Humbly asking for beefy Joe letting his SO bite his biceps while he has her in a friendly headlock. I want to bite into them so bad.
goooooot it got it got it got it
Wordcount: 2.3K
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This Is Your Spot
Joe insists he wants to watch a film with you.
You insist you want to lie on him.
Both things are technically happening, though only one of you is actually paying attention to the screen.
The living room is dim except for the flicker of the television, which is currently showing a dramatic action picture you’re not interested in. Someone on screen is running from something exploding, but the volume is low and the urgency doesn’t translate well when the room smells like salty microwave popcorn and whatever laundry detergent Joe used on the blanket draped over the sofa.
Joe sits solidly pressed in the corner, the spot that he’ll pull you out of if he finds you there because, “that’s his spot”. His broad shoulders sit sunken into the cushions, one arm thrown lazily along the backrest behind you while the other rests across his middle.
You find yourself draped across him with your spine bent in a way that would make a chiropractor nervous, but feels fucking fantastic. You’ve got one leg slung over his thigh, your shoulder tucked against his chest and your cheek planted comfortably on the warm rise of his stomach.
Joe exhales slowly through his nose.
“You know,” he says after you’ve failed to jump at a jump scare, his eyes still fixed on the television, “if you want to watch something else, you can just tell me.”
“Mhm.”
Your fingers trace slow circles over the cotton of his shirt, absentminded and content.
“Are you actually watching this at all?” he continues patiently. He chose a film he thought you’d actually like, but doesn’t think you’re aware he kept you in mind when he made the choice.
“Yea I am. It’s good.”
“You,” Joe says, glancing down finally, “are lying to me.”
You tilt your head just enough to look up at him, blinking lazily.
“Yea I am.”
Joe studies you for a second, clearly taking in the full situation: the way you’ve draped yourself over him, the hand resting comfortably across his stomach, the faintly smug expression on your face that suggests you see absolutely no issue with any of this. His hand drops to your back, curling his fingers to give you a few loving scratches.
“You’re crushing me,” he says, jokingly straining his voice, overacting he can’t breathe.
You shift slightly.
Not to get off him, obviously, why the fuck would you. He can breathe fine. You just want to settle more firmly into place, and press your cheek deeper into the soft warmth of his stomach.
Joe can have his spot on his sofa. This is your spot.
“No I’m not.”
“You absolutely are.”
You let a hand slide beneath the hem of his shirt, your palm flattening against his stomach to feel the most of it. Joe’s warm, as he always is, and, Jesus fucking Christ, there’s just something so deeply satisfying about the feel of the steady rise and fall of his breathing under your hand.
You press your thumb lightly into his side just to see what happens.
Joe twitches. “Hey.”
You do it again.
“Hey!”
A grin spreads slowly across your face where it’s hidden against his shirt.
“You don’t have to watch this, but at least let me watch,” Joe mutters.
“Is it a good film?”
“You’d know if you paid attention.”
Your thumb presses into his side again, a little lower this time.
Joe shifts, the cushions creaking faintly under the movement.
“Okay,” he says slowly, suspicious now, “Hand. Give me your hand.”
You lift your head just enough to look up at him innocently as he fishes your hand from under his shirt and holds your wrist so your fingers can’t reach. You watch Joe perch his elbow on the armrest as the TV finds his attention again.
“Yea? You’re just… gonna hold it like that the whole time?”
Joe moves just his eyes to stare down at you for a moment like he’s evaluating whether this is worth the effort or not. The corner of his mouth twitches slightly, and then, without any warning whatsoever, his other arm hooks firmly around the back of your neck and pulls you sideways.
“Joe–!”
The protest barely gets out before you’re tucked securely against his side, his arm settling around your neck in a way that feels both effortless and completely unavoidable. It’s not tight, or rough, but just heavy and firm enough that escaping would require a level of determination you’re not currently prepared to commit to.
Your boyfriend’s got you in headlock.
“I’m actually going to hold you like this the whole time, if you don’t mind.”
Joe leans back against the sofa like nothing unusual has happened, and you contemplate if you actually mind this or not. You’re not terribly comfortable like this, but there’s something nice about having your cheeks squished between his bicep and forearm like this.
“What if I do mind?” the words sound funny coming from your mouth.
“Shh. Behave.” he says calmly, making you squirm immediately.
Joe doesn’t move.
Which is good, because, yea, no, you actually don’t mind this at all. You could quite happily die here, you’ve decided.
His arm stays right where it is, thick and warm across the top of your back, the tops of your shoulders, holding you in place like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The movement only presses you closer into his side, and suddenly you become very aware of the fact that, if you just manage to turn your face a little… his bicep will be directly in front of your face.
You look up at him to see if he’s watching you.
He’s not.
You try to ignore how your mouth waters.
Maybe, if you turn your face really slowly, he won’t even notice…
Joe notices instantly.
“No.”
He’s got an idea of what you’re about to do as he feels you lean slightly closer into his arm.
“Do not.”
Unfortunately for Joe, the bicep in question is difficult to ignore. Especially when it’s this close to your mouth. His sleeve has ridden up slightly during the struggle, exposing the curve of his bicep where it tightens as he adjusts his grip. The muscle shifts under the skin, thick and solid without looking like he’s trying, this fucker, and the hand that Joe isn’t still holding moves almost automatically to squeeze it.
Joe sighs immediately.
“Stop, I’m trying to– this is meant to make you stop distracting me.”
You squeeze again, testing the firmness of him, feeling the way the muscle flexes instinctively under your hand.
You’ve always liked his arms. Joe’s arms are strong and comfortable at the same time, they belong to a man who could lift something heavy without warning but who could also happily spend an entire evening doing absolutely nothing on the sofa.
You like using both your arms to hug one of his to your front when you go to sleep, and like holding onto one when you’re walking side by side more than you like holding hands.
Just something about them.
About those broad shoulders and solid arms that lead down to strong hands with thick fingers.
Right now, one of those arms is holding you captive whilst the other ensures you can’t squeeze the soft flesh of his side. He doesn’t even have to work hard keeping you in place, he barely glances away from the TV.
You don’t need both hands to do what you’re about to do next.
You tuck your chin a little, hiding into the crevice Joe’s created for your face and line your mouth up so your lips touch the best part of his arm.
“I swear to God, if you–”
Too late.
Your teeth sink gently into his bicep.
Joe jerks, even though he knew this was coming, and lets go of your wrist instantly.
“Hey!”
You’re not biting hard at all, it’s just hard enough to press your teeth into the muscle and feel the warmth of him under your mouth. Joe’s reaction is immediate; his arm flexes automatically under the sudden contact and he lets out a startled laugh that shakes both of you.
“What is wrong with you?” Joe says, laughing still, trying unsuccessfully to pull his arm away.
“You put me in a headlock!”
“That does not justify biting!”
You bite him again for emphasis, little bit firmer this time, not breaking skin, but enough to leave wet teeth marks.
Joe groans dramatically.
“Unbelievable.”
Joe loosens his grip just enough to shove gently at your forehead with the heel of his palm, trying to push your face away from his arm like he’s dealing with a feral cat.
“Get off.”
“No.”
“Get,” Joe says through his teeth, “the fuck off me.” His voice is raised, but somehow quieter than before at the same time.
You grin up at him, entirely unrepentant, and Joe stares back down at you for a second too long. You’re not moving. You’re not even acting like you’re about to move. You were put in a headlock without being asked first and just tried to make yourself a little more comfortable… whose fault is that? You don’t particularly think it’s yours.
Nothing’s been said for a second, but you assume Joe agrees that he’s got no one to blame but himself, because suddenly, he tightens his arm again and pulls you back against his side with a quiet, resigned huff.
You laugh at his defeat, at the sudden switch up, as his arm locks more securely around your shoulders this time. It’s more comfortable like this for the both of you, and you feel how Joe settles back into the cushions like he intends to continue watching the film.
It’s not like you’re done yet, though.
The very second his arm settles around you, your hands are already there.
You grab his bicep with both hands.
Joe groans.
“Leave it alone, please.”
“But look at it.”
“It’s an arm.”
You let a dreamy sigh escape you. “Yea.” you agree as you rub your cheek against his skin. “A very nice one.”
Joe flexes instinctively when you give it a slight squeeze again, all ten of your fingers digging in.
“Oh wow.”
“Stop.”
“Do that again.”
Joe snorts quietly, shaking his head, but he doesn’t actually try to pull away again. Instead, he keeps one eye on the television while you drag your fingers up along his shoulder, squeezing lightly where the muscle thickens under the fabric of his shirt, feeling him.
When he feels your lips touch the skin of his arm again, he flinches before you’ve even borne your teeth again. You dissolve into laughter immediately, half hidden against his arm as he tries unsuccessfully to pull away from your teeth.
“What is it? Do you need a snack? There’s a whole bowl of popcorn right there!”
“Sorry!” you laugh, not feeling sorry at all. “You keep putting it in my face!”
“It is attached to me! What do you want me to do?”
“Let me bite it.”
“No. Do you want the popcorn or not?”
“No.”
Joe sighs as he realises he’s somehow lost control of the evening. He’s not going to get to watch the rest of this film in peace and quiet. However, the face he pulls makes you want to stop teasing him. Instead of another bite mark, Joe gets kiss pressed into the warm skin of his bicep and you settle your cheek comfortably against his arm.
Your eyes find the TV now too. Maybe you can actually try and watch this film if Joe’s so into it.
Joe doesn’t say anything for a moment.
You can feel his eyes on you though.
You keep your face very neutral, very serious, trying your best to follow the conversation on the screen that you have zero context for. One of your fingers drifts absentmindedly across his arm though, tracing slowly over the faint, pink half-moons your teeth left behind.
Joe notices with quiet suspicion, eyes narrowing, but his mouth is unable to hide the smile that’s pulling on both corners of his mouth. Pretending to be the picture of innocence all of the sudden whilst you gently map the bite marks you made into his bicep is low key hilarious, and so Joe can’t help the laugh he huffs through his nose.
Next, he leans forward just enough to press a quick kiss to the top of your head before you get a couple pats against your thigh. You get the hint, slinging both legs over Joe’s lap where he catches them easily with his other arm.
It’s too difficult not to snuggle deeper into all of this.
Everything about this is fantastic.
And, actually, this film isn’t too bad either.
Joe finds it too difficult not to keep staring at how content you look. Relaxed face, body right where it wants to be, fingers holding onto your favourite body part of him… This is your spot, and it’s impossible to miss how much you love this. It makes him feel funny somewhere deep inside his stomach. When Joe looks at himself in a mirror, he doesn’t really see anything special. Yet, the way your eyes change when you catch a bit of skin that should’ve been hidden by his sleeve proves you think the opposite is true.
And that’s all he cares about anyway. Not the way he looks, but the way that you look when you see him. He could watch you all night, actually.
Joe had insisted on watching a film with you.
You’d insisted on wanting to lie on him.
And now, both things are technically happening, though… only one of you is actually paying attention to the screen.
