gay goblin

At first, the pictures had been just to tease him; they made you feel good about yourself, sure, and his reactions too, but it was meant to be just something to get Joel to break. And now that he has, you don’t stop. 

Because teasing him becomes fun. 

Friday morning, the day of the trip, Joel holds a work meeting— It’s just a check in he does weekly with his crew, setting new goals for the coming week and handling any setbacks or complaining from the guys; it’s the most formal Joel gets as a boss, which means that he’s leaning against the table next to the coffee machine when he speaks, hands shoved in his pockets, talking gruff and fast before he lets the workers begin their day. 

Your heels clack when you walk into the container that is being used as headquarters on this particular job, the yellow hardhat hanging from the crook of your elbow— Joel stops halfway through a sentence, clearly not expecting you here, but you simply cross the room with a smile and your iPad in hands. 

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, Mr. Miller, but I need your help for a moment.” You turn the iPad, that had been clutched tight to your chest, so only he can see the screen— There, nestled in the corner and tucked against your thumb, is a polaroid.

It’s a picture of the wheel of Joel’s truck, a flimsy piece of powder blue hanging from the rearview mirror— On the mirror itself there is only the partial reflection of your face, your lips plump and glossy shining next to the reflection of the Polaroid camera itself. It’s a tame one despite the panties hanging from the mirror but you can see the way Joel’s body shifts, how he’s suddenly far too aware that he’s staring at your underwear in a room full of men. 

“When’s— When’s this from?”

“Few minutes ago.” You answer, keeping your voice light and professional. “It’s still wet.” 

“What’s still wet?” The question comes from Tommy, who is leaning too far away to see the iPad but you figure he knows his brother’s face well enough to make a good guess. 

“The cement.” You say, your grin matching Tommy’s. “Someone poured a load of concrete in the wrong place.”

Tommy’s eyes bounce between you and Joel, his shit-eating grin widening when Joel carefully plucks the polaroid from the iPad and shoves it into his back pocket as casually as he can. 

“I’ll deal with that later.” Joel says, clearing his throat. His face is impassive, professional, but his eyes burn when they turn to you. “Now, as I was sayin’ —”

“That’s okay, take your time.” You interrupt him, an innocent smile on your lips. “Maybe I can get Tommy or someone else to help me before it dries.” 

“No.” Joel barks before Tommy can even take a breath to answer, so hard and fast even some of the workers snap to attention. “Go sit in my car, I’ll deal with that as soon as I can.”

You hold his gaze. 

“What did she do now?” Javier asks, eyeing the way you drop down onto the metal bench; you look exhausted and in pain, but you're still scowling and giving the bird to any officers that get too close to your cell. His shift is almost over, and he needs to go to the grocery store and the pharmacy before driving back to the ranch, but there is something about your long string of loud cussing that keeps him glued by his desk.

“Attacked the butcher's son at the Whataburger parking lot.”

“I have to leave, just…” He shrugs “Keep her the night and then let her go in the morning, yeah?”

Officer Winston snorts, but nods without further complaint. It's the fourth time that Javier has managed to let you go without pressing charges, and he knows what the men under his charge think of the situation: They're certain that Javier has a soft spot for you, that he's a crook that has been fucking you for leniency.

Only one part of that statement is true.

Javi doesn't understand the soft spot he has for you, he simply does. It's not even a crush, not in the real sense of the world. Sure, he thinks you're pretty, but between the string of misdemeanors and the scary black lipstick, you're not exactly the type of woman Javier goes for.

And that's not even considering how much younger you are.

“Get her some medical attention, Winston.” He throws over his shoulder as he walks out of the station. “We don't need anyone blaming us for her broken nose.”

That night, you stay in the back of Javier’s mind. He's thinking of you as he drives to the pharmacy to pick up Chucho's blood pressure medication, and while he's in line to pay for his Bronco's gas, and then as he cooks and eats dinner. You're on his mind while he showers, the fire in your eyes as you cussed the entire station out, the vicious smile on your lips when you drew blood out of Officer Winston's face, the way your shirt clung to your tits and the ratio of your waist to your hips.

He doesn’t touch himself, but it’s a close call.

This is what always happens when he sees you, and why he always stays away— You're trouble, Javier is more than experienced in that to know it, and he's moved back home to stay out of trouble. He thinks of calling Heidi, the one hooker in town that knows how to keep her mouth shut about his late-night indiscretions but ends up deciding against it. She doesn't look like you, too thin and too tall with a voice that is too syrupy to match yours, and he knows it'll only frustrate him even more.

So, he goes to bed rock hard and with one more reason to hate himself.