Luci Loo

Despite all the disgust you feel for yourself, you can’t really bring yourself to regret your decision. Anything is better than being out there and all alone again, even him. And there are worse people in this world than Joel Miller. He’s not gentle or kind, but when he takes from you he doesn’t do so violently. He’s not above causing pain, that much you’re sure of, but he’s not a sadist either, not really. Not like the men outside the QZ are, anyway.

You stare at the small slither of light on the floor and try to arrange yourself with the fact that this is now your life – you are reduced to being the amusement of the most dangerous man in the QZ, and anyone looking out for you is going to think you’ve gone soon. Less than bleak prospects, and you feel ashamed at the memory of your alacrity when you proposed the idea. You realize, too, that Joel will expect you to – well, perform, and that his tolerance of your presence in his home might wear thin at any moment. One well-timed snap of his biceps around your neck, and he’d be rid of the inconvenience you are sure to cause him – another mouth to feed, a risk to his life if you manage to escape and tell F.E.D.R.A. about the pills.

You’ve just got to find a way to turn yourself into something that offers him some kind of utility more than you inconvenience him, and you’re aware he can get his dick wet without the risk you pose any day. A daily blowjob won’t be enough.

So you don’t go back to sleep, but get up and pace around the room. Usually Joel is a light sleeper, but you count on the whisky and sex to keep him knocked out for a couple of hours. You try to think of something Joel lacks that you can give him, so he won’t have reason to kill you. Sex he can get easily, food is out of your reach. It has to be something immaterial, something like conversation. Except Joel Miller isn’t conversational type, in fact, you think if you talk to much he might snap your spine just out of annoyance.

Your eyes drift over his resting body, powerful even in his sleep, though less…taut. You think of the way he always sits hunched over, some invisible weight pressing down on his shoulders, and how he never kicked you out after fucking you. Not gentle, but not cruel either.

Suddenly you think there might be something you can give Joel after all, something he values enough to have offered it to you despite how it inconvenienced him.

Comfort.

The stodgy kind, because things stopped being stodgy on outbreak day. You know Joel would never admit it, but you see a creature of habit and snugness in him whenever he sits down on that old sofa with cracking joints and drinks a glass of scotch with half-lidded eyes.

It’s certainly a risk to mess with his things while he’s sleeping, but you don’t take his word he will let you live, mostly because he gave it when he was balls-deep inside of you and possibly half drunk. A good night’s sleep might make him change his mind, so you might as well prove your value to him as quickly as possible.

You can’t wash his dishes, because that would wake him up, so you start by tidying up what you can. 

His apartment is dirty, but not in a lived-in way. It used to be some kind of office building, and there is rubble on the floor where he rarely walks, broken furniture stacked in the corners of the room, and the walls have holes in them. It’s practical, a place he comes to sleep and eat, the kind of surroundings that offer little more than safety. Not a single nice thing in here.

You can’t do much about the furniture and walls, but you sweep as quietly as possible, and take the pile of dirty clothes from the floor of his bedroom and into the kitchen. You doubt Joel uses his rations on something like laundry detergent, so you fill the sink with water and squeeze a bit of dish soap in there. The water turns a murky shade of grey when you scrub the fabric and you wonder how often his washes his clothes. His boxers were as clean as anyone has the right to expect, but you suppose he’s more lenient about his shirts and jeans.

"What’r’ya doin’?"

You turn around so quickly, your elbow sends the soap flying and the plastic bottle clatters to the floor. Joel’s brows are furrowed, his broad frame blocking the way out of his makeshift kitchen.

"I – doing your laundry."

It sounds so ridiculous, so completely absurd, and your voice is reedy and afraid. Joel’s eyes flicker towards the broom in the corner of the room, and his scowl deepens.

"The fuck is this?" 

His tone is icy, and you swallow.

"I just…wanted to be useful. You know, since you…because you’re…kind enough to not throw me out of the QZ, and all."

The words stick to your throat like they don’t want to be said. Joel scoffs.

"Kind, am I now? I told you before, I have no need for a little girlfriend."

He says the word with so much disdain, voice dripping in fake amusement, you start to wonder if your attempt at being helpful might just get you killed sooner. Part of you wants to ask him why he thinks it’s his girlfriend’s job to clean, but you refrain.

"I…I don’t wanna be," you say quietly, "I just…I could keep things tidy for you, you know, make sure there’s a glass of whisky when you get home, and a warm meal. You could just…relax."

This time he doesn’t scoff, just keeps watching you. You squirm under his gaze.

"You think playin’ house is gonna keep you alive?"

The question is gruff, and you can see on his face that he’s thinking about killing you.

"I think you could use a bit of comfort."

Joel doesn’t answer for a few moments, but then his jaw twitches and he gives a curt nod.

"Just…don’t be noisy."

⌖⌖⌖

By the time the sun has fully risen, you have scrubbed the floors, washed Joel’s dishes, and cleaned the clogged drains in the so called kitchen, which consists of a sink, a gas stove, and some cupboards. Joel’s clothes are drying on a makeshift clothes line in the living room, and although it’s not exactly homey, Joel doesn’t seem pissed at you, which you take as a success. Perhaps it’s enough to keep you alive for now.

"I’m goin’ now," he says, "I’ll be back at noon to check on you."

You nod, and brush a sweaty strand of hair out of your face. Joel steps closer to you, and there is something odd in his expression.

"You know what would really comfort me, kid?"

Your eyes go wide, and you shake your head.

"If you swallowed one of these."

And he holds his hand out to show you a tiny white pill. Your eyes flicker upwards to his face. His expression is impatient, expectant.

"Why? What are they?"

Joel sighs, and takes another step. You instinctively step back, which for some reason seems to amuse him.

"Somethin’ to keep you agreeable. Don’t trust you not to do somethin’ stupid like jump out of the window. I did bar ’em all, but just to be safe."

He moves his hand impatiently, and the little pill rolls to the edge of his palm. You don’t want to take it, but you don’t see how else you are going to get out of this.

"Joel, where the fuck would I go? I wanna stay in the QZ and if I escape, you’ll find and kill me."

Your voice is flat with resignation. Joel’s eyes are intent, but he doesn’t seem softened by your words.

"Take the pill. I’ll be back at noon to eat somethin’."

You consider him for a few moments longer, weigh your chances of persuading him, but then you sigh in defeat, and take the little white pill from Joel’s palm. It’s small enough to swallow it without water, but it still sticks to your throat and you wonder if you can throw it up later.

Joel grabs your jaw, his fingers digging into your cheek.

"Open up," he says, and you do, as he turns your head how he pleases to check if you really swallowed it from every angle.

"Good girl."

You resent your stomach for the resulting somersault.

⌖⌖⌖

To your immense relief Joel’s pill seems to be Oxy or some sort of strong tranquilizer, and after a while your fear of Joel making you overdose on purpose subsides. You become drowsy, and the world seems pleasantly far away. It’s easy not to care where you are, and you vaguely think that if you were hurt, whatever Joel gave you would probably dull the pain significantly.

You don’t forget his comment about being back to eat something, and after a long nap on his couch, you manage to get up and make your clumsy way to the kitchen. You don’t know what Joel likes to eat, and you have no idea what time it is, so you don’t heat anything up on the stove. But you manage to set the table best as you can, using two of his less grimy dishrags as place mats, and opening a can of pears for desert. You don’t know if Joel will allow you to eat his food, so you pour them all into one bowl.

It takes you longer than expected, somehow your hands don’t seem to want to obey your brain, and when you’re done you can’t think of anything you would like to do more than sleep, so you stagger to Joel’s sleeping area, eyes drifting over the window and wondering if you would survive a jump, before you slump down on the bed again.

His sheets smell like him, and you inhale deeply. It’s a musky scent you know well, and you wonder why you were so afraid this morning, when you feel perfectly content now. More than that, you feel something tingle between your legs, and if you weren’t so tired, you might do something about it, but before you realize what the feeling is, your eyes close again.

⌖⌖⌖

Your brows furrow in annoyance, because something is bothering your leg, digging into your thigh. You groan, and then you feel it on your upper arm, and you wish it would leave you alone because you need to sleep.

"Go away," you mumble, burying your head in the pillow that smells so good. It’s soft, so cozy and warm, you don’t want to be anywhere else. Something makes a sound in the distance, and you try to get your arm away from whatever is touching it, but it won’t budge, and grudgingly your eyes open.

A big man is standing by the bed, so tall and broad he blocks most of the light from the window behind him. You register a mix of emotions in your stomach at his sight, something reluctant but also a strange sort of relief and again that tingle between your legs.

"Get up," the man says and this time you let his hand drag you upwards by the arm. 

"Joel," you croak, that’s his name. He holds you steady, and although his grip isn’t gentle, you don’t mind the way he is touching you. He smells like the pillow does, you realize, so you let yourself slump against him, your face smushed against his chest and biceps. You inhale deeply, and feel that tingle become stronger.

"Y’smellgood," you say groggily, pressing your nose deeper into the crevice between his arm and torso.

"Jesus, girl," Joel says, and his tone isn’t very happy, so you look up at him. His jaw is locked, brows furrowed. He looks mean in an apathetic sort of way, but you still like his face.

"Wanna sleep," you tell him, and try to drag him towards the bed again. "Sleep with me?"

"No," he grunts, and pulls you towards him, then steers you in the direction of the ugly table in the middle of the room. He sits you down on a chair, and hands you a glass of water, which you drink in three big gulps. It’s cold, and you feel it spread to your stomach. You shake your head and feel it become a little clearer, though everything still seems very far away.

"Eat," Joel says curtly, nodding towards the plate in front of you. There’s beans and a piece of bread on it, and at the very edge so that it doesn’t touch the rest of the food, half a pear. You grab your fork and shovel the food into your mouth, suddenly ravenous. The taste doesn’t register until you bite into the sweet pear. You’re not sure why, but it makes you look up at Joel to find him watching you, his constantly furrowed brows casting a shadow over his eyes.

"Will you sleep with me after we’re done?"

"No."

"Why not?" 

Your voice sounds far away, like someone else’s.

"Because I have another shift this afternoon. Someone needs to pay for those beans, and it sure ain’t you."

Right, you think, you’re not allowed to work anymore, because Joel needs you to stay inside.

"Thank you," you say, "for letting me live here."

Something flickers over his face and he shakes his head.

"I haven’t decided just yet, kid."

You don’t understand what he means, but it doesn’t really worry you just now while you have another quarter of a pear that demands your attention.

⌖⌖⌖

When you’re both done eating, Joel gets up and walks over to the battered old sofa. He sits down with a grunt, his joints popping, and rubs the bridge of his nose. You’re not sure what he wants you to do, but he explicitly told you you couldn’t sleep, so you get up, too, and take both of your plates to the kitchen.

"You can do ’em later," Joel instructs you, "don’t need ya flooding the kitchen while you’re outta it."

So you hover in the doorway for a few moments, Joel watching you with an almost contemplative expression. You feel a little out of place, and you remember the morning when this stare of his made you uneasy.

"Is there…something else I can do?"

You’re not sure what he expects you to do. The laundry hasn’t dried yet, and the floors are as clean as they will ever be.

"C’mere."

You tentatively walk over to him, but he doesn’t say anything. You’re confused and tired and everything is so far away. So you just stand there, unsure what to do and where to look, your eyes drifting over Joel’s torso and down to the flo– oh.

His legs are still spread, and you remember there was something else you promised you would do for him, something other than cleaning and preparing his food.

"Yeah," Joel just says, apparently registering the comprehension on your face.

"N-now?"

"I got fifteen minutes. Be quick about it."

You swallow, and kneel down in front of him, between his legs. His hand is already on his belt, and suddenly that tingle is back, though it is now accompanied by something else, something colder and heavier in your stomach. It’s nothing you haven’t done before, but he’s never demanded it of you like it was your obligation. But even through the thicket of drugged mist in your head, you know this might just be what he keeps you around for after all – something to look forward to between shifts. Fucking some girl in the evenings would be no problem for him, but it would certainly be hard for him to find somebody willing to suck him off at noon, unless he’s willing to pay for it. Perhaps your readiness, and the frequency with which he can make use of you, will make up for the lack of other benefit your presence brings to his life.

It doesn’t take him long to pull down his jeans and pull out his cock, already half hard. You look up at him, and he raises an impatient eyebrow, so you quickly get to it, licking the head once. But this isn’t about the languid pleasure you’re used to, not about knocking you both out for the night, so instead of letting you tease him, Joel just burrows his hand in your hair and pushes your head down. You can’t help it, you gag and splutter, and mercifully Joel eases up a little. Not cruel, just…practical. He doesn’t want to humiliate you, he wants to use you, for you to be of use to him.

You hear his grunts in the distance as he moves your head for you. You stop trying to move it on your own and instead focus on breathing through your nose. There’s that scent you like so much – sweat, musk. You’re distantly aware it should disgust you, but it just brings back that tingle and thoughts of Joel’s biceps, his grunts, his belly. Everything is slightly dull, even the taste of him, but you feel that familiar ache of want in your belly, and a muffled whine escapes your mouth.

Maybe it’s the shortage of oxygen or the pill-induced fog in your brain that makes you start to squirm. Joel doesn’t seem to notice or it doesn’t bother him, because he just keeps fucking your mouth, his eyes half closed and looking down at you. You can’t help it, you start to wiggle around so that the toe of his heavy boot presses against your core just right. You sigh around him at the relief, and start moving your hips.

Even in your dizzy state, you know you need to be quick about it. Joel won’t take much longer to cum, you can tell by his breathing and the slightly uninhabited way in which his hips are starting to snap upwards. You don’t think he would risk being late to his shift just so you can get off on his boot of all things.

So you abandon all dignity and let your hips roll freely. Your movements are clumsy, awkward in this unusual position, but all you feel his Joel’s thick fingers tugging at your hair and his cock stretching your lips so wide you wonder how he ever fit inside of you at all. You try to keep your eyes on Joel’s, but his gaze keeps flickering down to where you’re humping his boot like you’ve never known shame.

He comes unexpectedly, quietly. Just a tightening of his powerful hand, holding you down as the salty taste erupts in your mouth and you do your best to swallow. He gives a low, satisfied grunt when you suck around him as if trying to drain him completely, and with an eruption of white behind your eyes, you cum, too. You twitch and shudder, jaw going slack around Joel’s softening cock, but your release doesn’t bring the usual clarity, presumably because of the pill Joel made you take.

Joel drags you off his cock, and tucks himself back into his boxers, his bulge still fat even when he isn’t hard. Your eyes follow the movement, then flicker back to Joel’s, but he’s busy tugging up his jeans and closing the zipper. You swallow, your throat burning, the corners of your mouth sore and slightly torn, and slump against the couch so that Joel is free to get up and go.

"Should make you clean that up," Joel mutters and your eyes flicker to his boot, which he is rotating slowly. There is a shiny patch of wetness on the top, glistening on the dark brown leather. You flush a violent red, but Joel just gets up, unconcerned with your embarrassment.

You watch him cross the room with your arms propped on the couch and your head resting on them, eyes droopy.

"Here," he says, holding out his hand again. Another pill. This time you open your mouth without question, and Joel places it on your tongue, then clamps his big palm over your mouth to force you to swallow. You open your mouth and let him inspect it. He doesn’t smile at your obedience, but he nods, and his hand drifts over your cheek in something close to a caress.

"Maybe this could work after all, kiddo" he says gruffly, towering over your still kneeling form, and this pronouncement doesn’t just alleviate part of your fear. Something dangerously close to contentment spreads through you, and you try hard to ignore the guilt the realization stirs. 

masterlist

taglist: @inkintigue @livingthestrangeday @rottngrl3 @he-is-the-destined @javierpenaismyhusband @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @sprigsofhazel @kauyu @locaparapedrito @c3r3al-k1ll3r887 @joelmillerswifey