#about sub!joe

[heyydolly]

heliocentric-- extra: nsfw alpahbet

You've asked, you've been incredibly patient. I have answered. Please enjoy. Some of the pieces referenced here are post wedding.

CW: 18+ Content (Smut). Aspects of BDSM relationship are heavily described. Kinky heavy (choking, pegging, some sadomasochism mentioned).

sub!joe masterlist | joe burrow masterlist | main masterlist

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a = aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

the way aftercare looks truly depends on what kind of dynamic was used. for all the sex joe and sienna have it’s about the exchange, the give and the take. yet, there’s something particularly interesting about vanilla sex’s aftercare. perhaps, it’s the tender shared breaths, her fingers in his hair, her lips brushing over his lips up towards his nose. maybe it’s the way he traces her spine, their grins soft and shaky. 

it’s still the barely breathed out, “thank you,” passed back and forth. it falls like a feather, bouncing to and fro before it lands without sound between them, a sticky gratitude that coats their hands and chests—the way they like it. sienna stretches up, teeth grazing over his nose. 

joe’s exhaled laughter is a whisper over her face. “that’s my nose, ma’am.”

“a cute nose on a handsome face.”

and joe swears he should be used to it, to the way that sienna compliments him like it’s so easy to do. but even after all their years together, he can’t help the heat in his cheeks, knows he’s probably turning a little red. 

“one more minute, yeah?” he finally returns, lips brushing over her cheek. they still need to clean up, but for now it’s just the warmth of their naked bodies—shared, uninterrupted with no barriers and unfiltered. 

“yeah, sounds good.”

if it’s more intense, a scene they’ve set, the aftercare is executed punctually, and never really deviates. sienna’s brain is still rolling as she gathers the glass of water and the warm wash cloth. joe’s much too big for her to carry, so she buys him time until his mind and body reconnect, until his eyes blink back at her with true awareness. focused, even if still soft. 

she holds him close, slips in behind him sometimes on the bed, rests his head onto her lap, carding her fingers through his hair. joe always roots into the touch, like babies do, and he hums. there’s no real reason to ask joe too much when he’s like this. now that it’s over, he needs time. and sienna’s more than happy to accommodate that. more than happy to let him find himself again, even if it means she’s got all 200+ pounds of him in her lap. she’d do it every time, just to see him blink up at her, recognition settling behind those liquid blue eyes. 

“welcome back,” she grins. 

joe hums again, half his mouth lifting into a grin. “yeah, there it is. the sun.”

later, once she’s more confident he can stand again, sienna walks him to the bathroom, cleans him up, sometimes draws a bath just for him, where she perches onto the back ledge of the tub, her feet and legs submerged, bracing joe against her chest as she runs the soapy washcloth over his shoulders and chest. “does anything hurt more than a 3?”

most often the answer is no. at times, rare as it is, it’s a yes. joe shakes his head. “no,” he answers today. 

he won’t have all his words for a while, not until he’s nestled up under the sheets again. but single word responses are a good sign. “does anything hurt below a three?”

“my ass,” he huffs with a laugh. but he had taken some sharp thwacks from the paddle so it’s to be expected. 

“there’s no bruising. but we’ll check again in the morning, okay?”

she’s met with another nod before joe drops his head into her shoulder. “will this involve a cavity search?”

sienna snorts, shoulders shaking and therefore by extension joe shakes too. “not unless you tell me you need or want one.”

b = body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

joe can’t really be faulted for this. really, he shouldn’t be faulted for this. he loves sienna’s chest. and no, not just because her breasts are drool worthy, and god, are they drool worthy. but it’s his favorite place to settle. on a bad day, joe can rest there, listen to the thump-thump thump-thump of her heart and surrender to the sounds of her living. everything he’s ever needed, ever wanted squeezed between his palms as her heart beats, a thump-thump thump-thump pair at a time.

and sure, sometimes, when she’s not wearing a top or even when she is, joe will press kisses into her breastbones, slide over her body one mwuah at a time, gather the tissue between his teeth. never hard enough to hurt her, just enough to know flesh is there between his incisors. just enough to feel her, for his tongue and mouth to salivate. just enough for sienna to run her nails over his side. “you hungry?” she laughs. 

then joe releases, peels his jaw open and the skin and tissue and fat falls back to where it was. “just keeping you on your toes.”

other times, as he crawls up under her shirt, he’s much more intentional about his destination, lips wrapping around her nipple. sienna’s going to sigh. she’s going to jolt at the first wet touch but then laugh before it melts like butter on a hot pan and sigh. when she wants him, all she has to do is lift his head. if he wants to hear her heart again, all joe has to do is drop his ear to the flat middle. it’s the perfect place to be. 

sienna can’t get enough of joe’s hands. sure, she loves his mouth, the way his tongue dances over her, the way his lips glisten with the stain of her. but his hands. god, his hands drive her mad, the way it feels when he slides his palm over the small of her back, the entire area engulfed by his palm and fingers. it sends a chill up her spine, makes her mouth water. 

it’s obscene at how utterly pathetic she can get when joe cups her, her entire pussy in the flat of his hands. sienna’s mind goes blank and the only thing she can think to do is grind down into the flesh, begging for the release. joe’s hands are sinful, how tender they can caress her. the way his digits curl into her waist, into her hips, not with the explicit desire to cause pain, but driven by a deep desperate ache that leaves him unable to do anything else but cling to her. sienna loves the weight of his digits on her tongue, the tip of her tongue collecting every drop of her arousal off his fingers, teasing at the webbing between his fingers too. 

joe grins down at her, eyes half closed at the sight. “god, it’s a little pathetic how hard i am watching you do that.”

sienna only responds by sealing her lips around, sucking back the last few drops. she pulls her head back, humming at the taste of herself. joe cups her throat, the side of her neck now wet due to his grasp. it doesn’t stop them. could never stop them. joe stretches down, lips parted before they seal around hers in a kiss, a collection of tongue, spit, and nips, just as delicious as it is a mess. 

at night, when sienna’s teetering on the edge of sleep, but not fully over it, she takes joe’s hand, traces the veins, drags her nail up his knuckles, memorizes where every callus is, was, and might be in the future. it worries her, when joe falls asleep first and she’s slow behind him, that her work will wake him up. she looks up, hair scratching against the pillow case to watch him in the dark, as she works down the lines in his palm. 

joe’s breathes come evenly as always, lips parted just a hair at times. he looks so at peace, so at ease that sienna wants to bottle the moment to save for later. she knows it can’t be like this all the time, that undoubtedly things would happen. but sienna wants so deeply to keep him like this, wants to make life easy for them both so they can always savor these moments of quiet calm. her fingers are gingerly working over the creases in his palm and joe sleeps away next to her. when sienna finally feels the tugs of sleep winning, she places his hand just under chest, below her heart and in the morning, joe’s palmed her ribs and pulled her into his body subconsciously. or maybe he’s pulled himself closer to her. 

either way, his palm is alright there, at the top of her stomach, grounding as his thumb brushes up and down.

c = cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

there’s a gleam in sienna’s eyes that tells joe before her words do that he may not make it out on the other side of this alive. it’s the same gleam as always, a twinkle that feels more like a spark waiting to catch fire. it proceeds her dark chuckle, which always goes straight to joe’s cock too. that fact is not helped by the fact that sienna’s fists are wrapped around his cock, and she’s drooling down onto him, the flat of her tongue pressed against the tip and when she chuckles the sound has nowhere to go but to his dick. 

and joe knows he’s fucked. 

so—he might have asked for it. wearing nothing beneath the shorts, tan evened out now, shirtless, hands teasing over sienna’s hips as she worked over the bouquet of flowers she bought for the house. an arrangement she made by hand. that she insisted on making by hand when it’s killing joe not to have her attention. 

so what if joe asked for it? so what if he flirted with danger and danger answered? so what if he swears he can feel his balls drawing up into his body again, the suck and tug of sienna’s mouth and hands working double time over him, leaving him to claw at the couch cushions, the grunt pulled out from his chest ripping his throat raw? 

so what if dancing in the fire meant he was instructed not to touch when that’s all he wants? so what if he comes, hips pushed up off the couch, so hard he chokes sienna? 

it doesn’t seem to stop her in the slightest. sienna coughs once, a haggard sound, but then returns, slurping the come off him loud and unabashedly. it’s hot and seeps down his thighs too, over her hands, as it continues to trickle down. and as nonchalant as joe wants to appear, he is cracking. he is all frayed edges watching sienna with his come dribbling down the corner of her lips. 

“please,” joe begs, exhaling hard—chest expanding and collapsing damn near simultaneously. “need to touch you.”

“you’re greedy,” sienna grins, sucking her fingers clean. the sight makes him whine, and writhe from his seated position on the couch. will she clean him up next? “which got you into this position in the first place.” 

“i was well behaved. was so good for you.” the pillows and cushions are testament to joe’s grip. 

“know what else is good?” sienna asks. 

“what?”

“the way you taste.”

joe sees stars when her lips latch on again, collecting the mess on his soft cock, sucking the come off his thighs too. she leaves no stone unturned, not even a crumb inside a crevice. sienna takes it all and all joe can do between the begging is laugh.

isn’t he getting what he asked for?

d = dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

it’s a mistake the first time it happens. really, it’s just happenstance, a byproduct of need, hands grasping for whatever flesh they can settle on, mouths tenderly working over necks and chests, teasing for what’s to come. it’s what happens when you put the opposite ends of magnets together. they meet, pulled together by forces stronger than any one of them is capable of dodging away from. 

attraction is inevitable. 

joe’s hand slips. he was reaching for her breast, to cup the fat, pinch the nipple between his thumb and forefingers but sienna’s breast is wet, still, from his tongue and he’s trembling, filled with awe at the way sienna’s so utterly wet and open beneath him. like she has nothing to hide. because she doesn’t. she’d never need to hide from joe. and joe never needs to hide from sienna. 

but his hand slips and he winds up cupping her throat instead, a bit more force behind it because joe—again, didn’t intend to land there at her neck—and sienna moans. head thrown back against the pillow, pressing up into his palm. “harder,” she commands. it’s not a polite request, not a suggestion, not a plea. she knows exactly what she wants. it’s the tone she uses with him when he’s under, when he wants to forget his own name. 

joe squeezes at the side, just a degree or two harder than the cupping. his lips part, jaw falling slack, at the way she clenched around his cock. “oh my—shit, baby,” his voice is higher than normal, tighter as if he’s got to derive his own vocal chords together with too much conscious effort for it to come out right. 

sienna grins, eyes rolling into the back of her head. “press har—”

the word doesn’t finish in anything that’s recognizable. joe presses the flat his palm into the middle of her throat. her breathe leaves her in a sigh, and he watches, cock still soaked and clenched by sienna’s cunt—a mass wave of flutters. “fuck, you’re coming, aren’t you?” joe whispers. afraid to shatter the moment. afraid to ruin this high for her. 

sienna’s beautiful like this, mouth open, skin shiny with a slight sheen of sweat and the exertion. she pulsates around him hard, and joe’s helpless to his own release, gives two pitiful thrusts himself before he comes too. joe’s got half his mind still, so he’s careful not to fall fully on her, slips to her side, breathing into the crook of her neck, kissing over her shoulder. 

“joe,” she finally manages to get out, voice tight and small. but she looks euphoric. sienna hiccups on an inhale and joe pulls his hand off, releases the heel of his palm first and then his fingers. sienna’s chest expands with the first deep inhale again. “i think i saw mars. beautiful this time of year.”

“you okay?” he asks around his tuft of laughter. “i didn’t hurt you, did i?”

“no, not in the slightest.” she’s still breathless, chest still heaving. 

“tell me more about mars. when you can.” he scoops her into his arms, fingers tracing the tendons of her neck. like he might be able to feel a bruise blooming. it’s not a secret that she loves his hands, but he didn’t think sienna loved them that much.

joe doesn’t do it often—choking sienna during sex is a luxury they both don’t want to spoil. but joe is a tease. he’s such a fucking tease. so he comes up behind her at times, cups her throat with his hand and squeezes just a hair—not enough to cut off her air, just enough for her to feel it though— before tilting her head back for a kiss. sienna’s look is always the same, the fluttering eyes, a soft blissed out grin before she accepts the offering of his lips.

no one needs to know that sienna loves being manhandled besides joe. she loves it when he’s a little rough with her, picked up and tossed onto the bed, her hair tugged at just a little. because they both know that it’ll never go too far. joe cares too much for her to take it there and she cares too much about him to push it. 

but when sienna wants to sink herself, when she needs to let it all go, joe’s always there to deliver it. joe watches the lights behind sienna’s eye blow open wide with his hand wrapped around her throat. the way her both hands are wrapped around his one wrist, like she’s egging him on, and he can’t fathom saying no to her in this moment, when she’s watching him so desperate for it. 

e = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

both of them know what they’re doing now with each other. with the years under their belts, there’s a lot of conversations that don’t need words. joe knows what the flicker of her eyes means from across the room. sienna knows what that squeeze at her elbow means. joe knows when he’s kissing at her ankle and she only grins what he’s in for. sienna knows what that high pitched moan means when it crests up from joe’s chest. 

they are damn near experts on each other’s bodies—mind, and soul included. when joe pushes, sienna pulls. when sienna beckons, joe answers. yet, they never treat this like routine. joe, buried in the thick warmth of sienna’s body, never treats it like something he’s seen countless times. he savors it, engraves into his mind the way she comes, how she pulsates around him, falls apart on his his cock with a flutter. sienna never takes the delicious stretch of joe for granted, never wants him to feel dispensable. their dynamic only works for them because it’s them. because it’s joe, who protects her from the furniture that never moves, and sienna sorts his emails without prompting. because it’s his fingers, and her strap that undo each other. and only them. lock and key, fitting together—a perfection union. 

this doesn't mean that they don’t have have actual talks. there’s plenty of conversations that have so many words. their relationship check-ins come like clock work, scheduled into both their calendars. while privacy is hard for joe, and to some extent sienna, it’s not always easy to have the hard conversations inside the home they share. so they sit outside, or joe drives them both a couple hours out of town, somewhere hopefully not many people will recognize him. they sit at park benches sometimes, notes and pens, and snacks spread out between them. 

they do the hard work because it works for them. 

those check-ins range from their 3w’s (will do, want to do, won’t do), to how they’re feeling about the progression of their relationship. reassess boundaries that they made last time. things like joe asking, “you said that cooking more was starting to tire you out. how is it working with letting the chef do the majority of the the cooking and then you stepping in on a weekend here and there?” 

“i like cooking on the weekends more than the weekdays, so that change has been really helpful.”

“good, i’m glad.”

it’s sienna asking joe, “how do you feel now with some of the new opportunities coming your way?” 

because last time they talked, really talked, not just about their days or about the laundry, or about sex, joe mentioned being worried about the longevity of his career. that he didn’t want to worry, all he could do was take it one season at a time. but joe’s come face to face to reality multiple times football would not last forever. his body, though young and in good shape, was fallible, and had a limit. 

football comes with an expiration date. a realization that hurts more than joe thought it could, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. not in the slightest. yet, sienna’s noticed him fretting more over his emails, asking her more often for space to think through his options. 

joe exhales, dropping the plastic wrap of the peppermint he just popped into his mouth into the empty bottle of pepsi sienna’s finished minutes ago now. “i’m happy to have the opportunity to get out from behind football. i think more and more, when i can’t sleep, about what waits for me. i know i can't really change what’s behind the door. whatever’s really meant to be there will always be there. every choice i make now really is just determining how quick or slow i am in reaching that door. i wanted football to last forever. i thought maybe it could.”

joe pauses and sienna’s careful, inches in closer to his hands so they’re there if he needs them. “but now?” she prompts. 

“now i think about having a family. with you. and how to make that happen, how to make that last forever. which means i have to last, you know. football’s still my priority. but i need to be healthy—physically and mentally— for what i want after that.”

“well, you’ll always have help. i’m here; i want a life with you, that goes beyond the lights and the whistles of football too. when the lights go dim, i’ll still have candles and matches.”

the rings—engagement and wedding band—dazzle in the late morning sun. it’s warm, a summer day that presses down with its humidity. it rained last night into the early morning and the air still feels thick with the moisture. but joe and sienna are perched on the park bench, bottoms of their pants and legs damp. not many people are around. a dog barks off in the distance, some runners past by them, their puffy exhales signalling all their efforts and work to keep pace. 

joe drags his fingers over the gold stack. his own gold band catches in the light too. he can’t feel the inscription anymore. the sensation is not new to him anymore. but he knows it’s there. saw it later on their wedding night when she showed it to him. joe winds a couple fingers around hers. “i’m grateful for that, for you. for now though, i want to play smart. do all that i can in football and keep my options open for when the right time comes for me to transition.”

“i like that word. transition. like a new phase in life.”

joe nods. “yeah, don’t know if i’m ready for a new phase right now. but i know it’ll come eventually. want to be ready for it.”

“a new phase, alright. put a couple babies in your arms fighting for their daddy’s attention.”

joe’s cheeks warm, partially due to the growing heat but also at the thought of kids—the kids he has with her. kids that have her kind eyes, and her nose. kids with hair textures and types that he has to wrestle with to get right, but once he learns how to do it, he’s a pro at it. kids that run into his legs with the echoes of his own laughter ringing back at him as they shout, mommy said to ask you if we could have ice cream before dinner?

his heart aches, yearns for a thing that scares him just a little. but he laughs, eyes finding hers through the light pink tint of her sunshades. “that sounds wonderful.”

in terms of their sexual dynamic, experience levels vary. joe’s still relatively inexperienced when it come to the bdsm thing. he’s only ever been the submissive to sienna. he’s only ever really experienced that with her, so this is where swinging parties come into play. sienna doesn’t want joe to feel like he’s gotten caged in, or forced into something where he doesn’t have equal footing in. she asks him to explore the scene, tells him he doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to do and he never has to go alone. 

sienna wants him to figure himself out, even if it means joe discovers he only wants what they have with her. sienna is a sharer. she was in that polyamorous relationship for years for good reason.  it’s not to say she can’t do monogamy. she can and loves being in the relationship with joe. sienna just had more time to understand herself, to share and grow through those experiences. that’s the thing she wants for joe too, to have the space for the messy and the complicated, and to figure it all out. 

joe’s okay with some aspects and not others and they always, always discuss those boundaries days in advance of a party and for a couple days afterwards too. sienna can’t help it though. she loves to watch joe’s face light up, the slight mischievous grin he levels at her when he finds something new, something else he enjoys. it’s like christmas for them. 

f = favorite position (this goes without saying)

missionary is the well loved position between the two of them. it’s intimate, gives them both the ease of access that they want each other. it’s sacrificial in the way neither one of them feels like they’re truly giving anything up. there’s only something to be gained—the soft ‘uh-uh-uh’s’ ghosting up over joe’s face from sienna’s lips, joe’s exhaled whines, the sound that escapes him that sienna swears should be illegal, gives her a high even when it shouldn’t. 

but they have second favorites too. positions that may not be utilized often but are so loved when they do come out. sienna easily loves it when she has joe bent over in front of a mirror, watching the way his eyes slip close at the work of her fingers inside of him. when his lips have gone red from how hard he’s biting down on them. “no, pretty boy, i need you to make all the noise you want,” sienna reprimands, tugging at his chin. 

joe’s jaw drops open, face pressed into the pillow, a strangled and broken moan scratching over his lungs and throat. 

“there we fucking,” sienna hisses, replacing her fingers with the strap. joe pushes back, another groan ripped out from his body. “go,” she concludes. 

his head is always so heavy on his neck. joe’s much too weak, too far under to object when she gathers a palmful of his hair and tugs his head up. “watch yourself,” she growls into his skin. 

all joe can make out is how dark his eyes are, pupils blown out wide, how his mouth can’t stay close. he doesn’t hear any of the obscene noises he’s making just watching her. he focuses on how strong her arms look now that she’s flexing to keep his head up, how she’s kneeling on the bed behind him, hips thrusting relentlessly against the back of his thighs and ass. sienna looks so perfect like this that joe swears it’ll make him come faster if he stares too long at her. 

joe’s a big fan of cowgirl. he can still watch over sienna’s face, watch the way she grins down at him, but now he can take in more of her too, the way her thighs tense with the work of her hips. her hands can roam, skating over his chest and it’s same openness as before, access to each other with no hindrance. 

he can take hold of her hips, press his thumb into the space around her stomach and the bone. not in any effort to control, just to feel her body, feel the muscles working under his palm. there’s eye contact, the flutter of her lashes. and there’s joe, giving himself up, wrist sometimes pinned to the bed either by force or by verbal demand. he’s more than happy to give up everything he has. 

g = goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

neither joe or sienna are goofy during sex after the dominant/submissive dynamic blossomed. previously, they were a little bit, a chuckle here and there. maybe a passing comment, but humor was never the underpinning for their intimacy. and certainly humor doesn’t find its way into sex now with the dynamic shift. it’s not that they don’t recognize the levity in the moments when they do happen—a fart, a queef, the garbled mess of sounds that are supposed to be words but most certainly are not actually intelligible words. 

sex is such a vulnerable space for them. there is such a humility in the act alone that they both tend to hold the space sacred. there’s a lot of teasing grins, a lot goading. “oh, it’s that good to you, baby. you can’t even talk right, can you? so fucking gone you can’t get your words out.”

joe and sienna are gentle, reverent, and careful of each other during the act. it’s usually after the moment passes, after they’re both cleaned up, wrapped up in the sheets that the jokes seep out. joe has reconnected about 75% of his body and mind back together so he breaks the holy silence. “so, are we going to talk about the fact that i definitely farted during that or just going to let it go for now?”

sienna snickers into the crown of his head, his hair tickling the opening of her nose. “i was attempting to spare your dignity.”

“i don’t need dignity. just need you.” he burrows in against her chest, lips barely pressing down to her flesh. 

“i think you should have some dignity. but i swear to christ if you fart like that again, i’m pulling a red light and we’re taking a time out for the day.”

“i thought i was done being gassy! we waited a whole extra day just to be sure. besides, it’s not my fault. you’re the one that folded me up like that.”

“you liked it though,” sienna murmurs, cupping his cheek, thumb stroking the skin that’s not freshly shaven, but not quite stubbly yet either. 

“i did. a lot,” joe laughs. it’s breathy and she knows he won’t last longer than another ten minutes on her chest. so the room falls quiet again, interrupted eventually by the softest snore. 

h = hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

the first time sienna gets to see joe naked, well before they bring the dominant/submissive dynamic seeps into their relationship, she almost laughs. not out of actual humor, but out of pure jealousy. of course he looks like a god sculpted in marble. of course he’s somehow perfectly hairy without it being overbearing. it’s neat and tidy, perfection really. it’s unfair. truly unfair. 

but it has to be a fluke. a one off, because there’s no way he’s this groomed all the time. but sienna is so wrong. joe’s actually this well groomed. all. the. damn. time. 

after the fourth or fifth time they’re intimate, sienna hums, head titled as she looks up at joe. 

“is something…wrong?” joe asks, it feels strange to be asking, but he is worried. she’s always looked at him carefully. always had a calculus in her gaze about him that’s made joe’s stomach knot up and feel at ease at the same time. comfortable, and calm, but aware that it’s only been a few months of them together, that what he’s feeling should scare him more than it does. and the fact that he’s not scared is what actually scares him. because when he’s around sienna, tucked up on couch cushions with netflix playing in front of them or sitting across from each other out for dinner, joe’s so at ease. 

“i think i’m hallucinating. there’s no way you’re always this trimmed up. it has to be magic.”

and joe shouldn’t. he fucking laughs, a deep and bellowed sound all from his gut. “we’re literally naked right now and you’re talking about my pubic hair?”

“it’s so neat!” sienna defends. “i can’t be blamed for noticing that.”

“it’s just easier on me to keep it that way, for football. but like, really, this is the time you bring it up?”

“so, you’re telling me you don’t look at the presentation of your meal before you dive in?”

joe blushes, a full body heat that spreads, chest warming first alongside his cheeks and then it grows until the tips of his ears are hot. “well, when you put it like that,” he murmurs. 

“exactly. and this meal looks perfectly presented if you ask me.” her voice drops, hand grasps the length of him. joe’s head drops into the back of the couch cushions, exhale shakily leaving his chest before the wet heat of her mouth and tongue settle over him. 

i = intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

romance is not a singular aspect of sex for sienna and joe. romance is the sex. it is the point of it, to feel interwoven with each other. the point of sex is not just to be intimate for intimacy's sake but sex is an expression of the gratitude and romance that they feel for each other. romance is not something they’re trying to keep alive. it is the entirety of what they do. romance is how they say i love you without the words and sex is just an extension of that desire, of that foundational principle: they can’t take the other person’s presence for granted. 

joe doesn’t need sienna in his life. but he wants it. he craves the calm that she brings. sienna doesn’t need joe. but she loves the way he brings a new perspective to her world, allows her to consider things she hadn’t thought about. she loves that for joe, it’s about ensuring just as much as she protects him, just as much as she can and does step in front, that she doesn’t forget herself in the process. 

they are two complete beings on their own. however, being together is what makes them better people in the long run. joe’s a better person because he knows in order to continue to have sienna he has to do the work. he has to continue to want and choose her. for sienna to continue to have joe in her life, she has to continue to show up. there are no days off for their relationship. there are off days for sure. days that they’re both worn too thin and don’t have a full tank, but it’s on those days that they do show up with they do have and do the best they can. 

joe drops his bag off in the laundry room and the washer is empty but the dryer’s still got the clothes from last night in them. it’s dry but this is the third time this month that sienna’s left the laundry in the dryer. which isn’t the worst offense in the world. joe’s just already sore from practice. he’s tired. he just wants to drop his sweaty clothes into the machine and go. he does not want to have to load up the basket and lug it up the steps again. but he does it any how, the basket bumping against his hip the entire way up the stairs. joe can’t be bothered with folding but at least the clean clothes are upstairs for later. 

when sienna gets home later, pressing a kiss to joe’s cheek before she excuses herself to the bathroom to shower and to change before dinner. her feet ache terribly. the heels were a bad idea, too high and too skinny. there, sitting in the closet is the basket of clean clothes. “shit,” she sighs and takes the fifteen minutes or so to fold what she can, even if she has no energy to put it away. 

joe slithers into the room just as sienna rolls up the last of his socks. “i thought you were going to shower,” he hums. 

“sorry for leaving the laundry again. i thought i set a timer on my phone so i wouldn’t leave it and i guess i didn’t.”

“thanks for folding the clothes.” because joe doesn’t want to say it’s okay but he gets that things happen. it was not intentional and even if it’s annoying, joe knows that they’re not in the game of picking apart the small things. not when they’re both looking for years together. it’s not about keeping a tally. 

“least i could do. i don’t have it in me to put it away, but i didn’t want anything to wrinkle at the very least.” sienna looks up from where she’s settled on the floor, the bench behind her holds an assortment of piles of their clothes. 

“i’ll take it.” joe nods towards the bathroom. “i’ll get the shower started if you want. or i can get your clothes ready. whichever you prefer.”

“thanks for understanding. i know it’s the third time i’ve done this.”

“we’ll triple check that alarm next time.”

“quadrouple check it. and if you don’t mind just helping me off the floor i can handle the rest.”

joe crosses the room and helps sienna to her feet again, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “we said no hiding, no shying away from our mistakes and mishaps. i don’t love you any less over dry clothes left behind.” it’s not lost on joe that this could be worse. he’ll take clean and dry clothes left behind. 

“i feel bad. i know how annoying it is.”

“next time,” joe whispers. 

what a beautiful sound, to know they can get it wrong right now and that they have opportunities to get it right. sienna nods into his chest. “next time. do you mind picking out my clothes? i don’t think i’ll get started again if i sit down.”

“i don’t mind at all. i got you.”

sienna’s called joe twice. each time it’s gone straight to voicemail. she huffs and tries a third time. he should’ve landed by now. it’s been a couple hours since the scheduled arrival and there was no indication that there was a delay. she usually gets a text by now. the third call goes the same as the last, with no answer, right to voicemail. this time she decides to leave a voicemail, pinching the bridge of her noise between her forefinger and thumb when the automated voice tells her that the voicemail box is full. she shoots off a quick text, hope you made it safely. can you give me a call when you’re free? 

the text message lifts and she doesn’t even watch to see if it gets marked as delivered. instead, she goes on, finds a bag of popcorn to pop and tries to find something to melt her worry temporarily on tv. the sound of her phone ringing from the kitchen wakes her. it’s a faint chime but loud enough it pierces the edges of her subconscious and sienna pushes up from the couch cushions. the bowl of popcorn is on the coffee table. netflix is asking if she’s still watching. the outside is dark, like the bowels of an alleyway at midnight dark. winter’s favorite trick because as sienna scurries into the kitchen to answer the call before it ends, she notices it’s just after 8:30. she answers with her name, tasting her tongue for the first time since she jolted awake. it’s dry and sienna wipes at the corner of her mouth. 

“i’m so sorry, baby. never took the phone off airplane mode. when my phone shook earlier i thought it was you and then i realized later right before meetings, that it was a notification about the text not going through. i’m really sorry.”

“jetlag is kicking your ass, huh?”

joe laughs. both of them will be grateful for the bye week, when there’s an extra few days for him to recover, a few more days to spend with each other too. “a little. i just—,” he exhales around the words before finishing them. “are we too old to say we miss nap time? felt like i should’ve taken one on the flight but was too wired to sleep.”

“no, we’re not too old to miss nap time.” sienna knows this is the space to ask, to invite joe to tell her more but she doesn’t necessarily feel like she’s in the best state for it. “i accept your apology. we’re human at the end of the day. it happens.”

“still i know i probably worried you. flight was fine. no issues. i’m okay.”

“i’m really glad you got there safely.” she is relieved. she really is. just also annoyed, but actively trying to let it pass. it wasn’t malicious. it’s silent between them, the passing minutes thicker than they’d usually feel. but not uncomfortable. “what’s on the menu for dinner?”

“the guys are deciding that right now. so i’m not sure. needed to call you.”

“i haven’t blown away either. we’re okay. i don’t think i’m that fragile.”

“i’m glad to hear it.” he sounds less strained, less panicked though joe’s never really panicked. but sienna catches the frayed edges and now they sound more solid. “next time, right?”

“yeah,” sienna agrees readily. “there’s always going to be a next time.”

the romance can feel clinical at times, with the way they talk through certain scenes and desires. but it works and as long as it works, that’s all that matter. “i don’t think i want ten hits with the flogger. i worry with the season coming up that’s too much,” joe states.

“where’s your cut off? do you have a number in mind?”

“somewhere north of five, but i’m struggling to find the ceiling.”

“does eight sound too high or too low?” it’s a soft lob, a starting point for them to work from. 

“too high.”

“seven?”

“that’s the cap, i feel.”

“seven it is then.”

but the truth of the matter is that when they’re in scene, when sienna’s sucking her teeth at how much joe’s trembling. when she’s being mean because he asked for it, they both know she’s not going to take it too far. “five,” joe exhales. it hangs in the air. it stings, like it’s always supposed to. yet, for a moment, joe’s almost going to say that he’s done. that he doesn’t want the last two.

he doesn’t have to say it though. sienna’s cold hands, which joe usually likes to tease her about, cut through the red hot sting in the best way possible. her nose brushes along his ribs, towards his spine. “you’re being so strong for me.” sienna’s voice is like molasses, thick, and slow. 

she’s buying him time. giving him the space to do his own mental assessment, if he wants to proceed or not. and joe never has to beg for it because sienna sees it. she always sees it. the flats of her palm ease over his waist and joe shivers at the tender touch. the flogger is gone, like she already knew not to bring it near him for the moment.

“and if you don’t want to be strong,” sienna whispers, “if you’re done, you can always tell me. it’s alright.”

the wall holds the print of joe’s palms after she eases them down, smooths her hands over his shoulders and biceps, down to his elbows and then sienna presses down. “i think the last two can be done with my hands, easier on you that way. you still want seven?”

joe’s not sure why he hadn’t thought of the alternative, of finding something else than the flogger. but the perfect sting of her palm is a heaven sent idea. he nods. “it has been a minute since you took me over your knee.”

sienna’s laugh is all a puffy exhale into his shoulder blades. “god, you make it sound like i’m a grandmother dishing out discipline. you asked for this.”

“i want that. the last two. with your hand.” 

“follow me then.” 

sienna walks them backwards, her hands flat against his chest. joe eases back step by step. he takes the directions with ease and sienna holds him the entire way. her body pressed into his is grounding, reminds him that he still in fact is alive. in the best way possible and the woman holding him loves him so deeply to see where he might not be capable of going all the way. but there’s no judgement. just the soft reassurance, you’re being so strong for me. 

“doing so well, baby,” she coos just as they stop. “so fucking well for me. you don’t mind if i’m a little less mean?”

“you’re always a little mean.”

“i know. because i know you like it. but if i take it down a notch, that’s okay, yeah?” sienna pairs the question with a kiss to his spine. 

“yeah,” joe nods. because she’s not going to let him shatter. sienna’s not going to leave him broken. 

“good. stay where i put you. i’ve got you.” sienna always does. 

romance seeps out with them. when joe tells sienna, “tonight, i’m going to see how loud you can get,” it’s not arrogance that laces the words. it’s awe, and pure wonder. it’s the flowers in damn near every room. it’s the way he takes her hand after her shower, settles onto the stool of her vanity and unscrews the jar to her body butter, patting at his lap. “leg please.”

it’s the sound of his rough palms warming the lotion up before working it up her calf, fingers kneading at the muscle for just a moment. “just to make sure it’s all absorbed.” even though they both know in just a few minutes, sienna’s going to be writhing in the freshly laundered sheets. she’s going to have her fingers in his hair, going to scream his name. 

joe’s going to inhale at the seam of her pelvis so deeply, she’s going to worry for a moment that he’s going to choke himself. “god, i don’t think i’ll ever get over that—the smell of you,” he’ll whisper, mouth, tongue, and nose delving into her. not to make a mess, but just to worship there. joe considers this the same as nightly prayers. to hum into sienna’s pussy, “so fucking good,” over and over again.

because that’s an i love you too. 

j = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

the miles are long and wide. 

just don’t tell joe that he’s only 290 miles away. don’t tell him that it’s really just a few hours, a five hour drive, a couple hour flight when chartered specifically for the purposes of getting to and from games. 

but 290 is still a lot. more than he cares to have in this exact moment. more miles that joe thinks he can handle presently. they’re careful even if the texts themselves are explicitly charged. there’s a rather strict rule that neither one of them sends nudes or lewds via text. it brings about too much risk than joe feels comfortable with. cybersecurity may not exactly be what he got his degree in, but joe’s much too cautious to risk anyone seeing sienna like that—that’s for him and him only. 

so it leaves them with text message. the text messages hit home in a different way. on the surface they can look so plain, just white text on blue backgrounds. only, for joe, it’s the fact that when he slips his eyes close one hand tugging at his aching cock, he can see her dancing behind his eyelids, hear the way she’d dip her voice, slower, no one’s in a rush here. in his mind’s eye, joe can feel the warm wet heat of her tongue over his chest, how she’d kiss him, lick, suckle at his nipples just to hear him whine. 

it makes his back arch off the bed a little, fist still full of himself—up and down, up and down, a twist here, the press of his thumb at his leaking tip. you sound so pretty when you’re this fucking needy, when you need me this bad that you can’t even wait, hotel door barely closed, i’d guess. i can hear it now. your fist sloppy over your cock. do you wish i was there? wish it was my mouth? i know i do. 

sienna’s always right too. 

the thing that kills joe, when he’s like this, when he’s away from home and his body burns for her, when he can’t keep the fire at bay, when it’s just him and his hands, is that he always wishes she was right there. joe wishes it was her mouth, her tongue, her hands, her rumbled satisfaction. 

and when he comes, when his hot sticky release is painting his lower stomach, joe’s always heaving, staring down at the mess he’s made but knows it’s no real comparison. made such a mess. know with you it would be way worse. real bummer is that i know you’d clean it up too, lick me clean, savor the taste of me. it’s all wasted now. 

k = kink (one or more of their kinks)

your pleasure is my pleasure. and this pleasure is ours, be it that it’s always safe, sane, consensual. 

that’s how sienna described it joe years ago, resting on her couch in her old apartment. their first 3w’s lists in their laps. joe was too preoccupied by the thick coo of her voice, how softly she brushed her hand over his knee over the sweatpants to hear it all and understand what it all meant. his mind flooded with the thought of how he’d walk on hot coals if she asked him too, just as long as she kept talking to him like that, her voice confident without needing to be loud. 

and yes, wanting to please your partner is not a kink in and of itself. but that’s the fundamental piece, the underpinning of everything they do. if it’s not bringing pleasure, then they don’t do it. but if it is bringing pleasure, and it’s as safe, and as sane, and consensual, then they’re doing it. sienna loves to be a little mean, starts off nice with just her hand and then brings out the crop, the flogger, when she really wants joe to itch, feel like his skin is on fire, she has him sit, wrapped tied back behind him in the chair. sometimes she anchors his ankles, most often she leaves them be. his cock angry, and leak, tucked perfectly into a ring. 

joe’s chest blares red, his chin guided back so he can look at her in the eye. and oh that arch, that arch makes his toes curl against the carpeted floors of the bedroom. “i’m sorry,” he exhales. 

“we’re past apologies.” but sienna can feel the crotch of her panties dampening. can smell herself faintly too. joe’s not often bad. he’s much too eager to be a brat. but every so often he pushes the line and she can tell by the spark in his eyes, those blue irises growing darker and she grins in return to accept his challenge. “and do you know why we’re here? why you’re in this chair? why you’re wearing that ring?”

“because i didn’t listen.”

“how exactly did you fail to listen?”

“i didn’t count.” because he’s supposed to do that. not just for an additional safety but because sienna likes the quake in his voice sometimes. how hot the numbers fall, how he hisses. and he likes that, knowing that she likes it. 

“and why didn’t you count?”

because i wanted this, joe thinks to himself as his cock aches inside the ring—a delicious ache too. not too tight that he worries about his safety, but just tight enough to make him almost regret his choice. teetering on that edge, the space between too much and not enough, is a place joe thinks he’d crave forever as long as it’s sienna at the helm, as long as it’s her making him feel this way. but joe needs to answer. he pulls in an inhale, deep into his chest and then exhales out, “because i wanted to see how angry i could make you.”

“you do realize that if you want me to be mean, all you have to do is ask right?”

“then i need you to be brutal. please, miss.”

it makes sienna’s knees damn near buckle, how his eyes flutter on the words, like tasty something sweet for the first time—a new favorite in the making. sienna reaches down, palm skimming over his chest and her fists is tight and unforgiving as she grips his balls. her second hand takes a fistful of his hair and tugs his head even further back on his neck. a lick of pain at both ends that mixes hot in his belly. joe’s not sure if it’s a groan, or a moan—perhaps, some combination of both leaves his lips. 

“baby, i need you to realize one thing,” she hisses.

“and what’s that?”

“only good boys come. and you’re in for it now.”

joe catches the gleam in her eyes, the way her lips curl and his stomach jumps again. she loves this just as much as he does. and goddamn, that’s the most addicting part to this whole thing. “i can be good,” he promises. 

“i know you can, love. do you want to be good for me now?”

a silly question. because joe wants to be good for her. he is good for her. except when he wants to be a little bad, except when he wants to dig his heels in and get himself into some sticky situations. 

joe tries to nod but the grip tightens in his hair. a pathetic and broken moan leaves his lips. “yes, miss, i want to be good.”

her hold tightens around his sac, enough to make joe loses his breath and he swears even though it does hurt, it’s that sting that makes the release so much better, makes the high even higher. “going to cry about it?” sienna laughs when the first one slips down his cheek. her tongue is hot again his cheek, sucking the salty drop off his skin. 

“shit,” joe huffs when she releases him—scalp throbbing in time with his crotch. “yes, i’ll cry about it if you want me too.”

the pat to his cheek is firm. not enough to leave a mark and to hurt, but it does leave a little bit behind, a small ting. the pads of her feels curl around his cheek. another few tears are slow down his skin and sienna settles onto him, straddling his thigh as she does so, her clothed pussy soaking into his muscle. “such a good boy for me,” she hums. 

joe tenses his thigh, wants her to use him as she sees fits and knows by the slow drag that use him, sienna is going to do, taking herself to the brink on the muscle. she laughs, fingers now digging into his jaw. her eyes are fluttering close though as she drags her cunt up his leg. “shit, so good to me.”

their mouths don’t connect into a kiss, too open for it, but the exhale of her moan becomes joe’s inhale. mouths wide open and brushing. “please.” joe’s really not sure what he’s asking for. whether it’s him asking sienna to use him or something else like give into him, continue to tell him just how good he is. but he just knows needs something. 

joe knows sienna is always going to answer. she’s always going to know. her hand drags down from his jaw to his throat. sienna presses in at the sides. hard enough to make him gasp, hard enough to take some air, but not all of it. he slips, knows his body is in the chair, that his arms are still tied back, that his cock is screaming at him now to come, but he’s too consumed with the hot touch, the breath that whispers of his skin, the way his muscles go almost liquid at sienna’s work. and it’s heaven. 

it’s the only place he wants to be. 

l = location (favorite places to do the do)

bedroom—it’s the safest place for both of them. joe feels most at ease in the comfort of their shared home, the pieces of their existence tucked safely away from the outside word. it’s controlled, built to their needs, hidden nooks and crannies that when unfurled reveal what happens when no one else is looking, when they can be present with each other with no other distractions. 

the bedroom has the hidden jewels. the bins and hooks. it is their stage, always prepped for them. both sienna and joe know this dance well. where to reach for the lube, which drawers to pull open for the blindfolds and silks to tie up hands. it’s easy, and comfortable. joe can count the steps, knows the distance even face down into the mattress, even when he can’t see. 

it’s fun to take it new places. joe will also think about taking sienna over the laundry room table. he’ll always get a little flashback to sienna between his legs in the living room, the squeeze of her throat, his hands fisted into her hair and into the cushions. joe will also carry the sound of sienna’s laugh when he picked her up and set her onto the kitchen counter, the heat of the oven on their backs and the bite of the cold tile as joe kneeled. there’s the time on the deck, the two of them stretched out, hands slipping under clothes, the sighs of them shared with each other. 

but home, in the bedroom specifically, is the most beloved place. 

home is where sienna lets the carpet dig into her knees, runs her hands over joe’s thighs, grinning up at him as he grins down at her. the bed holding the weight of him with ease. home is where joe rests sienna’s leg over his shoulder, mouth latching to her inner thighs, sighing at the way she taste and he can stretch, reach out to the bedside table and knows exactly what’s inside.

they’ve invested a good amount of time and money customizing the master bedroom for their needs. sienna turned an empty and awkward gap into a diy’d sex toy closet with just a few pieces of wood, screws, and pegboards, to reveal the whips, and floggers is an exhilarating piece of knowledge—filthy secrets shared just between joe and sienna, a rush just for them. 

why wouldn’t they want to enjoy all that?

m = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

for joe: sienna only needs to be alive and breathing for him to be turned on. 

sometimes all it takes for him is just the crack of his eye, to see her in bed next to him, soft snores leaving her lips, her face smashed into the pillow, brow furrowed like she’s in the midsts so something important in her dreams. and knowing sienna, she most certainly is—saving cats from trees, falling into bottomless pits and seeing her childhood self, riding waves on a beach with joe at the shore cheering her on. her dreams are grandiose, and sometimes terrifying, but always filled with something big. 

joe likes her best in one of his t-shirts paired with sweatpants, huddled up under a blanket. when she’s lounging, head propped up on pillows, laughing at a show she’s watched a thousand times, softly reciting her favorite lines to herself—which joe can only stand her to do when he’s not actively watching the show with her. joe will come slithering in, sliding up her body, nestle between her legs, resting his head in the valley of her breasts. sometimes it’s just to the lay there, for the comfort of being close to her. other times, it’s so he can move further north or south, kiss at her throat, or down her stomach. it’s always a dice roll on where he lands. but he will find somewhere to go, that’s for sure. 

he loves it when sienna dresses up of course, the heels, or loafers, or flats. loves it when she’s in a dress that looks like it was stitched onto her body and he’d have to cut her out of it. loves the low cut tops. loves the midriff. loves the peek of her ass cheeks in denim cut offs. but joe does’t need all that, he doesn’t need the glitz and the glamour. he just needs sienna, in the way she rakes her fingers through his hair, calls him handsome like it’s his fucking name, laughs at him when he gets pouty but always answers the call. joe just needs sienna to be her, and that’s it. 

for sienna: joe only needs to be alive and breathing for her to be turned on. 

the way he looks when he wakes first wakes up, hair spiked from his sleep, the creases of the pillowcase etched into his face, his soft sleepy smile—that makes her knees tremble. the wrinkle of his brow when he’s settled onto the floor of the living room, pieces of legos or a puzzle spread out in front of him, the little peek of tongue between his lips as he concentrates—that makes her heart skip a beat and she wants to ruin him. she doesn’t. not every single time. sometimes she does. 

sometimes, sienna catches joe fiddling with the puzzle they have half finished on the coffee table with a few pieces between his fingers, hovering and hovering until he finds where they go. he’s sometimes shirtless, most times in a hoodie. sienna slinks her way over, scoots in between his legs, her back pressed into his chest. and joe opens his arms up to her, widen his legs for her to fit. and if she turns, after pressing a couple pieces into place, and kisses at his jaw, hands smoothing over his chest as she goes, joe never complains. 

not even a peep.

n = no (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

joe’s not a complicated man—or so he likes to say. 

but he is a terrible sharer. it’s the thing he checks in the most about with sienna, that she’s okay with the closed door policy they have in place for sex with others. joe’s aware of sienna’s past, the polyamorous relationship she was in previous to him. the parties and clubs she’s played at and how she used to play at those clubs—the escapades of two or three other people, not just in the same night, but at the same time. joe never wants her to feel like a piece of her is cut off or that she has to cut off a piece of herself. but joe’s thought about it—them having a third person in the relationship, or sleeping with others on the side even if not together—and he doesn’t want that. 

joe doesn’t want anyone else to have sienna like that. he doesn’t want anyone else to take her apart like that. not out of insecurity. joe knows sienna’s not going to leave him. but because he’s too goddamn selfish. he wants to do that himself. wants to be used and of use to sienna in ways that will send him to hell, and he does not give the slightest fuck about it. it’s his job to be subservient like that, to give everything he has, everything he is over to her in those moments. it’s his responsibility. may god bless whose ever soul or whatever obstacle that attempts to thwart him. 

and if sienna can’t sleep with someone else, joe’s not going to sleep with anyone else too. it’s going to be fair—through and through for them. so, threesomes, are off the table. sienna tells him he can, that joe can take it there if he really wants, but joe doesn’t. he just wants sienna. it sounds bad, joe can admit that. sienna tells him all the time that she understands, that she’s not looking to do what she does with anyone else but him. but joe cares, so deeply about her, wants her to feel safe with him like he does with her. 

so they don’t swing like that. they never take past the flirting, past the kissing, past the glances when they go to swinging parties. but it’s a glorious sight. for joe to be tucked into a corner, or with scarlett draped over him, watching sienna work the room, allure, dazzle, eyes bright. but they always find each other, gazes drifting until they lock on each other. like magnets. 

they don’t do anything dangerous—or not severely dangerous. breatheplay, and choking is always fun in small doses. but things that involve a high likelihood of blood is a no-go. joe watch teasing the sharp edge of knife over the sub’s skin, not hard enough to draw blood. yet, his heart raced the entire time, watching. worry filling him as joe considered that it could cut, that it could hurt, that it could sting and had to look away, and buried his face into her temple, inhaling the sweet scent of sienna.

“c’mon, we can find something else.” it’s all sienna said before she led them both out of the room, a cool slither around the bodies gathered. “we don’t have to do that,” she offered in the quiet hallway. 

“i-thank you,” joe exhaled, squeezing her hand. because she saw him. without words, without judgement. his stomach still churned, but at the very least he did not have to watch any longer. not that, not while thinking about her and how much his hands would tremble, how much the mere thought makes him want to puke. 

though sienna’s capable to handling some pain, joe can’t bring himself to do it. can’t imagine landing a blow to her skin. sure, he’s slapped her ass in passing, while she was at the bathroom sink brushing her teeth. sure he’s shadowed boxed her, fake punches that she never flinches away from, but he’d never want to hurt her. not a flogger, not a paddle, hell, not even words. 

o = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

sienna jokes—well, mostly jokes—that one of these days she’s going to get a certificate of excellence in eating pussy for joe. “it will be presented,” sienna teases. “framed and everything.”

joe laughs, but feels the flush of his cheeks. his ears grow hot too. “that’s…a little much.” what he really wants to say is that it’s perfect, that his gut flutters at the thought. it’s no secret that he likes the praise. even if joe wanted it to be kept a secret, it would secrete. the truth would leak out even in his teasing, you like that? 

“you say that now,” sienna laughs, one hand sliding up his chest. her palm presses into the muscle, right over his heart. “but i’ll always know the truth.”

joe exhales at the soothing action. sienna touches him with assuredness, an easy confidence to her actions. every ounce of tension that joe could hold falls with the caress. he has no reason to have the bravado with her, in the middle of their kitchen, a shared bowl of grapes between them. their skin soft and hot from the shower. the memory of sharing each other is fresh, how sienna cooed and huffed for joe. how joe whined, hands full of her hips that guided her rhythm. or maybe, he was following it? not that it matters now. every bit of the sex reverent—and vanilla, but still great. 

the secret though, to the sheer joy of joe’s devotion to oral, is the hazy look sienna gets when joe comes back a little sweaty from the gym or a run, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. her eyes are slow, taking in every millimeter of joe. joe feels the heat of her gaze before he can see her, how she undresses him from halfway across the room, how she’s painting him muscle by muscle in her memory—his thighs clenched, breathing ragged, fists curled either with sheets, or couch cushions, or with her. 

as often as joe’s between sienna’s thigh, she’s between his, on her knees, fingers digging into his hips. the slurp back is loud and thick—utterly vile. but sienna doesn’t care, not with her senses so full of joe’s salty taste. the way he smells, the brush of his tip at the back of her throat, the way his taut skin over his throbbing cock feels like velvet against her tongue. 

joe’s breath leave him in short gasps, his chest and stomach tensing. “jesus christ,” he whines from beneath her. 

but he’s watching, the bob of her head, the way her lips and chin have a shine to them. the way she pulls back, one hand wrapped around the base of him and her grin feels sinister and holy all together in a messy mixture—a woman possessed, joe’s come to realize. he loves it. he loves that she loves it. that sienna can hold this act just as tenderly and close to her heart as joe does. sienna traces the vein under the head of him, so softly it almost feels too sacred for the act. her eyes are glassy, almost like she’s pleading. joe’s never sure if it’s to herself, to him. but she never seems satisfied until she’s got him down her throat again, until joe’s bucking up into her mouth and hands, skin hot and muscles aching for release. 

when she gets like this, there’s nothing to do but succumb. her hands are everywhere, fires licking at his skin until he’s back in her mouth. “i think i could stay here all day,” she heaves, pulled away just long enough to get the sentence out and then she dives right back in. 

the scratch has the perfect sting, the drag of her nails up his inner thighs. joe swears he can’t get any harder, but the delicious pricks, the hum of her enjoyment nearly convince him that he could get harder. he always comes hard, almost folding in on himself, one hand reaching for her shoulder, the other bracing against whatever surface she back him into or onto. there’s always stars behind the squeeze of his eyes, silver bursts that remind joe that he’s still in fact human and that if he’s not careful around sienna, she will be the death of him. 

the first real inhale joe takes post orgasm always feels like he’s breaking the surface tension, like coming up for air after being underwater. and sienna’s always there, head resting into his thigh, his soft cock in her hands still. she looks memorized, enamored in a way can only make joe melt. 

“you okay?” the question comes from sienna, paired with the shuffle of her head, not off his thigh, but with more of a tilt so she can look up at him. 

joe can do nothing but back the back her head, tangle his fingers into her hair, or trace at her scalp. “i saw neptune, i’m pretty sure.”

“how is it this time of year?” 

joe laughs, like always, and wipes at her chin, thumb collecting the remnants of his seed off the corner of her mouth. it’s still hot, not yet cooled, but joe sucks it off his thumb, the combination of her saliva and himself—a combination he’s used to, the way it’s got a heady top and an earthy middle. “lovely,” he whispers in reply. 

p = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

pacing all depends on what the scene is, what’s needed, and what time of year is it. 

in the off season, they love to take their time. it’s sienna rolling out the red carpet, so to speak, the bath before she’s kneading at his shoulders, drags her palms over his back, elbows digging into toughened-by-use grooves  in muscles. it’s the meat of her thumbs pressing into the palms of his hands. the oil thick enough to be felt and provide slip, but thin enough to absorb partially, an earthy scent coating the room with a little mint to cut through. it’s slow and methodical, the soft hush of their voices to make sure pressure is okay, to encourage breathing through the rather harsh sting of some knots. never too much to do more damage than good, sienna’s well aware there’s a whole team dedicated to keeping joe in his top shape, but this practice is intentional. it’s intimate, and sometimes even a little silly as joe laughs at sienna’s whispered curses at the one knot in his lower back, but it’s for them. 

it’s sienna kissing at the back of joe’s ear, her hands cupping his bicep as she does before she asks, “anywhere else you need me?” 

and joe’s gut stir, cock jumping at the low and purred question. he grins, eyes blinking open to see the shadow of her over him. “yeah, i’ve got a few places in mind.”

it’s joe working at the arches of sienna’s feet, squeezing gently at her calves. or serving the plate of breakfast that he made on the tray with a flower arraignment that joe put together himself too. feeding her bites off his plate though it’s the same thing, dabbing at the corner of her mouth when the syrup drips. it’s the series of kisses to her cheeks, laughing when she laughs, taking care of her. it’s joe taking every second to be present, to be there in the moment with her. they’re slow and languid. here, the sex is softer too, less about giving and receiving and more about experiencing. it’s the exhaled sighs in the middle of kisses that leave them both open mouthed and panting, the drive of hips a soft unhurried roll rather than a punishing punctuated thrust. a way to say that: i’m thinking of you. i love you. i’m here with you. 

during the season, there’s more urgency, both of them are always thinking about each other. sienna’s worried that joe’s too sore, too tired. joe’s worried that sienna’s carrying too much, focused too much on him and not enough on herself. they’re practiced here, well rehearsed rhythms. the sex is not robotic. but it cuts through with little fluff. 

it’s joe’s soft rumbled voice at the dinner table, leaning in close to her, “you’re going to shower and then i’ll draw you a bath and it’ll be just us for the evening, and maybe a little something extra too. that okay?”

and that’s still exhilarating. that’s still gets a chill to run down her spine but sienna nods. “that’s perfect. you’ll join me for the bath, right?”

“absolutely.”

it’s much more precise and exact in the way it’s executed. but always always soaked in care.

q = quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

sienna’s up for a quickie, doesn’t mind tugging joe into some bathroom when she can tell that they both need each other. when the heat’s too thick, too much, and it presses down on them like thick hot august air after a summer storm. it’s a little exhilarating to have the lock click shut, to be all hands, lips, and tongue. there’s such a thrill in racing against the clock. how long is too long for them to be missing from this party. how much time do they have before the knob rattles, even if it isn’t opened, it could be. this part of them is rare—usually only at parties that are mostly friends joe knows, people he trusts. never out at events like award shows, or parties for his endorsements. they maintain a certain level of professionalism in that realm. but the party that ja’marr’s throwing or some of his friends from athens throwing a july 4th party—joe’s grinning at the tug of sienna’s hand. 

quickies aren’t routine for them though. they love to tease, it’s what makes the ending worth it. but quickies don’t always have the same pay out. but they are a treat. on the days that sienna’s working from home and she’s in itty bitty shorts that are driving joe damn near insane. so much insane, he took a drive around the neighborhood, just to ease the bubbling in his veins. he stopped to get sienna her favorite treat, and a refresher for himself, only to come back to her in the kitchen on her lunch break, bent over in the bottom cabinets. 

“you’re asking for trouble, you know,” joe whispers hotly into her ear when she stands back up. 

“thank god trouble answered. been asking for it all damn morning.”

and that’s all joe needs before hands are down shorts, before kisses are sealed along jaws. 

it’s sienna at work, her chiming with a message from joe. thought you might like to see these. 

and it’s the damn shots from media day. again. and it’s her watching the video loop over and over and over, feeling the arousal pool between her legs. only to return home and straddle joe at the end of his monday night gaming sessions, fists curling around the edge of his sweatshirt, a hot mine pushed out over sienna’s teeth before she’s sinking into his flesh. 

this all preceded of course by the text messages, the filthy and alluring words. sienna’s ominous if i were you, i’d be prepared. and it’s joe’s sappy messages, i know you’re going to say i’m biased because i picked the outfit. but i just know you look breathtaking today in the pink. can’t wait for you to get home to me. 

r = risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

without risk, there is no reward. 

risk is how joe found out he could see the stars, that he could give himself totally and utterly to sienna and still feel like himself, perhaps he feels even more like himself because of it. because he took the leap to trust her. because she caught him, like she’s always done, and joe knows she will always do. 

so they experiment, not so much now with the years under their belts, but they still keep curiosity in the bedroom, still check in on the 3w’s. but joe’s not recording anything, not taking pictures on phones that’s for sure. 

there’s polaroids—a binder in a lockbox that’s in a fireproof safe. joe brought it up originally. he’d had the camera in the cart for two weeks, toying on what he actually felt comfortable with doing. if he felt like it was safe enough for it. but then he envisioned it, how sienna might slip some into his travel bag, how he’d slip some into her work bag. little pieces of themselves for the other to cherish, to hold onto when they are far. 

it’s not constant. 

they do it sporadically. sometimes when sienna’s stretched out on the bed, body unfiltered in front of him joe’s taken aback, breath catching in his throat. “i should take a picture,” he breathes, wanting to capture this moment forever in a way that will be untainted by the haze of memory. 

“you should,” sienna agrees and joe digs it out from the drawer, fixes a few pieces of her hair, drapes the sheet just like he wants it over her and then he stands, on the mattress above her. the flash punches through the dimmed lights. the picture slips out, dark at first, muddled and then clears up, and painted in the film is sienna, mid laugh at joe’s almost stumble, head thrown back. 

they come with joe least expects them to show up. it’s been months since the last ones. those were resting on his pillow after he returned home from a practice. and now, joe’s settled onto the plane, about to reach for his eye mask for just a couple extra hours of sleep, only to find at nestled between the mask and his headphones is a white envelope. 

his heart races, eyes cutting to the seat next to him. empty for now but joe knows it won’t stay empty for long. so he peels back the flap, just long to see what’s inside. polaroids as expected. and he catches a deep purple, close up and he slips it back close. god what has she done now? joe thinks to himself as he slips it back into his bag, saving it for when he’s safely tucked into the hotel room. 

s = stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

no one’s counting the hours, or the orgasms. it’s about letting things linger when they need. sienna drags the flogger after the biting sting, lets the buttery leather simmer against his skin. she watches joe as he shivers, body and mind waiting for the next crack. and instead, he finds that the hot sting has yet to come. the drag is not quite a soothing act, but a reprieve. the exhale after the inhale. 

sometimes it’s joe kissing at her inner thighs, knows where he wants to be, where she wants him to be, but just needs this moment, the salt of her skin against his tongue. he needs to stay here, mere inches from her core, smelling it, watching it drip onto the sheets below her and savoring it. tracking each movement, cataloguing the sighs, detailing out what he’s going to do next just for the anticipation. just to watch her clench around nothing. 

all in all, joe and sienna take their time. sometimes, it’s fast. sometimes it’s slow. sometimes it is just one or two orgasms. sometimes, it’s too many to count, breaks in between of kissing, whispered filth or sweet everythings—you have no clue how much i needed that or going to taste you again, but first just want to look at that gorgeous face of yours. god took his time with you, you know that? 

what’s most important is that at the end of it, they’re both satisfied. that they feel loved for, cared for, desired, and appreciated. it’s not always about meeting the sun on the next day—which has happened only a handful of times.

the first is perhaps the most memorable, considering it was also first time sienna truly spent more than just a night with joe. they’d planned a whole weekend, local, but theirs. there are no deadlines, no travel waiting or interrupting them. it started with a retirement party for one of sienna’s coworkers and then it would be just time for them. whatever they wanted, or needed.

the sink rushed from the bathroom and joe noticed light above the curtains bouncing off the ceilings. that couldn’t have lasted all night and into morning. it really only felt like an hour, maybe two. but in the last waves, the soft press of the sheets after his shower, he glances at the alarm clock. 6:38 stared back at him. and it didn’t make sense for 6:38 in the evening. they hadn’t gotten home from the party until a little past 9 that evening. there was the debrief. and kissing, so much kissing, but neither one of them could help themselves. she tasted like the sweetness from her drinks of choice that night, felt like coming home when he held her in his arms. sienna laughed, told him that he should be locked up for being so easy to kiss, for making her need it as bad as she did. 

then the touches grew heated, skating over breasts, digging into obliques. kissing turned into moans, moans turned back into kissing. and it rotated like that, on an axis of kisses and reverence, of molten desire and affection, around and around and around. yet, joe couldn’t fathom that it’d been hours. not when it felt like seconds. 

joe’s eyes can barely stand to stay open. so perhaps, it was right. that they’d been at this, until the sun rose. sienna settled into the bed next to him, her weight dipping the mattress. “is it morning?”

“it would appear so. i told you you were dangerous.”

joe heard the words, tried to reply with something similar, a sentiment to echo you’re dangerous too. but he’s never been sure that he actually said that. 

their normal though is to go for a couple hours at least, savor it, drink it all in. and if it’s one, or two, or sometimes even three orgasms in the mix then that’s perfect too. 

t = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

joe didn’t start out as a toy believer. 

it was and will always be important to joe that it’s him getting sienna off. that it’s his work, his doing that’s bringing her over that ledge of pleasure. but toys, toys are an exciting addition that starts slow. 

at first it’s a blind fold, a fancy and expensive one. it’s soft, feels like water over the skin, but does well enough to block out light. 

then it’s handcuffs that are lined so they don’t leave bruises or scars. 

sienna moves him up from the slap of her hand to the sting of a paddle, and then the whip, and then the flogger. 

a spreader bar. bullet vibrators. cock rings. her strap. anal beads. lingerie. harness. rope. 

by the time joe can blink, the diy’d closet, the drawers, and the bins under the bed are full. not overflowing. but there’s a treasure trove for them. all that they could every imagine is right there at their fingertips. 

the toys, joe’s come to realize, are never there to take away. they’re there to add on. he’ll always have his mouth, fingers, and cock to please sienna. he’s built those skills, that knowledge bank of how she likes everything—slow licks, suckles, at least two fingers. but sometimes it’s about what he combination he can create that will leave her quaking, if the cool glass of the dildo makes her quiver like his cock does. or if he’ll come as hard as he normally does with the beads that vibrate as he does with her strap. 

the toys are experiments, additions, multiplications. and when approached like this, joe loves them. can’t wait to hear her shaky voice, “don’t stop,” followed by the hiss of swears, the use of god’s name in vain as joe makes her come over and over and over again. 

sienna always feels a little thrill when joe shows her something new, something he’d researched on his own. it’s like watching a flower bloom. at first furled in, covered in the sepal before it cracks, and then bit by bit, it exhales, revels the bright and vibrate layer underneath. and sure, in humans, it’s much more complicated. with joe, it’s about the gentle edge, the probing, the asking him what he wants, taking notes, checking in. but in the end, god, in the end she gets to see him come alive, reveal the softest most vulnerable parts of himself to her. even if those parts are bright teal silicone toys.

and it is beautiful. 

u = unfair (how much they like to tease)

sienna and joe play the game of cat and mouse well. 

they give a little; they get a little. but teasing isn’t so much about taunting, showing to each other what’s just out of reach. it’s about saying, i miss you. i’m thinking of you when i shouldn’t be. in ways that i shouldn’t because i’ve got other things to do. but i know you’ll like this. i know that you know how much i want you. 

so, it’s the texts while she’s at work that joe loves to send the most—aside from the silly ones about peaches in the grocery store, or a spongebob reaction pic—that are about how much he wants her. joe loves knowing that she’s going to stop her work, find her phone on her desk under the piles of notes and spot the latest message from him only to come back with fire in her tank. 

joe’s come to think of it, if every photoshoot turns out this well because you snuck nudes into my short pockets on my way out the door, i think it should become a tradition meets sienna’s admit it to me, baby. i’m hot and you were thinking about how if anyone saw those photos you’d be proud to show me off too. a little sadistic of you to tell them they can look, but they can’t touch. 

and fuck if they aren’t both right. 

sienna does love the heat in his gaze, like joe’s not there in that room, but somewhere else, somewhere that involves her. and joe definitely thought about how if it wasn’t careful, if he wanted to play with fire he could purposefully mistime his peek at the photo again for someone to also get a glimpse and he wouldn’t mind someone else getting just a fraction of a taste into what waits at home for him. because they could all look, but only joe could have. 

v = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

it’s killing him. 

really it is. the hotel walls aren’t all that thick. it’s really not their home. but sienna’s evil sometimes. and sure, it’s vacation. so it’s okay for joe to let loose a little, or a lot. it’s not gluttony if he’s begging for it right? 

but holy fuck, it’s a little embarrassing. it’s only a three day stop, a quick weekend of rather light work for joe as he’s only requirement is to be in attendance for the event before their final destination. and sienna’s an evil woman. god, is she. but god is she great too. but it’s only spite, only maliciousness that would make her back that bag—the black velvet one with all their favorite toys tucked inside. and it would only be the devil’s work for her to ask him if he wanted it. 

because of fucking course joe wants it. 

the buzz inside him is making putty of joe. and he can’t help it anymore. he really can’t fucking help it as his jaw falls slack, a punched out moan all too easy to slip out of his chest. his lungs collapsing before they expand again. “fucking christ,” he grunts and then whimpers just as her hand slips over his mouth. 

but her eyes are hot stars, twinkling above him, glistening with delight. “you’re being noisy today. is it that good to you?”

joe nods, another broken sound muffled by her palm. but the thick bulb is brushing up inside him and fuck it feels so fucking good.

“i can’t hear you, my love,” she taunts, hand pressing down harder. 

joe groans again, louder even to his own ears and sienna nods once at the sound. “good. if we don’t get noise complaints, i’m doing something very wrong.”

but she’s just as loud too when she wants to be. when it’s her turn to be fucked into oblivion, rendered down to just cells and atoms, sienna’s no stranger to a hoarse voice either. joe’s watching from below, grinning into her pussy as she yelps, back digging into the mattress as if to get away from joe. yet, there’s nowhere else to go. not with joe’s grip locked around her hips, holding her into place. 

“shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” she chants. it’s not a prayer. only a plea that joe’s heard numerous times before. the thing is that joe never answers to them. he wants more of them. 

w = wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

“have you heard of pet play?”

sienna pauses, paint brush dripping onto the cloth tarp beneath her feet. joe wanted to change the color of the nightstands after sienna mentioned feeling like the chocolate browns weren’t meshing, a hue or two off. that or it’s her inability to sit still for too long around the house without finding something to do. joe’s initial solution offering was just to buy new ones. but sienna promised him it would be cheaper to do it themselves. the biggest cost would just be time. 

but joe’s no good at these kind of things. he wanted to ask if it was really cheaper or if she just needed something to do with her hands. however, in the end, joe relented, knowing at the very least that these nightstands already fit their needs capacity wise. he swiped his card when asked after the lowe’s cashier scanned the entirety of their cart’s worth of supplies. 

the only thing joe insisted on doing is the sanding. not that he doesn’t believe in sienna’s capacity to handle the handheld sander. she was the one that taught him how to do it on a previous project. but joe likes it. it’s a precise practice, feels mediative to joe as he works gently over the surface. so he sands, carefully, and sienna works on priming and painting. 

until now. 

the electric whirring cuts out and all that remains is the stunned silence after joe’s question. sienna nods though, after she’s able to reconnect her perceptions to reality. joe definitely asked that, she reminds herself. “i have heard of it.” joe’s not a wild animal, but she’s cautious, keeps her voice as neutral as possible around the topic.

“have you done it before?”

“once.”

“did you like it?”

“it’s not a won’t do, if that’s what you’re asking.” it wasn’t her favorite, but sienna wonders if at the time she was just too young, too inexperienced for it. it’s something she thinks she could definitely try again, but not necessarily was a go to for her.

“it sounds…interesting,” joe concludes, pulling the safety goggles off his face. sienna’s firm requirement and joe didn’t fight against it. 

“would you like to try?”

“undecided. but you don’t seem too enthused.”

sienna presses the brush back into the knobby leg. reminds herself the night stands won’t paint themselves. “i think i jumped into it before maybe i was ready for it. so i’ve always had sort of a…bitter impression of it.”

“if it’s not your cup of tea, i’m not going to force you.”

it’s not about forcing. it’s about trying, about opening up curiosity. what would it be like if joe did want to try and did find that he liked it? what would that mean for sienna? she focuses for a moment on the leg, swiping gingerly at the curvature. “i’d be willing to try it again. just once to see. you have like work dog energy to you though.”

joe huffs, hands falling to his hips. “i’m offended you didn’t say golden retriever.”

“no, you’re too introverted for it. more like…a german shepherd. you like having a job.” sienna emphasizes the point with the point of her brush over to joe—who insisted on helping, who fussed with her about how when she takes on projects like this, he likes to participate in some active way. 

it’s silent for a moment between them. the only noise the soft strokes of the brush. “well, i was waiting for her to say something like an australian sheepdog, so i guess i can accept german shepherd.”

“should i get you a collar?”

“no,” joe returns, swift and firm, but with no true heat behind the word. “we’ll give it a try. but i think you might need a muzzle.”

sienna snorts. “you love me running my mouth. and everything else it does too.”

“while true,” joe starts, squatting down next to her now, picking up the second brush that he insisted on acquiring too, “i still think sometimes i miss the peace and quiet before you.”

“sounds boring.”

“it was.” and from around the back edge of the stand, their gazes meet, a gentle humor dancing behind joe’s blue eyes. sienna’s gaze warm and soft as they pause their strokes. “i guess you could say that i just happen to enjoy the chaos you bring a lot more than whatever life looked like before.”

their work falls into a silent rhythm. by the time they meet again at the top of the piece of furniture, sienna breaks the silence. “when did you get curious about pet play?”

joe, paused in the midsts of moving the cans of primer and paint to the second stand, gazes up into the rather cloudless sky. “i found some old 3w’s when sorting through paperwork a few weeks back. the example one you made for me, that one had it listed as an example. but i noticed it wasn’t on any of the other ones. got curious.”

“we can give it a try. but i apologize now if nothing changes for me on it.”

“it’s no skin off my back either way. if you really aren’t for it, then we don’t have it.”

“it’s not a hard limit, baby.” the air around them kicks back up with the fumes of the primer that joe works in, his hand steady as he goes. “we can try it. but it helps me know what you’re looking to get out of it, ya know?”

“no, i get that. i just don’t want you to feel like you have to do it just because i’m asking. but we can iron out the details, like we always do and take it slow and if it’s just not working for you, then it’s not working.”

it doesn’t work out for sienna, in the end. even though they take it slow and it’s all discussed thoroughly, she can’t get the words over her lips, to call him a good little pet and give herself fully over into the moment. a feat normally much easier to do. sometimes it doesn’t even feel like giving in. there’s a little too much resistance, or maybe it’s hesitation. she can see it in joe, the way there’s a little too much awareness behind in his eye, like he can’t give over either because of her. it shouldn’t be a new sight, this shouldn’t be hard in theory. and yet it is. sienna just can’t place way right now. 

but it sort of just fizzles out, never gets the heat behind it that it needs and her heart hammers behind her ribs in a way she’s not experienced in years. makes her palms moist, sweaty with anxiety. things have not worked out before. it’s the nature of the game. some things work and some things don’t. it just doesn’t feel like it usually does. sienna slips down from the bench to her knees, the carpet digs into her flesh, but she doesn’t focus on that. instead, she cups joe’s jaw, strokes her thumb over the apple of his cheek. “where are you?” she whispers. 

“with you,” joe answers, one of his hands brushing over her thigh. “where i like to be, if it’s hard to tell.”

“you’re such a smartass.” he’s not under, not totally gone and sienna’s grateful for it. it makes the transition a lot easier. 

“but you like it.”

“well,” sienna starts and then laughs. the sound doesn’t have its usual humor behind it. the truth is that she does. but her mind is still not fully present, part of it still running through everything, still wondering what it is that she couldn’t get behind. perhaps, it’s the years with joe—his habit now becoming her habit now, an analytical persistence that hardly ever now refuses to give up.

“not working, is it?”

“no, i don’t think it is for me.”

“it’s okay. call it.”

but calling it, as sienna knows, as they both agreed, would end it all. the entire play would stop. their entire focus would shift to aftercare. and that feels much too abrupt, too much of a brute response to something that could still be salvaged. “i can always transition this. we don’t—”

joe shakes his head, moving his hold to her waist now. “it’s not working for me either.”

“because it’s not working for me but you really ought to be focused on yourself.”

“not when it comes to this. we’re a team. we always will be. it’s why those rings are on your finger. so, call it.”

“i’m sorry,” she utters instead, to delay the inevitable because joe won’t change his mind but she likes to think maybe he could. 

“you don’t have anything to apologize for, baby. call it.” 

because it’s the rule. even though it’s not working for both of them, it was sienna who paused first, so she’s got to be the one to end it. if it were joe, it would be up to him to end it. but joe’s stubbornness is make all sienna’s attempts to redirect to be thwarted. and maybe it makes the most sense, to give them both time to regroup. maybe it would help her hands not to shake. and when they started to shake, sienna’s not sure. but joe noticed it, certainly, because now the previous slight haze has dipped into something closer to concern. his gaze now earnest and urgent over her skin. 

“dragonfly,” she whispers. and her eyes sting with tears but sienna refuses to let them fall. the first time she’s ever had to use her safe word. it taste too bitter. 

joe tugs her into his lap, and that action alone tells her it’s real. it doesn’t feel like failure, but it doesn’t feel great either. “thank you for trying, my love. i appreciate it.”

“i’ll always try for you.”

and they sit, for who knows how long, in the middle of the bedroom floor like that. sienna half atop joe, her arms wound around his neck, faces buried into cheeks and necks. co-regulation in damn near perfect form—simultaneous inhales and measured and slow exhales. they’ll talk later—as per their established rules. what worked and what didn’t will be thoroughly dissected. but for now it’s about caring for each other, intentional slowness, slipping into comfortable clothing, snacks as needed, closeness, soft words to make sure they’re okay for now. neither one of them moves to do any of that just yet. joe’s skin is much too warm to want to leave it and sienna’s trying with all her might to let the disappointment bead off her skin, wash over it but never to sink into her. which is always easier said than done. 

there’s no rush for them though. only when her shoulders don’t feel so heavy does sienna move first, stretching up to kiss at joe’s stubbly chin. a gesture returned with several presses of his lips to her temple. and they move together, up off the floor. sienna pulling out shorts and joe’s softest sweatshirt, joe finds her favorite t-shirt—a t-shirt older than them both considering it came from one of her relatives and a pair of his shorts to her too. they work in tandem to change, fingers threaded around and through the others as they shuffle downstairs. joe heads to the kitchen, sienna collects all the blankets and pillows. 

it’s quiet when joe returns with her favorite pretzels in a bowl, two glasses of lemonade at the ready. sienna’s cocooned herself and opens her arms when he returns. “looks cozy,” joe offers. 

“quite.” 

her opened arms are an invitation, joe knows that. but he can see the light frown pulling at her lips too. and that—that frown, simply won’t do. joe sets the tray down onto the coffee table. the vents thrum with cool air. “if your right leg is thanksgiving, and your left leg is christmas, can i visit you between the holidays?”

it’s a cheesy line, terribly so, but it makes sienna snort with laughter as she nods. joe slips between her legs, head resting on her chest and is relieved to hear the sound. “i’m going to rat you out the the writers of deadpool that you stole their line,” sienna tuts. 

“rat me out, that’s fine.”

it’s not until after dinner, when hours have passed for them, that sienna pauses at her work in the sink, the last plate in her hands. “i think it didn’t work because it felt too much like ownership.”

joe slips the now dry fork back into the drawer. “and you don’t like that?”

“no. i don’t. i like partnership. i like trust. i don’t like feeling like i own you. because i don’t. i couldn’t. it’s not right to me. it’s about choice, you know? it just felt like less of a choice to me.”

“i can respect that. it sounds like a hard limit then?”

she resumes her work, the rubber gloves squeaking a little as she readjusts her grip. “yes, i believe so.”

“we’ll keep that in mind.” another squeak rings out and joe reaches around, fingers loosely wrapping around her forearm beneath the gloves. “plate’s clean as a whistle, baby.” she only nods, the frown returning. but she flicks on the faucets and rinses the soap off before placing it into the drying rack. joe doesn’t move from behind her, moves with every twist and turn she makes, taking up a cup next to wash. “you’re allowed to have limits.”

“i know, but i know you wanted it.”

“i wanted to try. and we did. and it didn’t work, but none of that means that i’ve suddenly casted you aside. i still love you. i still choose you. every single second of every single day, okay?”

sienna hooks the now clean cup to the edge of the rack and looks over her shoulder, eyes cut up to look at him. “i love you.” it leaves her throat shaky and watery. 

“i know you do. and i know this is a little hard for you right now. just know i love you.” there’s no additions, no conditions on it. there never would be. “i can finish the dishes if you need a second.”

her sniffle is loud, and hard, but she shakes her head. “i need something to do with my hands.”

“okay. tag me in if you need to swap jobs.”

“i will.”

x = x-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

*incoming call: ao3* 

“i’m sorry, i can’t come to the phone right now. a little preoccupied the three 6’s*. please leave your name, your message, and your number and i will return your call at my earliest convenience.” *beep*

*6 feet, 6 inches, 6 figures.

1 missed call. 0 voicemails. 

*incoming call: ao3*

“you’ve reached the voicemail box of: joe. they are not available. please leave your message after the tone.” *beep*

1 missed call. 0 voicemails. 

y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

sienna swears that joe has energizer batteries as part of his chemical make up, tucked somewhere that she just hasn’t uncovered yet. 

joe goes down hard sometimes—his eyes totally unfocused, breath shallow. her palm is pressed into his chest, a hard and heavy press, as it can help him focus back on something tangible again after the drop into subspace. most often, he’s listening to the thump-thump of her heart through her chest to help bring him back to the surface again. it might take him a couple hours, or the night for something especially harsh, to full reconnect and return to himself. 

but by morning, with his arm looped around her waist, sienna swears it’s like she didn’t even touch him the night before. joe’s mouthing at her neck, his soft hummed and rumbly voice barely breaching her awareness. “you sleep okay?” he asks, tightening his hold when she startles just a little and then she settles and joe never really lets go, just eases the grip a fraction.

she nods. “hmm, yeah. you?”

“yeah, like a rock.” joe keeps pulling her in closer, and closer, flesh against his chest. his erection poking at her lower back and ass. 

“and something else is a rock too, i see.”

“you say that like you don’t like it.”

and it’s not that sienna doesn’t like it. it’s that she’s waiting for when this fades, for when they slow down. it hangs in the back of her mind—that’s how most other relationships happened. something faded. something changed. something would always change. they were prepared for that, for how to keep the spark alive should either one ever feel like it was dying. so far, that hasn’t happened fully. life gets busy, they slow down during the season, when there’s back to to back travel. there is quiet, but always with a flicker—their desire burning even if on low. text messages that come in sporadically. life updates from joe when he’s out of town: ate oysters today and not nearly as fun as eating you or passing thoughts from sienna: i know you might be busy, but the house is too big without you around. i miss kissing your face. and your lips. 

sienna swears joe’s got damn energizer bunny batteries in his dna and she’s praying though that all her worry is for nought. that the’ll always want each other in the most innocent and most sinful ways. 

her turn over is slow, head being the last thing to make the flip and joe’s grinning, half awake at best, half asleep still at work, fingertips dancing along her spine. sienna hitches her leg, slots it between joe’s, her thigh now pressing up against his hard on. “when have i ever said i didn’t like it?”

joe’s hair scratches against the pillowcase, a strange sound muffled and soft in her ears. “i don’t recall a time you ever have.”

“exactly, right.”

z = zzz (how quickly do they fall asleep after)

if the post sex wind down had a wwe tap out countdown, joe usually doesn’t make it past 2 if he subbed. he makes it long enough to climb into sienna’s arms, tell her thank you after the kisses, and then joe’s out. her breath and the rhythm of her heart pull him straight under, his body utterly melting into her. there’s little resistance because there’s little to resist. joe’s warm, wrapped up in affectionate and loving embrace. he’s free to just exist, as messy and as complicated as that can be. 

sienna takes longer. listens to joe’s breathing, feels it ghosting over her skin. she’s keeping an eye on the red marks she can see, watching them fade out into a flush pink. her brain’s cataloguing. did he have enough water before falling asleep? she’ll have to make sure he has some once they wake up. she’s glad her hip didn’t cramp up like it sometimes does on her, so she’ll have to keep doing those stretches beforehand. when joe unconsciously burrows deeper into her, she laughs and kisses his forehead. and it’s usually at this action, like joe can tell she’s going in the opposite direction of sleep even while he’s not awake, the energy they share somehow alerting him, that tells her she can put all those thoughts at rest for later. him digging in feels like: i know what you’re doing. stop that. you don’t need that right now. 

so she drifts slowly, counting the brushes of her palm over his shoulder. one turns into two, two turns into three. three turns into four. four folds over into five. five morphs into six. six falls into seven. seven slips into…sleep.

[heyydolly]

thinking thoughts about joe being at the facility at 6:30 am. so he's up at the ass crack of dawn (like one does naturally of course).

sub!joe masterlist | joe burrow masterlist | main masterlist

domme sets an alarm like 10 mins after his, upon learning that this is now a Daily Habit, to sneak down into the kitchen and fix him a quick smoothie to take and slice up an apple. joe whisper shouts at her that first day he notices her gone from the bed after he's done in the bathroom. he won't admit he had a tiny heart attack that she wasn't there. instead he heard the click of something deeper from the house, downstairs and followed the sound. only to discover, domme, her robe tied but askew, half falling off her shoulder. the counter's lined with bags of frozen fruit, the oat milk he prefers, his protein powder, a bowl filled now with apple slices, and the cutting board and knife she was using.

the glass of the blender is solid but the fruits and scoops plop into the liquid below--her paused assessment apparently revealing she had not put enough blueberries or black berries in. the rest of the house is still dark, so joe whispers sternly, "go back to bed."

domme blearily stares over at him, one hand on the lid of the blender, before taking her free hand and hitting for a quick pulsate. "what'd you say?" she shouts over the noise.

joe just huffs and double checks her lunch is packed. he then leaves the last two apple slices just for her. just before he leaves out, keys clasped to his palm, joe kisses her cheek. "and you say i'm stubborn."

"i'm only stubborn when it comes to you."

[heyydolly]

i knowwww domme trashed the living room 😭

I love the idea of Domme being ready to crashout about Joe at any second. But in reality, Domme's not the type to throw a temper tantrum. She gets emotional for certain. But she's the epitome of silent, but deadly.

Domme went to this game, considering it's the opening home game. And hell may have known no fury like a woman scorned, until hell meets Domme.

Her rage is pointed, swift, and lethal.

She's there with Robin and Jimmy and the second she sees him limping off the sidelines, she goes on the move. Silently, she stands from her seat, all the lines of her face hard and icy cold. Jimmy pushes up behind her. "We may not make it far," he warns to Domme.

All she does is nod. And Jimmy--Jimmy's seen Domme seethe at the offensive line. He's seen her cheer. Domme doesn't go berserk. She goes eerily quiet. Her annoyed huffs, her shouts, her pacing--that's all to be expected. The second Domme goes quiet, that's the real problem. Jimmy's never seen Domme more quiet, never felt a silence so heavy than the one next to Domme.

And an injury is an injury. There's no downplaying it. But Joe's definitely had worst. She's seen worse injuries. Jimmy watches her down the hallways, through the corridors. Her jaw ticked. Her mouth a firm and thin line on her face. "He walked off which is a good sign."

Silence.

Jimmy tries again. "If it's not his ankle, it's a good sign too. Ya know."

Silence.

0-2, so Jimmy figures best to stay silent. They manage to get pretty far, a lot of security guards watch them, but none of them stop. Jimmy follows behind and Domme walks like a predator going in for a kill. She stalks and she stalks and she parts the seas like Moses. Until they're deep in the bowels and there's a trainer and another security jogging. The athletic trainer and the security guard both skid to a stop when they spot her rounding the corner.

"You can follow us," the security officer notes.

Jimmy watches, brows raised up to his hairline. That's new. But they both follow until they get to the locker room. The doors swing open and Joe's sitting upright on the table, still not fully disassembled from his gear, but his foot elevated for the moment.

His head raises as the noise. "That was fast."

"She was already en route," the guard laughs. "Which I think confirms the fact that she is indeed psychic."

"Your offensive line can't protect you from a stiff breeze," Domme spits. "And you don't have to say anything. You won't say anything, I know. But if I have to watch you tossed around like a rag doll for another season, I'm single handedly putting Cincinnati on national news. And you warn your front office and your o-line about that. Because it's a fucking promise."

Her words are venomous and biting. Yet, Domme touches Joe gently, tracking the tips of her fingers over his face, down to his jaw, fusses with a few strands of his hair before she inhales the sticky and musky scent of sweat and turf off his temple.

"We're waiting on the results," Joe returns, winding one arm around her waist.

But all Domme can do is cradle his head. Joe can feel the slight tremor in her hands. The same kind of jitters that come after an adrenaline crash. He has no words to comfort her though he wants too. Though he wants to fight off the hiss of disgust already creeping at the back of his mind.

But like Domme can feel the thoughts, or hear them, she pulls his head out of her chest, her palms cooler against his face now than usual. Perhaps a byproduct of the slight change in their temperatures, Joe running warmer now than he usually does.

Her thumbs stroke over his cheeks as she speaks, "If you think for a second that this is a reflection of you, Joe, or something you didn't do or could've done, I will knock your head clean off your shoulders."

"Is that a promise too?" Joe questions.

"Damn straight it is. You're an amazing quarterback. A goddamn wizard out there. But this isn't on you."

"There's no 'I' in team," Joe hums back softly.

"There's a few in homicide."

And he shouldn't. Joe really shouldn't, but he snorts. "I guess I should retain a lawyer now."

"I would consider it."

Joe finds her fingers, threads his through hers. The weight of her touch comforting, even if she's threatening bodily harm to his teammates. "Stay with me?"

"Until the very end."

Later that night, when Joe can't sleep because his mind is loud, still looping through the expected recovery for his toe, he finds himself bored and reaches out for the night stand. His phone breaks through the darkness in a muted blue hue. He scrolls for a little bit, looking up ligament recovery until his eyes start to hurt but out of habit, he checks his emails.

There's one sitting in the drafts, which he doesn't remember writing himself. And as he starts to read it, realizes it's not even his account. He's still logged into Domme's email. Saying it's strongly worded is putting it lightly. He doesn't delete it, notices it's not even addressed to be sent. So he leaves it be but he feels a little bit of something in his chest--frustration still, and anger, but also this strange comfort that she's even in his corner, enough to write an email up about her frustrations.

The thing that strikes Joe is that inside of the email and her presence in the locker room during the game, Domme never mentions the wedding. Joe's definitely had the thought floating, that it may only be September right now, but he has to be healthy for April. Yet, Domme hasn't even brought it up. Joe knows she cares about him, wants him safe and healthy. But she wants it so selflessly. It's not about her. It's about him. Solely and only focused on him.

"I saw the email," Joe confesses in the morning. "First, thank you, for drafting it. But let me handle that, please? I like you not arrested considering our wedding is only a few months away."

"I'll continue to refrain until you tell me otherwise. But I mean it, Joe. Someone's going to get a piece of my mind here if things don't change."

He watches her place dishes away, her jaw still tight, teeth undoubtedly clenched. The plates click softly, the pantry doors never slam close. But Joe feels the bubbling fury, can see how sharp her chest moves on the exhales. "Is now a bad time to admit that you're hot angry?"

[heyydolly]

https://www.tumblr.com/jadexwasabi-jb9/792977398580822016/httpswwwtumblrcomjadexwasabi-jb9792962878943?source=share

Why do I feel like Joe gets this cocky smirk after making Domme cum for the millionth time??

He gets cocky any and every time after he satisfies her (in all sense of the phrase).

But he’s high off a win, seeks her out like moths seek light—as his only objective, the only thing he’s meant to do, his sole focus.

Her legs are shaking, entire body hung between convulsing with yet another orgasm and seizing to leave her catatonic due the sheer number of times he’s brought her over the edge. But he’s a man on a mission and loves it when she goes glassy eyed when she’s helpless clinging to him—the very thing that’s undoing her, the very thing dropping every one of her stitches like a knitter who’s made a mistake. But Joe’s not made a single mistake.

“You like that?” he whispers against her gaping open mouth. Her whine leaves her throat strangled but she nods. “Yeah?” he asks again pairing this with a punctuated thrust.

Domme’s fighting to keep her eyes opened. His lips are peeled into that cocky smile, as his thrusts continue, his forehead damp with sweat, hair sticking and God—Domme swears he’s never looked more beautiful.

“Yes, God, I do,” Domme grits out. “Feels so fucking good. My good boy.”

And Joe careening at the praise and the pet name. But he’s not lost sight, so though his gut is on fire, though he feels gooey and hot, he brushes his lips over to her cheek—a messy kiss before he nibbles at her ear. “I need a noise complaint, miss. Give it to me. Please?”

And it’s both their unraveling, Domme cumming hard and nearly violent over his cock. She shouts and after a second all her air leaves her. Joe’s release painting the inside of her fast and hard too.

When they find out a few moments later, just as Domme’s trying to coax Joe off her bosom, that Domme’s voice is hoarse and croaky from all the noise Joe has her making, he lifts his head. “Did I do that?” And there threaded into the question is that same level of cockiness from before.

“Shut up. I have to pee if my legs will allow me.”

“Sssh, don’t want you to lose your voice totally and then have to explain to your boss your husband fucked you so well.” He’s goading, wants her to say something. But she only rolls her eyes and stretches down for a kiss. Her silence sparks something hot in his chest. “Right?” He whispers against her lips.

“You say it like I’d be embarrassed to say that. But would wind up in HR.”

Joe shrugs. “I can take care of you.” His sly grin hints at what he doesn’t say: in every way you could imagine. Like I just did. Every day of your life.

[heyydolly]

2. domme moves furniture without joe and he panics (uses his dad voice on her)

this is from my list of ideas that i never fully fleshed out, but have kept in my drafts, which i went through the other day with the 1-18 request.

in honor of @hoodharlow's bday and her spamming me on IG with reels. ;) adore ya, chica. enjoy!

sub!joe masterlist | joe burrow masterlist | main masterlist

she shouldn't.

but she has the time. besides, it was only her and joe when they got the thing off the old retired couple a few neighborhoods away. joe was firm though--that he'd bring by one of the guys to help get it up onto the counter. but the cabinet's not that heavy.

jack and roslyn need to be scooped up in another hour and a half and if domme's honest, she's tired of almost stubbing her toe on the damn thing at every turn. the wood and glass cabinet shows it's age well--the wood solid and a dark rich brown, faded by time and use. but it's still sturdy and with the current kitchen set up, there's a section of the kitchen that lacks shelving above it. which, at first, wasn't a problem.

all the stuff they needed was tucked up and high on the shelves--plates, cups, bowls that they used on a normal rotation, the good china. now their cabinets are stacked high with plates for the kids, one with dividers for jack jack who is picky about his foods not touching, sippy cups, bottles, the ridiculously overpriced cups from amusement parks. things that make the house feel like a home. but the lack of cabinet space wrapping all the way around has created an interesting issue, where do they keep their day to day utensils and where do they keep their good china?

enter the additional cabinet, the glass doors help show off what's being stored away, the width is perfect enough for them to get the good stuff into it. it'll be solid enough to keep for years, as clearly indicated by how long the piece has already survived.

and it's still resting in front of the counter it needs to go on and domme keeps almost running into it.

"this is ridiculous," she hums to herself.

a glance to the oven reveals that she has plenty of time. besides, with joe attempting to get this onto the counter after practice, it could just be easier for her to do it herself, take it off his plate.

domme finishes her sip and sets the mug down next to the sink--on the far side away from where the cabinet will go. she inhales--deep and steady before she braces her core, like joe taught her, like her trainers are always reminding her to do, and then test the weight of the empty piece of furniture. weighty, hefty enough for her to feel the work in her biceps and steady squeeze of her quads.

domme lowers it back down gently. she could do it. it wouldn't even by that hard. the thing she'll need it leverage though to get it up. domme pushes up the sleeves of her long sleeve, that's from joe's side of the closet, and sizes up her opponent.

"shouldn't be too hard." domme works to clear the counters and finds an old thick blanket. that'll help her keep from scuffing the cabinet and the counters beneath.

her first attempt to get it up and directly onto the counter is thwarted by a lazy grip, but domme doesn't let that stop her. she tries again and manages to get underneath the cabinet to get it up onto the counter on it's side. right onto the blanket and then she's pushes, hoping there's just enough slip between the blanket and the counter to help her out.

and there is. thankfully so, the blanket helps her slide the cabinet onto the counter with ease on its side--solidly on its side so it won't teeter or topple over.

"okay," domme exhales before she goes in for another sip of her tea. her tip toed walk on the counters used as a breather before she moves onto the second phase. "is the ceiling tall enough?" she questions to herself.

the answer is no. the ceiling it not tall enough for domme to get it upright immediately. the corner taps against the ceiling and domme sighs as she slides the cabinet back to its side. so she can't ease it upright form its side but where's there's a will, there is a way.

domme eases the cabinet back to the floor, using her legs to ease the cabinet back to the edge and then gently lower it all the way down. "okay, think, think, think, think."

if she can get upright onto another lower flat surface. she could walk it backwards onto the counter. or if she could get it flat onto something of equal height and then ease it up, that could work. domme turns back to the kitchen island-- the main piece of the island is all pretty solidly built in. but there's a secondary addition to it, though solid, is movable.

domme tugs at the secondary piece, an extension she tacked on but did not adjourn permanently. it gives and gives only a couple inches at a time but it helps bridge the gap between the island the counter just a little.

she sizes up the gap between the counter and the island again though. it looks like it'll be tight, but before she makes any more attempt domme needs to be sure. so she turns on her heel. "measuring tape," she tells herself and then continues into the garage.

the yellow measuring tape rests on the hook right next to the door that both she and joe are careful to put it back on. domme gets the measurement for the cabinet and then measure the gap between the counter and the island. the cabinet it taller than the gap and domme grins before she climbs onto the island to see if she has the wingspan for it.

"take three."

domme eases the cabinet back onto the counter from its side, using the blanket to help her when she's almost certain her arms will totally go kaput on her. thankfully, though, she manages to get the cabinet up and then exhales. "okay, now we turn. but more tea first."

domme reaches the second portion of the kitchen island with ease and shuffles the cabinet out off from the wall a little. she's careful as she eases from the counter to the main kitchen island, doesn't want the secondary portion to carry too much weight too recklessly and risk it collapsing. so she's as swift as she can be, easing the cabinet on the flat bottom edge, the top body of it nestled against her stomach and then she pushes up. "legs, use your legs," she murmurs to herself as she recenters herself.

the cabinet eases up and up and then clicks, a soft tap to the back wall. into place.

domme exhales and grins to herself, a bit of sweat dripping down her forehead. "there."

clean up it swifter--domme scoots the second addition back against the main kitchen island. she disinfects all the counter tops, reassembles the counters back to the way the were and then seals her mission with the final dregs of her mug. just as the bottom mug clinks into the sink, her alarm goes off. a reminder to get the kids from daycare.

______________

the driveway gives away joe's return. domme eases to a stop at the mouth of it, spotting the two other cars and she remembers--she never did text joe to let him know she got the cabinet up. a slight oversight in her rush to get out of the door on time.

the lock clicks under the turn of her key. jack jack clambers inside ahead of her while domme bounces roslyn on her hip. "daddy! we're home!" jack shouts.

domme slips the front door close. "hi, love."

where she expects joe to return the greeting, she is met with her full name, hyphenated last name and all. she's in trouble. joe's voice is deep, not biting or cutting, but stern. like when the kids have done something they know they're not supposed to. fuck, domme thinks to herself. part of it is because she's knows she's caught. joe is pissed at her moving that cabinet by herself. but another part of her likes the deep rumble, how his voice makes her stomach quake too.

when she turns, joe's mouth is thin, jaw set hard and jumping beneath the flesh. "what did we agree on when it came to that cabinet?" joe asks.

"uh oh," jack mutters. "mamas, i think you're in trouble."

domme sets roslyn down onto the bench next to her. "that you would get someone other than me to help you get into the counter."

"so why is it not on the floor anymore? why did i come up to find the cabinet up on the kitchen counter?"

"because i moved it up there?"

"and why would you move it even after we both agreed that i would get help to move it?"

"i kept tripping over it and i figured you'd want to rest after practice. and i'm strong. i'm capable." because she is strong, dammit. she is capable. everyone's been treating her like glass after both her pregnancies. and sure, she felt the weight she'd gained. sure, she had her moments, but fuck it if she's not gotten strong again. because domme knows she has. she needs that to be true.

"until that thing toppled over. no one was home." again, joe's not yelling. but his words are quick, direct. they are sharp but his tone is melting, it bleeds of worry, disappointment, and frustration.

"but it didn't, joe. i'm okay."

"this time," he emphasizes. "next time you may not be lucky. and what then? i have to come up after picking up the kids because the daycare calls me that you didn't do it and you're crushed under something? because of what?"

pride. that's what he wants her to say, or maybe that's what finally deflates her chest. joe's chin shakes and behind the frustration, behind what could look like anger is fear. absolute and utter fear. it would've been domme's pride as her undoing and joe would be left to clean up the pieces.

"i'm sorry," domme whispers, still up against the front door, hands dropping to her side. "i thought i was helping. but maybe it was pride."

"to prove what?" joe whispers back. this time his move, finishes crosses the room they've been standing at opposite ends of and cradles her face.

up close domme can see the tears clinging to his lashline and the tracks of a few that have already fallen. "everyone's been treating me like i'm glass, broken. i'm not. i know i had two kids, but i'm still me."

"baby, i need you alive, okay? i married you because i love you and i meant it when i said i wanted every second with you. but i can't do that if something were to happen to you. fuck, please don't do something like that again. please." joe's voice breaks on the plea, takes the two syllables and makes them twice as long. his voice dies out with the emotion, the tears falling freely.

when domme blinks, his visage sharpens. only for it to blur again on the next blink. her own tears, she realizes. "i promise i won't. i was trying to help and i wanted to prove that i wasn't some fragile broken thing too. i just--i want everyone to treat me normal again."

"we can do that. okay? we can do that, just not like this. god, please not like this, okay?"

his hold tightens, the flat of his palms right into her jaw, but domme nods. "i promise i won't. i'll wait."

joe tugs her into his chest, cradles the back of her head with one palm, the other pressed between her shoulder blades. "don't scare me like that again, please, baby. i-i don't even want to think about what could've happened to you."

their shoulders take in tandem, a shiver from the tears ripping through them. domme clings to joe's t-shirt. she just wants to be normal again. that's all she needs. something, anything to remind domme that she is who she's always been.

domme's not sure how long she and joe stay like that, wrapped up in each other. her nose pressed into his chest, his face buried into her neck. she stays there long enough though that the tears dry, that the snot drips and then dries on her upper lip. there were whispers at some point and when she unfurls, roslyn's gone and so is jack.

"so close, uncle tee," jack laughs from the kitchen.

"here." domme turns to find ja'marr easing a box of tissues between them. "because y'all definitely need them. and you, missy," ja'marr starts, "do not go giving this man anymore heart attacks. i swear i had to do cpr on him."

joe collects a couple tissues from the box before taking it into his own hands. he dabs them at her cheeks and domme laughs, her attention turned just a hair to ja'marr. "i'll try not to."

"i'll believe it when i see it. seriously, dangerous shit you did, but i'm glad you're okay."

"me too."

"put you on the the o-line. no one would ever get to joe."

the jab makes all of them laugh, joe's soft rumbles unlacing the tight ropes in domme's chest. "they'd have to fight like hell. that's for sure," joe tacks on, taking more tissue to clean at her nose.

ja'marr exits with just a nod and domme looks back up to joe. "i really am sorry."

"i'm just glad you're okay. we'll talk more once the kids are asleep. that sound good?"

domme pulls out a couple tissue and eases them gently over his cheeks. "sounds good."

[heyydolly]

The thought of Joe enjoying getting spanked. So much so that he doesn’t need to touch himself. He can orgasm just from the pain/pleasure. How would this play out with domme?

i can see this being something that happens to joe, not often, but frequently enough that they both start to anticipate it more. they're more prepared the more it happens.

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however, the first time this happens, joe's severely underprepared for it.

it's still new in their dynamic, past the initial conversation of integrating dom/sub dynamics, but still fresh enough that joe still feels flustered each time sienna drops her voice a little, when she seemingly materializes right when he needs her, like she's got some kind of sixth sense just for him, when she's so gentle with him tells him over and over, "it's okay to need me, baby. it's okay if you call just because you want to hear my voice. it's okay if you ask me to choose because you're too tired to. it's what i'm here for, to guide and serve you."

to guide and to serve, two things that should reject each other, that should be too opposite that they could never mesh well. but he'd noticed how much he did like the teasing taps sienna would give him in passing, on her way to the fridge and him at the sink. joe didn't jump as much as he stilled, tried to keep himself from biting his lower lip, tried to keep the smile off his face, tried to keep himself from pushing back into her. he'd put it on his want to try list, but hadn't vocalized it more than that.

until sienna laughed, "i can make it hurt more or less, all you have to do is tell me you want it."

so he did. finally, after aching for it. and now, it's like he can't get enough. there's just enough sting that it cuts in red, and hot, but never too much that it feels like torture, that it feels malicious. sienna soothes her hand over his cheek, pressed into the back of him, lips dragging over his muscle and skin. "count," she demands.

"s-six." it takes every ounce of joe to get the word over his lips. his vision is unfocused and fuzzy. he hears sienna but can't really place where he is in his bedroom. can't pull out the details he knows he knows, like how far the bed is from them, or how close he is the walk in closet or if the lights are on or if they're off. though he supposes the soft yellow haze is indication that the lamps are on.

joe's never been here before, in this strange liminal space, floating and teethered at the same time. the bite of the pain, and sienna's searing voice keeping him on earth, and yet he's fighting, wants to chase that euphoria pulling him in, coaxing him in with the promise of something sweet. joe's not sure what that promise is of, couldn't tell anyone for the life of him, but he wants it.

"you're crying, baby boy." an observation, a coo in sienna's voice that feels like it's dripping down joe's back, mixing in with his own sweat and need. "i can stop if--"

"no, please, don't. need more." joe's stomach churns at the idea of this ending. he needs it. needs her, needs this. he realizes he's not really thinking anymore. just seeking her and whatever this new push and pull is, that he's floating and also underneath at the same time. "i can handle it. just, please, please don't stop."

it's four more swings, each one pressing against his flesh like flames to dry grass--the spark catching fast and bright. and each swing sinks him, deeper, and deeper. each time he counts and sienna eases the warm cut of the crop with her hand, joe swears his body comes alive.

"eight," joe heaves, feeling now in the pit of his stomach the pull. the tightening of the coil, the buzz of and swell.

"nine." it's higher now, and brighter, his whole body tingling. his breath leaving him in hiccups, desperate gasps. he can't, right? he shouldn't be able too. and yet, the sweat's prickling against his forehead. his muscles burning with the hot iron edge of his release.

crack. "te-," and the number is broken by joe's choke, the coil in his belly finally snapping.

there's gasping, a hollow sound. it bounces in his ears.

"deep breath for me, baby." a hard press. right into his sternum. sienna's voice, firm and urgent. "breathe into my hand, baby."

and it's only at the last instruction that joe realizes it's him heaving like this. body still trembling. his hands are full of something. warm, soft, smooth, but if he squeezes too hard it stops giving. he inhales into the hand, her hand. "good. now exhale."

joe pushs all the air out.

"into my hand."

joe inhales, fills up every centimeter of his lung.

"out."

he's clinging to sienna. as the lights refocus in his vision, as the room clears, joe realizes he's wrapped around her. her palm pressed between his pecs. it's sticky, and cold between them.

"look at you. so good for me, sweetheart. one more time. into my hand."

his voice cracks the second joe goes to use it, feels how dry his throat is before the words form. and he wants to ask what happened, if he actually came from just the crop alone, because it doesn't seem lke that should happen. but he feels haggard and raw, unraveled, even as sienna eases him back into the mattress, even as the warm wash cloth swipes over his stomach and pelvis.

"going to be right back, promise," sienna whispers.

and all joe can do is whine when the warmth of her is gone, he huffs, knows that she won't leave him, but still needed it. and though he is naked currently, without her, joe feels bare, vulnerable, like a cross section of himself on a microscope slide.

she returns rather swiftly, something clunking down as it settles onto the bedside table. pressed up against her chest, beneath the sheets, joe inhales her sweet scent. her voice rumbles through the breastbone and he nods to show he's listening, catching onto the praise from her lips. every stroke of her palm over his spine reconnects him, pulls him together like needle and thread after being split wide open.

[heyydolly]

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thinking about joe in the midst of dealing with his injury telling domme he refuses to cancel the halloween party this year because he knows how much it means to her, and to him, and to the team. especially because they're doing a murder mystery this year. they do it so joe winds up being the one who's murdered. but he gets to just laugh and watch as ja'marr and mike gesicki get into it over one of the clues.

"open your fucking ears, gesicki! how the fuck can it be the kitchen when the clue clearly states, 'under a touch hot and familiar, stars up above?' the location is the backyard, dumbass."

"you're chewing in my ear loud! i can't hear shit!"

the poor rookies are just watching like a tennis match. the crowd immediately suspects domme as joe's killer but her clue has her placed in the game room so it's not her. turns out to be ja'marr the whole time and he was trying to throw off his trail but tee and demetrius knight both sniff ja'marr out in the end.

everyone loves their goodie bag and they joke joe because instead of the 9PM hard out, they don't get shooed out until like 10PM. "oh look who's staying up late"

domme threatens them with the fake blood covered candle holder, and joe just laughs. his eyes are all soft and gooey watching domme chase his teammates out. "i hear a lot of smack from guys that i could take."

anywhoosies. happy halloween!

[heyydolly]

I honestly don’t know if this is something you’d be fine with writing, but I wanted to ask for something specific (if you’re fine with it obviously). If i remember correctly, Domme took Joe to some "parties" and showed him around her lifestyle and so on. Maybe maybe is it be possible that Domme got Joe into one of these interesting rooms with the one-way mirrors (people can look into the room 👀) and you know… they do their thing (maybe she got Joe wearing a mask for protection, got him chained to the bed or whatever idk if anyone sees my vision 🤪)

heliocentric--extra: sing that body electric

A grand finale to Retirement Blurb Weekend. Requests are now closed.

CW: 18+ Content (Smut. Pegging is loosely described.)

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_____________________________

there’s very little that sienna can propose to joe that he finds himself immediately turning down. each offering is alluring. she presents them thoroughly, a clear and concise plan, and she is prepared for all his questions. though to others, the tactic and curtness to such a conversation might seem unappealing, to joe it feels like the siren songs sailors fall for. perhaps, it’s because joe knows that she’s never passing judgement, that when she’s bringing something to him, it’s because she thinks he’ll like it, and if he doesn’t, she never makes him feel guilty for it. 

it’s sweet. and it’s addictive to watch the way sienna slides in next to him, or in the kitchen, or in the bathroom, or in the hallway, or in the bedroom--like right now. she threads her fingers through his, rests her head into the side of his bicep and whispers softly, “when you get a moment, can we talk? i have a proposition that needs your eyes.”

which tells joe that it is serious, requires their utmost attention, but that what she needs to talk to him and discuss is an offering. offerings are different from needs and wants. offerings are how joe learned more about sienna’s past, the polyamorous relationship, the swinging parties, the scene. not that joe wants anything other than sienna, not that he thinks he needs anything other than that. but it’s like a tasting, a sampling to see what he does and does not like and it never has to go further than he wants. joe never has to be or do anything he doesn’t want. 

how utterly freeing and how utterly terrifying, too. joe knows that sienna knows a lot more than him in this space, that she’s explored, tested, experimented in ways he hasn’t. the saving grace is sienna’s willingness, her own want to give him the space to explore those things too. even if his profession presents its own difficulties. even if sometimes he feels like he’s jumping through hoops that don’t really need to exist, yet they do. 

“we can talk,” joe answers, the pick floss still poised in his right hand, ready to go for another round between his teeth. “i’m almost done here. say, five minutes?”

“take your time. this can be discussed whenever in the next few days. i have to give a response by next thursday.”

his brows furrow, the slight frown of confusion settling into his features. sienna laughs as she smooths a hand over his chest. “i was asked,” she begins, winding her arms around his waist, “if we’d like to participate in the upcoming exhibit. masquerade theme.”

exhibit. yet, if joe can recall correctly, they’re almost always called parties. a thing that doesn’t require their presence, but if they want to attend, they always would. but sienna has just used the phrase participate and joe, he notices that. “participate? like? par-ti-ci-pate?” he parrots again, emphasizing the words, by breaking it down into its syllables. “be a part of the show, the party?”

“we might be getting ahead of ourselves here. but would it help you better prepare for that conversation if i answered this question now?”

“yes.” because now all joe has running through his head is that people would be watching him. which is not inherently different from what happens now when they arrive at the parties, and they engage people—mostly scarlett in joe’s case and he rarely initiates with her. but the entire club is an open buffet of sorts—rooms that are closed off, rooms opened for watchers. joe does feel safe there in those moments because of the rules, how privacy and safety are such an integral part to the experience. 

joe’s not yet been served up. not yet been the one to be watched, or consumed in that setting. part of him never considered that it would be an option. that he and sienna would always stay floating in the background. so yeah—joe needs to know if his assumptions are correct before he can think about finishing his oral care routine. 

“yes, we’d be a part of the show. in a room. if we accept.” 

“an open room?” they’ve never really had sex at those parties, well, joe can’t say that, they’ve been intimate for sure, hands exploring, slipping under skirts or behind the button of pants. but it feels like a steep jump up in the ranking if it is, an open room.

“yes.” 

“oh.”  

so, they’d up for consumption, truly a piece of the show, of the exhibit as sienna’s called it. that information tugs at the pieces of joe that already feel like that, with his profession and the subsequent fame. a delicacy to be ravished, but with very little aftercare. a reality joe’s found more rhythm with—feels like he can tackle it better and has become more comfortable. but this thing, the exchange, the serving himself over to sienna—it’s sacred in a way. it’s something between the two of them.

“and i presume there are more details? for once we do have the conversation?” joe doesn’t want to get ahead of himself, more so than he already has. but sienna wouldn’t leave him out to dry, right? she shouldn’t. she hadn’t so far. 

“there are,” her response is paired with a nod. 

“okay. we can talk. once i’m done brushing my teeth.”

“thank you,” she whispers, pressing up to peck his lips before slipping out into the bedroom. 

but joe replays it over and over in his head, participate. and sienna’s right, he shouldn’t get ahead of himself. he shouldn’t go into a spiral. he should listen to her, hear out what she’s proposing. yet, he chews, holds his uncertainty in his mouth, rolling around on his tongue. what it would mean to be in an open room? a room meant for others to watch, even if only in passing. they’d see him. and her too, but there would be a performance, people looking, enjoying them. behind the initial hesitancy, behind the initial lurch, there is intrigue. what could an audience add to this? it’s not that joe’s nervous about performing, it is his job. but did he want sex to feel like a transaction? could it with sienna at the helm?

sienna lays it out in x’s and o’s. a silly detail that makes joe melt a little when he finds her in the bedroom and listens to her preface as she leads him to his office. the whiteboard on his wall hold a schematic of the club--the place he’s been too before, a place that he knows well. so joe settles onto the edge of the couch, elbows resting on his knees. “i’m listening,” he encourages with a nod. 

“theme is masquerade for this exhibition. exhibits are different from the parties we’ve been to for this club. it’s…almost like a ball? the idea is that this is meant to be a taste for potential newcomers, who aren’t quite sure what’s going on, but want to dip their toes into the world. you’ll see different clubs handle this differently. all potential newcomers have been thoroughly vetted. they have to be in order to obtain the invitation.”

joe raises his hand though there’s no one else and she nods, red dry erase marker singling him out. “the same vetting process that we went through?”

“yes, same one.”

it was a rather llong vetting process on joe’s part. though he’s sure sienna’s word meant more than his, and her time with the club helped. the reassurance that it's the same is a point joe's mental pro tally. “okay. let’s hear the rest.”

“the exhibition is scheduled for 4 weeks from now. what does this even consist of you may ask, right?” joe nods at the prompt, eyes darting from the board to her face. sienna smiles at him. “you’re in luck. i’m happy to tell you. we’d all arrive in our fanciest clothes, in costume. everyone’s wearing a mask as an extra layer of protection. there’s chit chat, us mingling with the newcomers, them mingling with us. this is a dry event. some sparking juice for anyone feeling parched.” her voice drops into a posh accent, terrible as it is, but it’s enough for joe to snort at the poor rendition.

“don’t go adding accents to your sheet,” joe teases.

“hush. anyway, we mingle for like an hour and then the newcomers are directed in the hall,” sienna taps the marker to the corresponding box on the board, in the lower left corner, “for a nice round of finger foods. while they enjoy some more company, doing whatever it is they do, we will be scurrying to the rooms. the second floor is closed for this event. so it’s all on the first floor. all first floor rooms will considered opened for this event.”

“all of them?” joe clarifies. 

“everyone single one,” sienna answers, popping the cap before snapping it back down with her thumb. 

“so everyone who agrees to participate in a room knows they’re being watched.”

“yes. exactly so.”

“so, is your proposal that we’re in one of those rooms?”

“if you’d like, yes.”

“and-” joe pauses. something about the phrasing feels trivial, burns his tongue before he’s even said. just the thought alone makes his throat spasm. “and we’d be in scene?” it’s sex. joe knows that. she knows it too, but still he can’t quite phrase it like that. sex is too much an incomplete understanding of this. 

“you got it,” sienna hums. “what the scene looks like, up to you and i. but masks stay on, the entire time--even when we’re mingling beforehand, when we’re in the rooms. there is a ‘main stage’ event,” sienna adds air quotes to the phrase but then brings the pen to the middle of the board. “we’d have…roughly an hour and a half. and there’s no penalty for going over, so you don't have to worry about watching the playclock."

"a stretch," joe snorts.

sienna continues on around her grin, "tough crowd. this just means that after that point, that most of the attention will be diverted. we stay for as long as you need after that. i’d still be responsible for getting the room stripped, but once that was done, and you were in a good spot, we’d leave.”

joe stares down at the board, taking in the swirls and loops in sienna’s handwriting on the board. he’d really only have to suffer an hour at most of the painfully awkward mingling, if that. he assumes at some point they’d have to go off, get to their room. “and these newcomers, they--they don’t actively participate, right? just watch?"

“up to us. this venue is set up differently than the usual place. there’s a wall,” sienna points to a tinier drawing in the upper right, “there, that wall that the door is one, will have a cut out, one way mirror is inside of it. people can look in, but we can’t look out. there will be additional staff at the doors, guiding traffic in a way. but you set the rules for us, baby. what you say, goes. me and the extra staff at the doors just enforce 'em.”

he catalogues, breaks down her whole lecture into its most basic parts. open rooms, meaning everything is meant to be displayed. extra staff at doors to ensure safety. thorough vetting and masks to ensure privacy. and joe gets to set the rules. he takes her in, the way she stands next to the whiteboard not rounded in, but relaxed, like she doesn’t care which way joe goes. the same woman he’s fallen asleep next to and woken up to for the last few years. the same woman that’s taken him in so gently, so lovingly that he can’t imagine that she’s set him up for failure. 

sienna’s the woman that when he doesn’t want to shoulder the weight anymore takes it up with ease, the woman she’s sorted his emails between spam and important, that cheers at his success, cradles him closer when he thinks he might crack under the weight of it all, that huffs at him when he misses the laundry basket with his socks at times, the woman that slides the plate of freshly baked treats closer to him when she can tell he’s been eyeing them for ages, but can’t quite crack his own discipline, and cracks it for him but never too much. 

the intrigue grows, what would he want in a situation like this? would he find that when he puts himself up for the offering he doesn’t mind being taken from? would the sex still feel like a prayer, like a saving grace? 

“can i get back to you about this by friday?” that gives him four days, and three nights to marinate on it. she needs to have an answer well after that, but joe’s not one to toil too long over things if he doesn’t need to.

“you take however long you need.” sienna’s sincerity in the response rings heavy in joe’s ears. like she doesn’t care if they miss the deadline, like she doesn’t care about anything else but joe making the best decision for himself. “ask me whatever you need to ask me, whenever they crop up.”

the marker clicks against the metal holder. the sign that she’s said all that she’s needed. as her fingers curl around the eraser, joe shakes his head. “leave it up for me, please?”

“absolutely, love. thank you for listening.”

the thing is that joe would always listen. he’d always care about what she had to say, and what she wanted to share with him. sienna sharing with him means she trusts him enough to hear her out, that just as safe as she makes him feel, he makes her feel the same way in return. they have reciprocity in every place of the relationship.

joe pushes up off the couch, fingers stretching out for her and she answers the silent call, just like always, her strides closing the gap between them swiftly. joe presses a kiss to the top of her hair, inhaling the sweet perfume of her shampoo still threaded into her strands. “thanks for proposing this to me.”

_________________

joe could blame the whiteboard. 

he could blame the x’s and the o’s. but in reality, it’s his own doing. every action he chose led him closer and closer to this moment. every question he asked, every idea he proposed, every rule he set, joe was digging his own grave. he was digging it before he realized it. the little things--checking about how long they had to do the mingling, asking if sienna preferred the idea of having a live audience or leaving them behind the mirrored glass, musing aloud to himself what suit he could wear, how fast he could find someone to custom make masks. he mused with sienna about what she’d wear. and all those little things added up, until joe felt himself ready to take on the prospect. 

i’ll be there, sienna promised, every step you take will be with me next to you. a promise that made his knees buckle when she whispered it into his neck that thursday night. it made him think about the rings--the ones he hadn’t yet proposed with, but he had spoken with several jewelers with, the rings that were in the making. joe knew before his eyes slipped shut that night he’d be saying yes in the morning. 

the thing that joe couldn’t have anticipated is just heavenly sienna looks, leaning against the door. the black eyes mask with long devil horns spiraling out from the sides. her body adorned in a matching black dress, the center of her chest shadowed by a skin colored mesh adorned in gold accented lace. a center that matches to the bottom half the skirt, her thighs and lower legs peeking out from the mesh. pieces of her that he’d kill to taste. and maybe that’s a good thing, helps feed the scene they’re nestled into right now. 

joe’s holding himself tethered to the edge of the headboard, the gold in his masks matching the gold of her dress. the shape of the masks borrowed from that of the phantom of the opera. most of his face covered nearly completely, all on top of the all white tux he’d been fitted into. and though joe’s trying to keep himself grounded in those realities, that he’s in this room, standing across from his partner, who’s not his partner for all intents and purposes of their play right now, holding the edge of the headboard, where sienna positioned him, he knows he wants to be where she is. joe groans, racking his eyes over the length of her again.

the lights are low. warm enough that he can still make out the soft glow of her skin from the body oil she put as they got dressed at the house together. the rooms always look so much smaller from the outside, like somehow joe’s never actually taken in the size of it until now, until he’s on the inside and not just leaning into a corner. but it’s just small enough that joe can almost forget where he is, he can focus in on sienna and her soft glow, the pool of lights over her too, dazzling. 

joe can almost forget that the mirror, which he knows is actually glass, is the only thing separating them from watchers. if they are not already outside the glass, they will be there soon. sienna laughs though, bringing his gaze back to her face. “if i didn’t know any better, i’d say you’re scared.” she tilts her head as she asks, lips still curled back into the smile she had when she laughed. 

painted between the words, joe can hear a secondary question: should i go slow? he worries though that the longer that they toy with this, the harder it’ll be for him to keep in the scene. now that he’s here, he wants to show everyone what sienna does to him, how she can unravel him, how she can command him. 

“would’ve thought,” joe starts, voice shaking only for a moment before he gains a bit more confidence, “with all the years we spent together you’d know better.” because here, in this scene, across from sienna, that’s his ex-wife. though joe can’t stomach the thought, it helps add to the supernatural angle, the idea that sienna’s the angel that fell and joe’s the one still teetering on the edge torn between her and his beliefs, between love and everything that's ever made his life made sense. 

sure, it’s not the most subversive thing around. how many times should the woman play the seductress before it gets tiring and old? but playing a character helps immensely. gives joe an escape out of his own head. gives them the freedom it not be themselves for just a tiny bit before the veil falls around them. 

“that’s the greeting i get,” sienna scoffs, straightening up off the door. 

“it would appear so.” his fingers tighten around the metal of the frame, where it was once cool, it is now hot from the heat of his own palm.

he’s not supposed to move until she does. those are the rules. he’s supposed to play off her. she’s supposed to play off him. they’re feeding each other, a little give, a little take. but joe just wants to hold sienna, wants to take the flesh of her hips into his palms, wants to taste her. because she looks so goddamn delectable in that dress. a thing he knows is easy to get off thanks to the invisible zipper along the back. they practiced it at home, to make sure it’d work, that things wouldn’t lull. they do have a time constraint and joe intends not to waste a second of it, if he can help it.

sienna takes one step, just one though, and joe unfurls his hands from the edge of the bed. when she takes another step forward, he takes a step back. even if it pains him. he’s supposed to be resisting, acting. it’s so much harder than he anticipated. his character should be looking for the exit, but joe can only watch sienna, can only find himself pulled into the depths of her eyes behind the black mask. 

“darling,” she laughs. “i’d tread lightly if i were you.”

a threat that sounds so much like a promise to joe. “and if i don’t?” joe returns. 

“well, i’m not the one missing wings, so i guess it depends on how many strikes you have.”

too few. he has too few because she’s not touching him. and he wants her too. but she stalks forward again and joe shuffles a half step back. the heel of his dress shoe thumping against the wall of the room, where it separates joe and sienna from the couple to their right. which he can’t fully make out what they’re doing, but can hear it vaguely. it’s easy to tune them out because he listens for the ferocious click of sienna’s heels over to him. 

she’s inches from him now. her eyes blazing hot, but it is a comfort. she’s close. she’s right within arms reach. she’s right there. “what kind of trouble have you been getting up to since i last left?”

“so-so you agree you left?” joe stammers out, catching the deep musk of his cologne on her. he watched her spray it on and thought it strange at first, but now that she’s in his space again, now that she’s flared in front of him, makes joe wonder if he really were in a spat with his ex-wife, if this kind of thing would strike him, if he’d notice it. “is that my cologne you’re wearing?” he questions, voice dropping. 

“which one am i answering first?” sienna returns, brow arched in a dare. 

“you left. so the second question.”

“if i say yes to the cologne, does that change anything?” she poses this question softer, hands hovering over his lapels. joe can’t give in until she does. and god, does she want him too. just fucking touch me, he begs internally. like she can hear, her hands smooth over the material and joe finds her waist, palms pulled to her heat. 

it’s supposed to be years, it’s supposed to be a thing unsalvageable. at least in theory. but joe inhales again, takes in a deep pull of her musk and body oil mixing with the scent that’s so intimately him that he crumbles, edges his face down towards her. “everything,” he whispers, lips so close to hers that it’s criminal that it’s not a kiss. 

“and if i can’t change? if nothing changes after tonight?” she whispers back up to him.

“then it doesn’t change,” joe answers, hearing the groan in his voice. acceptance. a man desperate. 

then she’s gone, pushes off his chest and leaves a gaping wide hole that joe can’t help but try to fill with her again. his fingers brush over his hips and the chase commences. she’s fast, faster than he anticipates in her heels. evades him once again as she uses the pole in the bed frame to swing her just out of his grasps. it sends her up onto the bed, her shoes clattering to the floor and just as joe goes to step up, she plants a perfectly manicured foot to his shoulder and pushes. he goes with the motion, easing himself down into a kneel, up against the edge of the mattress.

“we do this dance every time,” sienna tuts, holding the skirt of her dress in her hands, the slit swimming off her legs until it falls all to the sides and leaves her flesh ripe for the taking. “and i think you’ve forgotten who’s actually in charge here.”

joe could never forget. he would never forget. joe wants to never forget. he traces the line of her calf up to the back of her knee, cupping the joint as his lips seal kisses from her ankle up to shin.  “remind me.” two little words that he means down to his bones.

“say it right,” she warns, her voice louder than it has been previously, stern and it makes joe’s stomach flip. 

“remind me, miss,” joe breathes into her skin, lips dragging over her flesh as he speaks. 

her heel digs into his shoulder, edging him from the knee and he gives in until he’s shuffled and his butt’s on the floor. sienna lands gracefully between his legs. a soft thud that’s not even wobbly as she crooks her fingers for him to stand up. and he does, easing himself to stand above her, towering but he doesn’t want to move until she tells him too. he’d hold his breath for her, if she wanted. 

her hand fists his lapels again, pushing up to her tip toes. “do you care if i make a mess of you?”

joe is already a mess. his hands tremble just a little. he can feel the heave of his chest. just a kiss. just one fucking kiss is all he needs, or so he thinks. and it’s so fucking close. the carrot on a stick that’s been dangling just in front of him, but just out of his reach, now brought in that much closer to him. but it's also about his consent, that he knows he can revoke at any time, even here in this room, even during this exhibit. but he doesn't want this to stop. so he answers, softly, all in an exhale, “i’d be honored.”

sienna’s lips find his. the bitter edge of her red lipstick sneaking into his mouth between the push and pull. not that joe cares. certainly not, because her kiss is the sweet edge. it’s only the precipice and joe wouldn’t care if her red lipstick stained his more than just his face. he feels put out, like water to a flame, and lit up, like a match struck and flickering. 

joe’s not sure what it is, if it’s the setting or if it’s the anticipation, the days and weeks of them preparing finally culminating into this moment, but joe hopes it last forever. it dances at the back of his mind that there’s a crowd, that someone’s watching him right now as sienna walks him the glass, that someone, possibly even multiple someone’s can see him now, eyes fluttering close as she undress him, each button undone methodically like she wants to make him suffer, hang in each moment his skin feels like it’s going to burst. 

he should feel more bare, he should feel terrified. but he laughs, joe fucking laughs when she eases the dress shirt off his torso, the sharp ends of her nails licking his skin like flames. joe feels so fucking alive under sienna’s touch. he begs for each stroke, the smoothing flat of her palm over his stomach, the pinch of her fingers over his nipples. he salivates at the way she marks his back and shoulders in kisses, grazing her teeth over his skin. 

then he’s walked backwards, towards the bed and she eases him to the edge. joe sits, and her palms cup his face. her lips drag over his and joe can’t help but fill his palms with her, smoothing over the dip of her hip. sienna holds his head back, tilted so the lights wash directly over his face and eyes. she chuckles, watching him. “let go, baby. i’ve got you.”

joe clings for just a moment longer to the awareness, to the way she holds him, soft and assured. “you always have me,” he whispers. 

“and i always will.”

then joe goes, finds that watery edge of his consciousness, where he can still respond when needed, but where everything feels heavier, and better and sinks just under it, nestled into the space where he can’t help but beg, where he can’t help but turn over into sienna, put everything he might’ve cared about, worried and fretted over, into her hands. he is safe with her. he’s always been safe with her. and joe wants to show everyone else who’s watching how safe, wants them to know just how well sienna is with this craft. there’s no whips and no floggers like some other rooms are doing, undoubtedly. 

it’s just her and it’s just him. that’s all either one of them really needs. it’s all joe needs as the warm wax drips down his chest, less of a sting and more like a strike of lightning, pulling at the threads of his awareness, pulling him back to the top of the ocean of his thoughts before sienna’s touch--hands or mouth--pull him back under. time moves differently here, slower somehow while he’s under. joe can feel every second thicken, the thump of his blood all surging southward. his skin is seared slower here too, every touch sienna lands burns brighter too. 

all joe can think about is her. the heavy press of her breast into his back, the chase of warm oil and hot max over his chest, skating down to his belt line. the heavy edge of his cologne on her skin, how much she is his. and he is consumed with needs, hands stretching back for her, arching into her weight. 

“need you.” it’s a pathetic kind of need, that makes joe want to curl into himself through his navel, the kind of need that he hasn’t been hit with in a while, the one that surrenders him beyond just the grace of someone else being at the helm of him, but that makes him crave it. his fingers ache for it, to be totally at ease. 

“right here, love. where i’m always going to be.”

joe shakes his head, not that. he knows that. he’s trying to convey something deeper, a kind of need that begs, that makes minced meat of men and joe doesn’t want to think, doesn’t want to feel, just wants to fall. 

his lips brush against her jaw. “please. more. all the way.”

“always, my love. such a good boy for me. telling me what you need.” her whisper is hot before her lips seal around the tendon in his neck. 

joe has half a heart to consider that he will still be riddled with hickies come next week. but it doesn’t matter because sienna takes him apart, piece by piece, dissects muscles from bone, and tendons and ligaments from cartilage. the hot pop of her palm over his flesh, “one,” followed by another echo, “two,” stuttered out before “three” and that followed by the hot swat of “four.”

her hips driving over him. joe’s not totally sure when she stripped him totally bare, when she spread him out, if she watched him like a hawk for the kill. not that it matters anymore. there’s just the feeling of her, the pull of their meeting, the push of her hands into his chest for balance. her shining eyes. 

the beautiful dance of the black masks bouncing back the dangerously enticing red. her face shadowed. and sienna’s eyes shine. pleased, joe realizes, probably much too late, much too far away to articulate it. but sienna looks so utterly pleased above him, the pull of her core, the slick dripping down over his pelvis. 

he’s just barely picking out the words, catches, “so good,” and “really put on a show.” joe figures he responds, that his mouth opens and air leaves him to the tune of words because she’s pulling off, directing him, placing him where she wants him, fingers chilling over the back of his bare thighs. before she’s fixing the masks on his face, back into place, a gentle, sweet gesture that’s sealed into the harsh nip of her teeth into the meat of his lower trapezius. 

if joe was under, now he’s sinking at the feeling of her working him, easy and slow, careful here now and there’s nothing by the heat in his gut, nothing to do but cling to the sheets, his face nestled into the soft threads. he knows exactly where this is going next and he pushes back into her fingers, wanting everything she’s going to offer him. 

each time their bodies meet like this, the drive of her into the core of him, joe swears he’ll come undone and there will be no way to come back together again. there will be no way to pick up the pieces. hell, there might not be any pieces left. his head is pulled up, a warm and easy tug by the strands of his hair, and he’s grateful for the surge of cool, that his own pathetic panting isn’t partially suffocating him anymore. 

but he’s all slack jawed. knows his chest is pink, marked with the red of her lipstick stain too. his fists are full of the sheets. mouth full of praise too, soft and wet pathetic praise, blinded by how fucking good it all feels. to have sienna filling very sense he has. to know, in the back of his head that someone is watching, getting to see the absolute magic of sienna, makes his body sign and thrum with an electricity that most often only comes when he’s playing, when he’s winning to be more specific. 

this is winning too, when he’s with sienna. how could joe want or need anything else?

“cum for me. i know you want to.” a hotly whispered demand that manages to cut through the buzz in joe’s ear. a command timed so perfectly, right at the start of the coil in his stomach snapping that he has no choice but to obey. 

it’s hot beneath the mask and it’s wet. it’s the first sensation that brings him closer to the surface of awareness. and just behind it, there’s something cool. 

“no, don’t turn your head, baby.”

joe stares straight up to the ceiling, blinking beneath the mask. his limbs feel heavy, way too fucking heavy. but he’s laying on pillows, that much he can tell. for all that he weighs, which he knows is significant, she’s managed well. “tellin’ me you moved me all yourself?” his voice is rough and quiet. 

“you’re not as heavy as you think.” the eye cut outs ruin his peripheral vision, but even so joe cuts his gaze to look, to see the smile playing at her lips, her lipstick smudged just a hair across her cheek and chin. 

sienna’s work, a cool but rough piece of paper towel stops under the free edge of the mask. there’s a thump, and rattle. music that joe finally catches. “how long?” he asks, inhaling as deep as he can, fighting to claw back over the plane back into his body, hoping it’s clear that he’s asking how long he’s out. clearly long enough to be moved and not realize it, long enough that whatever this main event is appears to be happening. 

“doesn’t really matter, love.”

that is true, he thinks. he wants to curl into her, but he’s not sure if her work at his face is done, so he reaches, lugs his arm out to brush the back of his knuckles over her knees. “i don’t feel real.”

“you took it like a champ.” the bed shifts and sienna eases in closer, one her her legs pressed into his hip and side, the other threaded over his waist and then she’s easing one shoulder up onto the opening of her lap. joe slides in, shimmying as much of his upper body onto her as he can, face pressed into her stomach. she smells like that oil still, a hair musky, like sex, and like him. his heart throbs in his throat again when he catches the edges of his cologne on her. 

“take all the time you need,” she encourages, stroking over his arms and carding fingers into the strands of his hair. “haven’t got another place to go.”

a thing joe knows deeply to be true and knows he hasn't got a place else to go that doesn't include sienna either.