sleep is for the weak and i am exhausted

It wasn’t a concern until you had seen him with a cigarette more times than without one, and it made you vaguely aggravated by the lingering toxic cloud that seemed to follow him everywhere. He might choose to kill his lungs, but you didn’t. After months of being on base and occasionally contracted to work with him, you had enough.

You knew each other about as well as you knew any of the other 141 members. Name, rank, where they’re from, and the kind of humor they had- or rather, didn’t have. It seemed every joke you threw Simon’s way landed with a silent echo and a stare that could be felt down to your soul. Good thing you didn’t need to make him laugh to get your jobs done. The 141 still liked you well enough though.

“Why do you smoke, sir?”

“Why don’t you, Sergeant?” He retorts, evading the question in his usual smooth but frustrating way.

“They’re practically death sticks, and they reek something absolutely awful. It sticks to your clothes, and your hands, and your mouth, and I’m quite sure that you won’t ever get the smell out of that mask of yours, even if you quit now.”

He huffs the smallest breath and doesn’t say anything for a while. You feel unsure of what to do, questioning if perhaps the conversation is over, yet he still points those mysterious brown eyes your way, studying you.

“And how do you propose I quit these death sticks?” The cigarette is mostly burnt down, ashes flicked off into the grassy patch to your right, and the smoke trail stringing up from the red end grown thinner and thinner.

“Well- I… I think they say it helps to keep your hands or mouth occupied with something else, or maybe chew gum so the flavor distracts you enough?” The slow but clumsy response you give makes his eyes grow more narrow, though you’re unable to read much more about his expression.

“Alright, Sergeant, I’ll give it a try,” he, to your complete surprise, agreed. You weren’t able to say anything back, even if you had been able to think up a response, as his cigarette butt was suddenly thrown to the ground by your boot and his arm already swinging open the door to head inside. It was just you and the crickets left in the chilly spring air, confused yet a bit satisfied.

It was exactly 4 days later you found yourself leaned back on a crate of ammunition in the storage closet of the gun range, Simon’s head between your thighs and his fingers working inside you. With your head tilted back and one leg over his shoulder, the slick sounds of his tongue drinking you up was the heaven you always thought it would be. Not that you had really thought about it extensively, but, I mean, who wouldn’t picture the big bulge under his stiff cargo pants at least once. The guy is massive, he’s gotta be packing, right?

The answer is yes. You find that out very quickly. He doesn’t kiss you, his mask pulled back down once he had his fill of your juices, the shine of you covering his chin and cheeks and lips, which surely got onto the inside of his balaclava. He was rough but not forceful, a giant brute slamming into you over and over again as you try not to make any noise. It was quicker than you expected, your climax hitting you head on while Simon reaches for his.

He says absolutely nothing as you both pull your clothes back on- which were never really discarded, only pulled down and out of the way just enough to do the deed. The sound of your heavy, quick breaths, and his deep, loud groan as he readjusts himself in his pants are the only sounds before suddenly the door is open and you both go your separate ways.

You certainly think about that the rest of the day, however, Simon tastes it. And smells it, the dried remnants of you stuck to his mask. He doesn’t eat dinner so he can fall asleep with the thought of you on his tongue again. He doesn’t even want to smoke for the remainder of the evening. It would sour the beautiful taste in his mouth.

He finds you again. You were off base for a few days and his cravings for the cigarettes sitting in his desk grew near unbearable. He’s made it a week without smoking. But his new addiction is the sweet orgasm he pulls out of you so easily. The gentleman he is, he asks quite politely if he could start the day buried in you. The sex is nice, yeah, but what he really needs is to have his lips on your clit and his mask soaked with you.

“I can’t get enough of you, dove,” he mumbles into your core.

“Simon-“ you grab his arm as you tense and arch with the pleasure coursing through you for the third time this morning. He won’t stop any time soon. He just has to make sure your climax stays in his mouth until tomorrow. He won’t brush his teeth tonight, the filthy dog.

When he kisses you on the fifth morning of your near-daily ‘briefing’ you taste no tobacco. You don’t even smell it on him.

“Simon did you quit smoking?”

“Yes.”

“How did you stop?” He looks at you as he slows in his efforts to rid you of your uniform. You hold your breath as his fingers lightly graze your newly freed nipples. A shiver and a slight jolt run through you. You feel electrified under his gaze and he can see that.

“Your heavenly taste, love,” he says casually and quietly. “It helps the cravings.” His mouth finds yours again, and the wooden desk beneath you in the conference room feels cool against your back as he lays you down. The clock ticks away and his breath fans on your face as you grasp onto him, getting ready for the ride he’s about to take you on.

You aren’t sure what to say. You’re not really sure you want to say anything. He stopped smoking, and you get the pleasure of his tongue inside you. What more could you ask for?

P R O L O G U E

The Miller brothers stand over the office desk, eyes on the rudimentary blueprints they've concocted. 

"I'm thinking if we can manage a decent runoff system for the west end we can fit a small communal set up," Tommy murmurs, finger tracing a penciled line on the paper. "Sorta like a small apartment set up. What do you think?"

"Better for the singles." 

"Yeah. S'what I was thinking." 

Joel pushes back the hair that's fallen into his creased forehead, his eyes sharp with focus. 

"Yeah," he adds after a few moments of thought, lower lip pouted in consideration as he stares at the papers. "Yeah, that should work." 

"We can't start until the rain clears up consistently," Tommy offers, rolling up the paper. "The weather is shit this year, so it's gonna be a bit." 

"Yep."

Joel knows that the building is going to be delayed. He knows that because he's in fucking charge of Jackson's expansion. Has been ever since he and Ellie landed here five years ago. 

He knows it's gonna be at least two months of waiting around before the sopping spring weather ceases its endless rainfall. When Jackson will become drier and the weather will be decent enough to start building foundations. 

If this were before the outbreak it might be possible to work through the bleak skies. Back when he and Tommy were on construction they had protective coverings and the right kind of wood. Here they have whatever materials can gather from patrol missions. 

The brothers part, each going to their salvaged desks across from one another. Joel's is rusted on the bottom, Tommy's dented so badly he can't use the middle drawer. Still, it feels good to be in this office with its blueprints and maps. Good to be around pencils and sketches. Good to be with his little brother, even if the guy pisses him off at times. 

"Hopefully we're gonna be finished the new school by the end of the month," Joel tells him. "Only have a few more interior repairs. Then the kids'll have somewhere to go and learn that isn't that shitty old church." 

His brother tilts back in his chair until it creaks, feet propped on the edge of his desk. 

"What do you think they teach em about?" Tommy muses. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I mean, do they bother teaching them anything before Outbreak Day? Politics... World Wars... Vietnam...?" 

"S'above my pay grade," Joel shrugs. "Guess you'll find out when Ben starts."

Tommy rocks in his chair, fingers laced over his belly as he thinks. Joel darts a look up to see his brother staring out the window that overlooks the main part of town. 

"I like the art room and the music room in there," Tommy smiles. "Can't believe y'all brought back a piano." 

"Wasn't my patrol that did that," Joel frowns, shaking his head as he flips the pages on his notes of repairs. "That was all Logan and Josh and that lot. Fuckin' idiots if you ask me." 

"Still," Tommy says with a wide grin. "Music. Art. Schools. Fresh air. Don't think we could have imagined something like that happening back when we were struggling back in Boston." 

Joel has a moment when that old life in the Boston QZ flashes behind his eyes. To a time when he was angrier, his tastes uglier, his body crueler. A time when fighting felt better than breathing. When Tess and her strong, sure way of navigating the world seemed like a beacon in darkness. 

"You getting enough sleep?" Tommy asks, head cocked. When he does that, for a moment, Joel remembers the child he was. The one who was always getting into scrapes, the one Joel had to protect when he got too mouthy at school. 

"You know I'm not," Joel sighs, looking back down at the newer blueprints. 

Joel can't remember the last time he slept through the night without the aid of sleeping pills and whiskey. The former of which isn't as easily accessible to him anymore. Painkillers are for external pain, not the internal kind. 

"Daddy!" 

The door to the office swings open and an elated child of no more than four streaks across the room and into Tommy's waiting arms. 

A tall black woman enters her glossy braided hair in a loose ponytail down her back. Her full mouth curves into a smile at the sight of her husband and son in an embrace. 

"Hey darlin'," Tommy says, standing with a yawning Ben in his arms. The child watches as his father plant a kiss on his mother's waiting lips. 

"Ew," Ben says, squirming in Tommy's arms until he's lowered to the floor. He moves over to Joel without hesitation. 

"Hey Ben," Joel smiles gently over at his nephew, chair rolling back. Ben crawls onto his uncle's lap, smiling up at him, shiny little seed pearl teeth gleaming. 

"Hi Uncle Joel. Daddy says you have candy I can have." 

Joel shoots his brother a dark look over his nephew’s curly head. 

"He did, did he?" 

"Yep." 

Joel doesn't like sharing his stash and a smirking Tommy knows this. 

"You okay with it, Maria?"

The woman in Tommy's arms nods indulgently. 

Joel's eyes drift back to Ben's, to the young boys bouncing legs and eager expression. As if he could deny this kid anything. He reaches into his pocket for the small paper bag, fishing out one of the chocolate bits he brings along with him on office days. He holds it out to Ben with a serious look. 

"You gonna brush your teeth extra good tonight?"

"Yes sir." 

"Alright then," Joel says pressing the chocolate into his chubby palm. "Enjoy, kiddo." 

His nephew nods, shoving the chocolate into his mouth, the left side of his cheek bulging before he's twisting to see what Joel's been working on.

"What's this?" 

"This is gonna be your school when you're old enough," Joel says, pointing to the pencil drawing on his desk. "That's gonna be the music room... That's the art room... That's the gym..."

He goes through the small schoolhouse, his smile broadening with each excited squeal from Ben. His nephew is a constant learner, eager to understand the world, curious to the point of absurdity. 

"Alright," Maria says, gathering her son into her arms when he yawns. "Nap time." 

"No! Mama please-"

He pouts in a way that reminds Joel of a young Tommy. 

"Enough of that or no more chocolate from Uncle Joel," Tommy scolds lightly from over her shoulder. 

Ben immediately stills, casting a baleful look at Joel before sighing heavily, as if the world is on his narrow shoulders. 

"Say goodbye," Maria says with a peck to his bronzed cheek.

"Bye Uncle Joel." 

"See ya later, kiddo." 

Maria glances over at Tommy who's starting to busy himself with cleaning the desk. He usually goes home for lunch around this time. 

"Oh, Tom, did you talk to him about...?" She trails off.

Maria exhales irritably when she sees Tommy's stricken expression. 

"Talk to me about what?" Joel asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion before they move from Maria's face to Tommy's. 

"Oh, uh," Tommy clears his throat, looking around the room, avoiding Joel's sharp look. 

"Tommy, honestly," Maria says with a shake of her head. "Here, you put Ben down for a nap. I'll be home soon." 

Joel watches the handoff of Ben to Tommy, his brother mumbling a goodbye before the door shuts behind him.

Joel's stomach twists uncomfortably when it's just he and Maria left in the quiet office. His brother's wife is a strong figure, someone he has come to respect just like everyone else in the community she founded. 

But she and Joel often butt heads, whether it is on matters of repair deadlines or giving her son too many chocolates during family dinners.  

He watches her arms fold over her swelling stomach. She hasn't made a formal announcement, but Joel knows one is coming soon. She scans the array of gathering figures that mingle outside, laughing, sharing groceries, making plans. 

"What did you need from me, Maria?"

Dark eyes flick his way. 

"Your brother was supposed to talk to you about putting someone up in your place for a few weeks." She says it casually, scratching her elbow as if this isn't catastrophic. 

"What do you mean put up?"

"Have them live with you in that empty room of yours."  

Joel goes still, the pencil in his hand almost snapping. 

"No."

Maria moves from the window, nearing his desk. "Joel-"

"Maria, I work my ass off for this place morning to fuckin' night."

"We all work our asses off." 

"My house is the only place I can have a break."

"A damn large house to have a break in," Maria comments, her words lingering in the ensuing quiet from the glowering man across from her. 

Joel's spine straightens, tossing the pencil down. It rolls around the blueprints.

"Joel, Jackson's overcrowded as it is," Maria says wearily. "With Ellie moved in the shed you have that whole bedroom sitting unused." 

"She might wanna move back in." 

There's a moment of pity that touches Maria's eyes before she shakes it away. "Well, if that happens then we'll move em into the shed." 

Joel stands, pushing back from the desk. His hands stem on his hips as he paces a moment, eyes flying to the people outside. 

Too many fucking people. 

"You said it was our house when we got here," Joel says with a growl to the edge of his words. 

"And it is yours. But you live in a community which means there are times we have to share." Maria shifts. "Now, it's just temporary. Just until we get some new places finished."

"That could be months."

"Might be." 

"So I'm just supposed to live with some stranger until then?"

"Think of it like a roommate." 

"Fuckin' roommate at my age," Joel scoffs, irritated and exhausted. "S' ridiculous. I don't see why we're letting all these folks in if we have no place-"

"Stop right there," Maria cuts in. "I'm serious, Joel. Not another word." She motions to the gathered masses down below. "That was you and Ellie at one time. You think it would have been right to turn you away?"

Shame touches Joel's cheeks, making them flame pink. He looks down, hands loose on the desk She's right. When he doesn't say anything else Maria continues, her voice just as sharp. 

"You have your choice, a single or a mom with two kids."

Joel flinches at thoughts of loud children screaming in the night, of sticky fingers leaving greasy fingerprints on his woodworking supplies. 

"Single." 

"Figured as much," Maria says. "Alright. Glad that's sorted."

She turns footsteps heavy on the wood. Joel goes to close the door behind her when he stops, brows pulled. 

His voice reaches out after his sister in law. "When's he moving in?"

"Tomorrow." 

Maria hesitates, looking over her shoulder with a strange expression before she moves down the steps.