dry jokes and thanking him again for everything. every brush of your foot under the table felt deliberate. every time you licked a drop of mayo from your thumb, joelās chest tightened.
after the plates were cleared, you stretched, arms overhead, showing off every cut line of muscle.
āi should run home and change real quick,ā you said. āthese are still damp and iām sticky. be right back.ā
joel nodded, but something uneasy twisted in his gut. you were alone over there. the pipe was still sitting on your nightstand. the temptation. he told himself he was just being responsible.
āiāll walk you,ā he said gruffly.
you didnāt argue as you loved spending time with him.
the moment you stepped inside your house and headed straight for the shower, joel lingered in the hallway. he heard the water turn on. then, almost against his will, he drifted into your bedroom.
the door was open. he told himself he was only making sure the place was okay.
!joels pov!
the room smelled like you. not the sunscreen-and-chlorine version iād been staring at all morning. the real, private version. warm skin, a little sweat and the faint ghost of weed from last night. it hit me like a drug.
suffocated, because being surrounded by your life made the want so sharp it hurt to breathe. guilty, because a decent man wouldnāt be in here at all. and safeā¦ god help me, i felt safe. like this room was the only place in the world that made sense right now.
on your desk was a crumpled note in your handwriting ā just a reminder for class, nothing important, but seeing those looping letters made my stomach flip. that was you. my boyās hand had made those marks.
i knew i should leave.
instead i walked over to your unmade bed. the sheets were still messy from when youād crashed here before coming over last night. i sat on the edge, then. because iām weak, because iām damned. i picked up the pillow and buried my face in it.
i breathed you in like a starving man. deep, greedy pulls of air that made my cock surge hard and heavy in my swim trunks.
iād never admit this to anyone. not even to god if i can help it.
my hand moved on its own, slipping under the waistband, wrapping around my thick, aching cock. i stroked slow and tight, eyes closed, remembering how you looked naked in my bed last night. the way your ass flexed when you crawled across the mattress. the soft, sleepy sound you made.
all those little affections iād been collecting like evidence ā the way you always choose me, the way you say my name, the way your eyes linger on my arms and chest.
the way you always come over the second your parents leave. how you āaccidentallyā leave your curtains open. the soft little āyes, sirā you gave me last night. how you fell asleep on my couch like you belonged there. stripping naked in my bed without hesitation. the way you look at me when iām cooking, like iām the only man in the world who matters.
every small sign of affection felt like proof. proof that maybe this wasnāt one-sided. proof that god might forgive me if you truly needed me this badly.
i was leaking all over my fist in your room, surrounded by your clothes, your smell, your handwriting, your life. the shame burned so hot it felt like fire in my veins, but it only made me stroke faster.
i heard the shower still running. you were naked in there, water running down that strong jock body. i pictured dropping to my knees for you. pictured bending you over this very bed.
a low, broken groan slipped out of me into your pillow.
godā¦ it smelled like you. warm skin, the faint sweetness of your shampoo.
he closed his eyes and imagined it. you lying here naked every night, breathing soft and deep, cock resting heavy against your thigh while you dreamed sweet, filthy, innocent dreams.
what are you doing to me, kid?
the guilt was crushing, the lust even stronger.
i stood up on shaky legs, adjusted myself, and left your room just before the water shut off. my heart was still hammering when i heard your bare feet padding down the hallway.
!end of joels pov!
āyou can use my shower if you want,ā you offered casually, now sitting on your bed. āmi casa and all that.ā
joel cleared his throat, not quite meeting your eyes at first. āyeahā¦ thanks, kid. iāll take you up on that.ā
he disappeared into your bathroom. the water turned on again.
the steam wrapped around him as he soaped up his broad chest and thick arms.
his mind immediately drifted to you.
he pictured your hands instead of his own. smooth, strong jock hands sliding over his wet skin, tracing the lines of his chest, his stomach, moving lower.
he imagined you standing right behind him, pressing your naked body against his back, cock hard against his ass while your hands explored every inch of him.
he groaned quietly, forehead resting against the cool tiles.
you heard the shower shut off and smiled to yourself. when joel stepped back into your room a few minutes later, his hair was damp and he was wearing one of your fatherās clothes. an old gray t-shirt that stretched across his broad chest and a pair of loose basketball shorts. he looked good. really good. big, solid, and a little flushed from the hot water.
you reached over and dropped the needle on one of your favorite records. suicidal tendencies cranking up loud and aggressive, the fast punk-thrash guitars filling the room. you bobbed your head a little, feeling loose and happy in just a fresh tank top and shorts.
joel stood there, arms crossed over his chest, looking every bit the out-of-place older man. the music was fast, angry, chaotic. you saw the slight frown on his face, the way his brow furrowed.
ājesus,ā he muttered under his breath. āwhat the hell is this noise?ā
you laughed softly. āitās suicidal tendencies. helps me blow off steam.ā
he shook his head, looking suddenly older, a little lost in your world. āi donāt get it, kid. back in my day we had actual songs.ā
you grinned at him, then reached for the little glass pipe on your nightstand again. the weed from yesterday was still there, calling your name. you started packing a fresh bowl without thinking.
joelās entire demeanor changed in a heartbeat.
āhey,ā he said sharply, stepping forward. his big hand closed around your wrist, stopping you before you could light it. ādonāt.ā
you looked up at him, surprised by the sudden steel in his voice.
āyou shouldnāt be doing that shit, especially not alone,ā he continued, voice low and serious, the fatherly tone coming out full force. āyour parents are gone and you think that means you can just float through the summer in a cloud?ā
his grip on your wrist was firm, thumb pressed against your pulse point. he was breathing a little harder than the situation called for, eyes dark with real worry.
āiām not trying to be an asshole,ā he added, voice softening just a fraction, ābut somebodyās gotta tell you straight.ā
he was still holding your wrist. the record kept playing loud behind you, but the tension in the room had shifted completely.
joel towered over you where you sat on the bed, damp hair, broad chest rising and falling, looking at you like he was torn between pulling you into a hug and shaking some sense into you.
he crossed your room in three strides and opened your closet like he owned the place. his broad back filled the doorway as he rifled through your clothes with purpose.
ājoel, what are youāā
āweāre going out,ā he cut you off, pulling a nice button-up shirt from a hanger and tossing it onto the bed, followed by a pair of fitted dark jeans. āsomething decent. weāre driving to the beach to watch the sunset. and youāre gonna keep your head clear while we do it.ā
you blinked at him, a little stunned by how quickly heād taken charge. but the way his voice dropped into that deep, authoritative tone made heat curl low in your stomach.
he turned around, arms crossed again, looking every inch the older, no-nonsense man who had decided how the rest of the day was going to go.
twenty minutes later you were in joelās truck, windows down, warm evening air rushing in as he drove toward the coast. youād put on the shirt and jeans heād picked. the button-up hugged your athletic chest and shoulders just right, sleeves rolled up to show off your forearms.
joel kept glancing over at you, jaw tight, one big hand gripping the wheel.
the beach was beautiful when you got there. golden light stretched across the water as the sun began its slow descent. you walked along the sand together, joel staying close, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours.
he didnāt say much.
you take your polaroid camera and take a picture of joel standing by the water.
after the sunset painted the sky in deep oranges and pinks, joel nodded toward a little beach bar.
ācāmon. few drinks. real ones, not that cheap shit you probably drink with your friends.ā
the bar was casual but lively. it had string lights overhead, live acoustic music playing softly, the smell of salt and fried food in the air. you sat at a high-top table near the open side overlooking the water. joel ordered two cold beers first, then moved on to something stronger as the sky turned dark.
he watched you the whole time. the way the breeze ruffled your hair.
he wanted to pull you closer and never let you go back to that empty house alone.
by the second round of drinks, his hand had found its way to the back of your chair, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder. he was drinking slower than you, still trying to stay in control, but his eyes were darker now, heavier.
āyou look good tonight,ā he said quietly, almost like he didnāt mean to say it out loud. then he cleared his throat and added, ājustā¦ glad youāre here instead of back in that room with that pipe.ā
the bar had gotten livelier as the evening went on.
the acoustic guitarist wrapped up his set, and the speakers switched over to a playlist of 80s classics. the moment the first notes of ālike a prayerāā hit, joelās whole face changed.
his broad shoulders straightened, and a boyish grin broke across his face.
āalright, now weāre talkinā,ā he muttered, already tapping his hand on the table.
by the time madonna gave way to āsweet child oā mine,ā joel was fully gone. tipsy, happy, and singing along under his breath at first, then louder, voice low and rough but surprisingly in tune.
when ālivinā on a prayerā came on, he was drumming his fingers and actually singing whole lines, eyes half-closed, lost in the music like he was twenty years younger again.
you couldnāt stop staring. the way the string lights caught the silver in his beard, the way his thick forearms flexed every time he gestured along with the song, the pure, uncomplicated joy on his faceā¦ you watched him with deep, open affection written all over your expression.
your chest felt warm and tight.
this was joel ā not just the responsible neighbor or the strict father figure, but the man underneath it all.
he caught you looking at one point and chuckled, a little embarrassed. āwhat? donāt tell me you donāt know the words to this one either.ā
you just smiled, soft and fond, and shook your head. āi like watching you.ā
eventually the bar started closing up. joel was pleasantly buzzed ā not drunk, but loose and warm in a way you rarely saw. on the drive home he kept glancing over at you, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the console close to your thigh.
when you pulled up to his house instead of yours, he killed the engine and turned to you.
āstay,ā he said, voice low and a little rough around the edges. āitās late. donāt want you going back to that empty house tonight.ā
you didnāt argue.
inside, joel kicked off his shoes and headed straight for his living room.
he was still riding the high of the night, tipsy and chatty.
he crouched in front of his record collection, flipping through sleeves with focused determination.
āalright, kid. time to show you what real music sounds like,ā he said, pulling out a springsteen record with a triumphant little grunt. ānone of that chaotic yelling you listen to. thisā¦ this is music that means something.ā
he set the needle down carefully. the opening chords of the ties that bind filled the room, rich and full. joel turned the volume up, then dropped onto the couch with a satisfied sigh, patting the spot next to him.
ācāmere.ā
you sat down close. the music wrapped around both of you, and joel leaned back, eyes half-closed again, singing along quietly under his breath. his arm stretched along the back of the couch, fingers lightly brushing your shoulder. the alcohol had softened the sharp edges of his usual guilt, leaving mostly warmth and that deep, aching want he could never quite bury.
he turned his head to look at you, eyes dark and fond in the low lamplight
ābetter than that noise you play, huh?ā he murmured
when the song hit the chorus, you started singing along too, quieter than him but smiling the whole time. joel cracked one eye open, looked at you, and let out a deep, warm laugh that made your stomach flip.
āatta boy,ā he rumbled, clearly pleased.
a couple songs later he stood up, a little unsteady but grinning. ādonāt move. iāll get us a couple more beers.ā
he came back with two cold bottles and handed you one. instead of sitting back on the couch, he slid down to the floor, back against the couch, legs stretched out.
you followed without hesitation, settling right beside him. the record kept playing, and the two of you sang together ā shoulders bumping, knees touching, voices mixing on the choruses.
the alcohol and the music made everything feel soft and electric at the same time.
you kept inching closer. eventually your head was resting against his broad shoulder, and joel didnāt stop you. his arm came around you again, heavy and possessive, fingers absently rubbing your upper arm.
when hungry heart came on, you were both laughing and singing the words, bodies swaying. joelās voice cracked on a high note and you burst out laughing.
he shoved you playfully, but you shoved back, and suddenly the two of you were half-wrestling on the floor, laughing like idiots, bodies pressing together.
your chest against his side. his thick thigh slotted between yours.
his hand on your waist.
for a few perfect minutes it was just warmth, laughter, and springsteen filling the room while you rolled around on the carpet like overgrown kids.
every time one of you tried to get up, the other pulled them back down.
at one point you ended up half on top of him, your hips pressed against his hip, faces only inches apart.
the laughter was still bubbling between you, when you leaned in without thinking and gave him a quick, soft kiss right on the lips, barely more than a brush, playful and fast.
you pulled back immediately, laughing like it was just another part of the game.
but joelās reaction made your stomach tighten.
he laughed too at first, low and surprised, breath warm against your mouth.
then his hand slid up and wrapped around the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair with surprising gentleness. his other arm circled your waist, pulling you closer.
this time he kissed you.
it started slow, almost tentative, his lips warm and slightly beer-sweet.
then it deepened.
his tongue traced the seam of your lips, opening them, and when you let him in, a low, hungry sound rumbled in his chest. the kiss grew hotter, wetter, more playful, tongues sliding together, teasing, exploring.
his beard scratched deliciously against your skin, sending little sparks down your spine.
you could feel the heat of his big body beneath you, the solid muscle of his chest rising and falling faster now.
his hand on your neck held you right where he wanted you while his thumb stroked slowly along your jaw. the other hand slipped under the hem of your shirt, palm hot and rough against the bare skin of your lower back, pulling your hips tighter against him.
you let out a soft laugh, bright and playful, like it had all been part of the game.
like you hadnāt felt how hard he was getting beneath you. like your own heart wasnāt racing.
āshitā¦ sorry, mr. millerā you said, still grinning as you rolled off him. āguess iām more drunk than i thought.ā
joel sat up slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding your eyes. āyeahā¦ me too,ā he muttered, voice rough and quieter than usual.
you got to your feet, brushing off your shirt, still chuckling like it was nothing.
āi should probably head home. thanks for tonight, mr. miller. really. best night of the summer.ā
he nodded, still looking a little dazed and embarrassed. āyeahā¦ get some sleep, kid.ā
you gave him one last playful smile and slipped out the door.
back in your own bedroom, the second you closed the door behind you, the laughter faded.
you leaned back against it, breathing harder than you shouldāve been.
your cock was rock hard, straining against your jeans, throbbing from the memory of joelās tongue in your mouth, his hand on your neck, the low groan heād made when you kissed him back.
meanwhile, across the yard, joel sat on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands.
the house felt too quiet now that you were gone. springsteen was still playing faintly in the living room, but all joel could hear was the blood rushing in his ears and the echo of his own voice whispering what the hell did you just do?
he was hard. painfully hard. his cock throbbed against his shorts from the feeling of your body on top of him, your tongue sliding against his.
the shame hit like ice water.
he dropped to his knees beside the bed like he used to when he was younger, clasping his hands together.
but the prayer wouldnāt come.
all he could see was your smile right before you kissed him.
older! neighbor jack who's having a midlife crisis over his love for you.
older! neighbor jack who "accidentally" leaves his shutters open when he's cooking so he can catch you drooling at his biceps.
older! neighbor jack who will always drive you home after a night out.
older! neighbor jack who tucks you in at night, leaving a cup of water on your nightstand.
older! neighbor jack who would notice you getting closer to him over time, touching him more, looking at him through your lashes.
older! neighbor jack who would reluctantly let you crash at his place when you felt lonely but would sleep on the couch so you could be comfy.
older! neighbor jack who's questioning his morals when you grab his face so he can no longer look away from you.
older! neighbor jack who lets you fall asleep on his lap on movie nights.
older! neighbor jack who rubs your back and carries you to bed.
older! neighbor jack who stutters out an "i can't, honey" when you ask him to stay.
older! neighbor jack who spends his entire shift texting you back after you try to flirt with him. "No, you shouldn't be thinking about me like that."
older! neighbor jack who has to slam his phone down after you send him a picture of your shirtless body.
older! neighbor jack who has no clue what to say. "Honey, were you supposed to send that to me?"
older! neighbor jack who's walking home at the end of his shift, picking up his phone and sending you a stupid 'dad' selfie. "Leave your door unlocked."
I'm thinking of some crazy situation where trinity realises dennis's love for older men who are big and hairy (she knows about his crush on robby), and so as a gag gift she buys him a gay bear calendar, so he can look at a new older guy's body on his wall every month.
dennis goes bright red, but hangs it up and looks through it anyway. he won't say no to being provided some eye candy- and these guys are *very* hot, after all...
unbeknownst to them, robby had ended up, a few months back, doing some amateur modelling for one of his friends who did photography in the local queer scene. apparently the photos were going towards fun projects to raise money for the local clubs and centres, and he hadn't minded so much- no one would see his face anyway.
dennis's heart starts to pick up when he flips the calendar to october, and despite the fact the photos cut off at the neck and the guys faces aren't in view, there's something *very* familiar about the set of this guys posture and the shape of his belly... dennis was going to write it off as lucky coincidence that he'd been provided with shockingly robby-esque wank material, but then his eyes land on the guys arms. and see the tattoos.
oh. oh yeah. that's robby, attending physician of the ptmc emergency department, pictured half naked in high-res and hanging on his bedroom wall. dennis was fucking screwed.
Dennis in his fifties, blonde hair littered w grey. He still works in the ed but he also does classes from time to time, specifically about the differences present in rural medicine.
And jack and robby are college roommates and occasional fuck buddies who are foaming at the mouth every time Dr Whitaker guest lectures, getting excited every time they have a rotation at PTMC because that means theyāre more likely to be able to sneak a glance at him at some point.
One day, theyāre dicking around a bit leaving the lecture building, ready to get home, when robby stops dead in his tracks - jack is half on his back, arms around Robbyās neck. When he looks up, he sees what made him stop. Dr Whitaker is leaning against the wall of the building, cigarette hanging between his delicate fingers as he stares at them, smirking. They stay there staring for a bit, before Whitaker takes a final drag of his cigarette before stomping it out, leaving to his car with a wink and a lazy salute in the med students direction.
Jack and robby spend a week arguing about who that wink was for.
āStay..ā Daryl whined as he felt your hand leave his, and the mattress shift, clearly you had gotten up.
It didnāt matter if you had to piss, he turned to watch you like a sulking dog, droopy eyes and soft frown.
Maybe heād follow you, for āprotectionā, because what if a walker magically spawned through the boarded up windows and barricaded doors and attacked you?
He loomed around the corner while you did your business, never saying a word, only a soft grunt while he followed you back down the hall, interlocking hands once you ended up back in the dingy bed yāall claimed for the night.
Thinking of that time im pretty sure i saw an OF creator at a craft market and thinking about making it huckleabbot. Hmmmmmm.
Now, Jack isnāt ashamed to admit he watches porn. Heās only human, and, sometimes, porn is the only way to get that release you need.
What he is (only slightly) ashamed to admit is he has a favourite creator, ghosttpup, Casper. Itās nothing abnormal, really, but he sometimes thinks heād rather die than admit he has a thing for a wide-eyed and innocent-looking guy half his age fucking himself on huge dildos until heās in tears. Totally normal.
What might not be normal is how fixated he is on the boy. How much money he has spent on him: personal videos, stream donations, gifts, he could go on. How much time heās spent watching those videos, the mans face only slightly covered with a mask- a way to conceal his identity, but oh so fucking hot - but either plenty enough revealed that Jack can see Casperās beautiful expressions as he screws his face up with pleasure.
He can easily imagine what it would be like to have him to himself, enjoys imagining, itās his favourite pass time. He sometimes dreams about Casper, about how insatiable he would be, begging for more than just Jacks cock, begging to be fucked harder, faster, deeper. He dreams of biting his tattooed leg - a two headed calf tangled in barbed wire and ivy - a work of art he wants to taint and blemish.
Itās one of the few fantasies he lets himself relish in. His obsession stopped any shame he might have had months and months ago, but unfortunately it also brought up some self reflection.
Like, maybe becoming fixated on this porn streamer is an indicator that he might be ready to move on.
And wasnāt that a punch to the gut.
He kinda shut down for a few days after that thought first appeared. Missed several streams, which he is kinda mad about after the fact.
He met with his therapist again, avoided the topic for at least 20 minutes out of sheer embarrassment of what he was going to confess. And it was embarrassing, but it did help, talking things through, actually hearing someone say that if he thought he was ready, it was okay to start dating. That he wasnāt moving on from his wife, just moving forward with his life.
He still felt like a pervert.
And letās be honest, he is. His break from watching his streams barely lasted a week before he was desperate again, enough to push through his guilt. And God, hearing Casper whimper, saying how much he missed Jack these past few days as he grinds down deeper and deeper and God -
Yeah, Jack probably has a problem. But itās fine. He knows nothing will come of it. Knows heās just craving sex and intimacy all together. He can take steps to remedy that.
He tries going out. Tries a few times. Even ventures out onto dating apps. He always comes back to Casper.
But, he doesnāt close the door. Decides that actively seeking out people makes him feel like shit, that he would prefer one of those rom-com first meetings.
Which is something he kinda gets.
Dennis Whitaker caught his eye on that very first shift, but pittfest is a mess so he doesnāt interact with him much at all. Heās cute. Handsome. Blond hair cut far too short, plastered to his face with sweat, pointed chin and soft features. Jack canāt help but be endeared to him.
And that endearment grows over the next few weeks of brief interactions during shift changes. Knocking into each other and murmuring apologies in the hub, fingers brushing against each other when handing over charts. Hell, Jack starts praising the kid, giving him drinks and snacks just to see his face light up with a blush heās grown far too fond of.
Its sweet. Its soft. He files dennis away under āmaybe, somedayā, and keeps Casper for the here and now, something to take the edge off in the interim.
Luck is on his side or something because Dennis joins street team and now theyāre spending more time with each other. They spend several hours working side by side instead of the usual brief hand offs. Means itās easier to reach out and touch, hands around his waist guiding him out of the way, arm around the shoulder, fingers brushing as they walk side by side.
Means itās easier for Jack to ask him out for coffee. And then dinner. And then dinner again.
They had their first kiss right outside Dennisās apartment after the fourth date, a nice breakfast thing. He had pressed Dennis up against the door frame, hands wandering up underneath his shirt to feel those farm muscles, delighting in the warmth of his skin. Dennis was bolder than he looked, one hand in Jacks curls, the other teasing at his waistband, pulling him closer and closer, trying to merge them together.
Jack likes to imagine they would have gone further if Santos didnāt open the door, giving them both a shit-eating grin as they pulled apart.
He went home and watched three of Caspers videos to take the edge off, thinking of Dennisās tanned skin and strong arms, biting his lip trying to imagine it was Dennisās teeth pulling the skin again.
He came far too hard, upset that the only witness was a screen, wishing he was cleaning cum off someone other than himself.
Their next date was at Jackās apartment, under the guise of a movie night. They made it 10 minutes into a random Marvel movie before Dennis mounted him, climbing easily into his lap. Jack was quick to respond, hands around his waist, lips on his neck and chest as Dennis rolled his hips against him.
The makeout session on the couch didnāt last too much longer, both desperate for more. Jack hadnāt worn his prosthetic, moving around the apartment with his crutches, but if they were gonna get to the bedroom, they would have to pull apart, which, judging by Dennis's whine when Jack pulled away, wasn't likely to happen. Jack managed to mumble a "Wait, wait, we need to-", Dennis cutting off his murmurings with another kiss before sliding off his lap.
Jack adjusted his hips, expecting Dennis's wandering hands to go for his belt buckle, but was instead greeted with a firm grip on his ass, pulling him closer, so he was sat on the edge of the sofa, crotch to crotch. And then he was being lifted from the couch easily, with only a small grunt of effort. Jack wrapped his thighs around his waist, squeezing as tight as possible, arms following suit, near strangling Dennis with how tight he was gripping, terrified of falling. But Dennis didn't falter, grabbing his ass even tighter, pressing them against each other further, pulling a moan out of the both of them, the sound vibrating against their joined lips.
Getting out of the living room was no problem; it was getting to the bedroom that they seemed to struggle with, with Jack pulling on Dennis's head frequently to deepen the kiss further, sending the younger man stumbling into the walls - Jack was definitely going to have bruises on his back in the morning - pressing deeper against Jack as they licked into each other's mouths. He was harder than he ever thought would be possible, desperate for more. He pulled Dennis's hair again, pulling them apart just enough to mutter a breathless "bedroom", before allowing the man to dive back against him.
When they made it into Jack's bedroom, leaving the hallway an absolute fucking state, Dennis lay them both on the bed, pressing Jack down, kissing his way down his still-clothed chest, wetting the fabric with his open mouth before finally getting to the hem and pulling it off. Dennis continued to move further down, pushing Jack down firmly when he tried to sit up, pulling down the pair of basketball shorts the other was wearing, releasing his red and dripping cock. The groan he let out at the contact quickly turned into a whiny gasp as Dennis licked the leaking tip, an evil smile on his face as he maintained eye contact, before he wrapped his lips around the aching dick and started moving.
And maybe it had been too long since Jack had had any sexual contact that wasn't his own hand, but the feeling of the intern's throat around him, swirling his tongue around his shaft and head, God, he didn't know if there could be anything better as he tangled one hand into the blond curls. The feeling increased when he felt wetness on his lower leg and a rocking pressure. He lifted his head slightly, and sure enough, Dennis had managed to straddle him and was rutting against him, desperate and soaking and oh so eager to please, as he looked up with those wide, watery blue eyes, drooling slightly around Jack's cock, moaning around him.
Jack tightened his grip in his hair, earning himself another delicious moan, and gently pulled Dennis up to him, bringing their lips together again for a moment and getting Dennis to straddle his chest. When they pulled apart, Jack rasped, "I'm gonna eat you out now." getting another eager kiss as Dennis moved off of him to remove his pants and underwear.
breaking off the kiss to remove his own shirt as well - Jack groaning a "you're gonna kill me" at the sight of two silver nipple piercings - Dennis returned to his position of straddling Jacks chest, but this time he was so close Jack could easily smell the slick dripping out of him. He began to help Dennis shift up to hover over his face, rubbing his thighs gently the whole, time when he noticed something. A very familiar tattoo. Something he had regularly fantasized about, and oh my god.
His eyes widened slightly in amazement, quickly shifting between the boy above him and the beautiful tattoo on his thigh, and God, this had to be a dream, right? There is no way he could be this lucky.
The angle was awkward, but he was able to manoeuvre his neck to press his lips against the tattoo, quickly moving to suck and bite at the inked skin. Dennis whined above him, either in impatience or pleasure from the attention to his sensitive thighs, but Jack only pulled away once he knew a mark would be left behind.
They would talk about it later, right now, he had a job to do. He pulled Dennis down slightly, and was engulfed by him.
Jack had always enjoyed eating pussy out like this, no matter what. being surrounded by legs, feeling the pressure of his partner on top of him. He always did his best work when his partner was sitting on his face. And Dennis would be no exception.
Being enveloped in the musky scent of his cunt, being able to taste how good he was feeling - how good Jack was making him feel - he could stay under Dennis forever. He began by just mouthing against the folds, using his tongue to tease at all the nerves, occasionally moving his head so his nose would nudge at Dennis's cock - he liked to start slowly, find his rhythm, learn what made Dennis whine and tighten his thighs around his head. When he got familiar and Dennis got comfortable with the steady pleasure he was providing, he moved his tongue into him.
The surprised gasp he received from the intrusion made him hum in contentment, the vibrations rewarding him with another moan as Dennis squeezed around his tongue - god, he was so tight, how long did he have to work himself open for his videos? Jack was somehow getting even harder with that thought, moaning into Dennis again as he swirled his tongue against his plush walls. He now imagined helping Dennis ease himself open before he went on camera and performed as Casper for all his viewers, watching him ride those monster dildos in person and getting to help him recover after - getting to watch him do this work, knowing that Jack was the only one he truly wanted.
He must have been moaning at these thoughts more than he realised, because Dennis was coming much sooner than he expected, come and squirt soaking his face and bedsheets. Jack tried to get as much of it in his mouth as possible, desperate for a taste as he gripped Dennis's hips tighter, helping ease him through the after shocks of the orgasm as he eased his movements.
After a few minutes, Dennis was tapping his arm, asking to be released, and then flopping down in bed next to him, breathless and smiling, "I'm gonna need you to do that again next time."
Jack turned to his side, sitting up to lean over Dennis and peck at his lips, the kid eagerly returning, wanting to taste himself, "Oh, next time? You don't want to go again?"
His voice was teasing, but the tone changed into something far more desperate and pathetic as Dennis dragged his hand down and gave one firm stroke of his cock. "I think it would be rude of me to neglect such a pretty cock, right, Jack?"
He could only let out another whine as Dennis began to straddle him again, leaning down to kiss him deeply again, whispering, "Besides, I would hate to disappoint my biggest fan."
Samira & magpie!Samira + Mel & hamster!Mel ! š¦šš¹ for oakleft (on twitter) who asked for some art of them <3 I hope you like them!
(I think I'll draw the whole series of the da pitt characters and their animal selves, they're just so cuteee)
Based on his st1cker sheet I drew for my sh0p! I'll try to draw them all this week š«”
Jackās composure finally snapped. He had Dennis exactly where heād wanted him for all this time. Jack standing between his legs, hands under his shirt, tongue in his mouth.
It was heaven.
What he didnāt notice was someone else in the restaurant. Not until the office door opened and he jumped like he just got burned.
Robby. Shit.
āRobby- fuck man I-ā he didnāt even know how to explain this. Getting caught fondling their sous chef in the office after hours. He was so fucked.
Robby was staring. He didnāt say anything. But his eyes darkened. He took a step closer. āKeep touching him.ā
āWhat?ā Jack was blinking, confused, looking at Robby despite Dennis trying to pull him closer.
āFuck heād been working you up too, hasnāt he?ā Robby took a few more steps closer, eyes on Dennis. āLate nights, accidental touchesā¦ā he looked Dennis up and down.
Jack cursed. Son of a bitch. Dennis had them exactly where he wanted him. āThis is exactly what you want, isnāt it? Have both of us fuck you open on this desk.ā
Dennis shuddered and Jack gripped his thighs.
āFucking hellā¦ā Jack exhale, pressing his forehead to Dennisās shoulder. He was so hard it was insane. āFine. Ok. You get to just watch.ā He shot a look at Robby.
Robby frowned and opened his mouth to protest. Jack raised an eyebrow and he closed his mouth again. An unspoken tension between them snapping.
daddy doms robby and jack picking up nervous and panicking newbie puppy dennis in the bdsm club, and letting him snuggle into them on one of the couches until he calms down... they ask if he's okay with them keeping him safe for a little while, and he agrees, settled by their deep voices and easy control. they just cuddle him and pet his little fabric puppy ears, and tell him that he's such a good boy for them...
he ends up drifting into subspace between their warm, comforting bodies, and they just hold him gently as he eventually falls asleep on them- a worn out pup whos found a safe spot to nap. while it's not *exactly* how dennis thought his first bdsm club experience would go, he does end up finding himself a doting pair of daddies who officially collar him as their pup just a couple of weeks later.
robby's on an online meeting from home with the department heads and management etc, to discuss the performance of the new med students and interns- and hes spending his time praising dennis for his promise and skill in his work, recommending him for everything he can and lobbying for him to stay at ptmc....
all while, unseen to management, dennis whitaker the golden boy intern is curled up naked under the desk, snoozing in a puppy bed at robby's feet. robby talks about dennis's alert nature and fast reactions while the pup snuffles in his sleep and shifts, showing off the heavy black collar buckled on his neck.
he talks about dennis's independence and initiative, while thinking of the leash and harness he's going to fasten the puppy into as soon as the call ends. talks about dennis's good contributions to discussions while thinking of the muzzle he'll use to control the puppy's barks and yips.
he talks about how dennis has all the makings of a great leader, while thinking about the way he holds his boy down and fucks him stupid every night, leash in hand and the puppy relying on him for everything. management nod agreeably, and seem convinced dr whitaker should stay.
dr whitaker in question had just woken up, and was nuzzling his face against the leg of his attending, puppy eyes dumb and wide and blue. he wondered what the computer voices were talking about, since words didn't mean much to a silly little pup. it didn't matter though, his owner would take control and denny could relax. his brain fuzzed back out to static and he snuggled back into his bed- daddy would take care of him.
