alisha

he bends to pick the pieces up, tossing them into the pile of already cut wood. you’d like to say that prepping the cabin for winter is going really well. joel would say otherwise. although the two of you are flying through the checklist, you spend more time making him go pink at the cheeks with all your unabashed admiration than actually getting anything done. not that he minds, he's good at what he does, efficient. which is what's making your attention that much worse for him, and you. 

like now, for instance. you can't help but stare at his ass, those jeans antagonise you, offensively form-fitting. you gulp, and you think he can hear it from where he's standing because he lets go of the axe, leaning it against the stump he works on. his hands come up to his hips, thumbs hooked into the belt loops as he looks at you properly this time, a knowing head tilt in tow.

“d’ya need me?” his question is unbelievably kind, devoid of any teasing. he’s ready to drop everything and you can see it in his eyes. you almost feel bad, almost being the keyword.

you push yourself up, palms braced at your knees, and lug over the piece of wood, dropping it near joel and turning to face him. this close you can see the sheen of sweat on his face and forearms, the way areas of his shirt have dampened in the heat.

“this is the last one, then i want you upstairs.”

his spine straightens imperceptibly to the firmness in your words, “yes ma’am.”

you lean up and kiss him on the jaw before heading back inside. the stairs creak as you haul yourself up them, fingers smoothing over the banister when you round the corner. you shrug off the flannel you have on–joels flannel–and sit at the edge of the bed, toying with the hem of your tank top you wore under. 

before you know it, joel is by the doorframe, one arm crossed over the other. a small smile breaks out on your face and joel mirrors it, walking over to where you’re sitting. he pushes a stubborn strand of hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. his hand settles over the nape of your neck, tilting your head back. the sight of him, tall, broad, in front of you sends a little shudder through you that you try to ignore. 

“you okay? you were a little distracted out there,” he asks, mildly concerned.

you curl a few fingers behind his knee, the warmth of your skin seeps through the denim of his jeans. “can you blame me?” 

he chuckles, a bashful tint dusting over the highs of his cheekbones. joel prompts you up with a small chuck of his head and two fingers hooked under your elbow. when you stand, he pulls you into a kiss, light and easy and entirely not enough to pull an embarrassingly needy sound from your mouth, but still, it does.

your lips part for a breath, exhaled into each other's mouths. he is so warm, it exudes off him in waves and doesn't do much to quell the heat building in you. it's just a kiss, he's just kissing you. joel moves to do it again but you hold him back, conflicted palms braced over the hard planes of his chest. 

“god, you’re making me feel crazy,” you scoff. he’d be concerned with the rapid rise and fall of your chest if he didn't know you better, but he knows you so well. 

“yeah, darlin’? what's got you so worked up?” 

you can tell he's talking just to talk now. he knows what, why. so he doesn’t expect an answer from you when he dips down to kiss at your neck, lightly chapped lips working over the area just below your jaw. his beard scratches your skin in a way that feels deliriously good.

you hum, absent-minded, threading your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, curling your fist into the strands. you hold him there, and knowing him, you’re also succumbing yourself to a glaringly obvious mark on your neck. you don’t mind, not when you’re out here on your own. hell, you’d let him mark you up everywhere.

the hand not occupied with tilting your head to his liking sneaks down to your waistband. joel pops the button, easing your jeans off. you let your impatience get the better of you and slip your panties off too, kicking the clothes off to the side. he laughs into your neck, sending a vibration down your spine that has you pulling him closer.

he doesn’t touch you, though. not yet. 

“up,” his murmur is a soft command, accompanied by his arm hooked under your ass. you wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull yourself higher, crossing your legs over his hips. joel clambers onto the bed, carrying you to the pillows.

when he drops you down, he doesn’t part from you, only trails his lips lower. the spot on your neck blooms in soreness, a light tingly sensation that you relish. joel moves lower, settling between your legs with a satisfied hum. he pushes your thighs apart, sweeping his eager gaze over your cunt. his eyes fixate on the glistening pool at the centre.

“messy girl,” he coos, turning his lips to your inner thigh. “all that for me?”

“mmh-yeah.”

“haven’t even touched you yet,” joel chuckles at how small your voice goes. god forbid a girl gets shy. 

his tongue peeks out from behind his lips, licking a firm stripe up your entrance to your clit. his mouth seals over the sensitive bud and sucks, just the way you like.

“jesus, fuck!” you cry out.

joel groans into your pussy, enamoured with the sight of your arched back and your head thrown in pleasure. his hand pushes your top up to paw at your breasts, a large, warm palm settles heavy over one, squeezing the flesh over the material of your bra.

the layers madden you. you frantically pull the tank off, fingers shaking trying to unclip your bra. when you get the garments off, joel is extremely happy, and he shows it by pushing two fingers inside you.

the abrupt stretch pushes a loud moan out of you. you like that you get this out of the cabin, the noisy vulgar freedom that the isolation rewards you. he takes it as an incentive to add another finger, still intently licking over your clit. 

“there we go, baby,” joel rasps. “gotta get her nice and stretched for daddy, yeah?”

“uhuh,” you keen with a nod that's pathetically enthusiastic.

he makes a noise, like he’s in pain, you know he's anything but. the term slips out occasionally. a freudian slip, maybe. regardless of whether he means it or not–in the heat of the moment, it tends to drive you both up the wall. a quiet murmur of it when he’s buried deep and he can't help but blow his load. neither of you dwell on it. 

joel huffs a dazed fuck and doubles down on his efforts. the calloused pads of his fingers rub up persistently without remorse, it sends an audible squelch around the room. you’re increasingly getting closer to your peak, it pools, hot and viscous in your belly, limbs growing heavy and sinking into the mattress. 

you’re so close–and maybe you’re your own worst enemy–but you need to have him inside you. now. so you reach down, fingers curling around his wrist to stop him, fighting every nerve in your body that wants to finish. joel pulls away, face pulled into a puzzled twist that quickly turns to something smug and knowing when you sit up to desperately remove his clothes.

you tug the collar of his shirt over his head, momentarily blinding him with fabric before moving onto his jeans. you undo the belt buckle with a resounding clink and his jeans and underwear are shoved down his thighs before he crowds back over you. 

god. he's beautiful and solid above you. the lingering smell of sweat trickles off his body, it makes you squirm under him, a restless pull urging you upwards. you’re met with his hard-on, slipping through the mess in your folds.

joel gives himself a tug and then lines up with your entrance, pushing into you with a low moan. he’s always a stretch, the girth of him causing you to wince. he softly kisses the tense furrow of your brow till he’s buried to hilt. 

“so deep, y-you’re so–” you whine through gritted teeth.

the smile that spreads across his face is shit-eating, you’d wipe it off if you had the wherewithal to do anything but lay there and feel. “yeah but ya take it so good, don't you honey? always take me perfectly.”

joel gives a shallow thrust, barely drawing back to push in further. his tip nudges at your cervix and you want to scream. you settle for digging your nails into his shoulder, pain sparks under the crescent shaped indents that you leave and shoot right down to his dick. 

he leans down to drag the tip of his nose across the edges of your face, planting barely there kisses as he goes. it's tortuous, the rate at which he pounds into you but is seemingly unaffected enough to blanket you the way he is. he loves you so much.

your thighs strain as he pushes them higher, reaching unfathomable depths inside you. joel grunts, in effort and in agony, as you clench around him, face tightening as he tries to keep his rhythm. you can feel him in his entirety, the ridges of his cock rubbing against your walls, the drag of a protruding vein doing nothing but driving you closer to release. the coarse hairs littered above his cock rub against your clit and your teeth sink into your lip, hard. call it instinct. he’ll have none of that.

he presses a thumb to your chin, pulling your lips apart, “aw, angel girl. feel good?”

“yeah, so good. mmph–fuck me so good, baby,” you whimper, words pushed out through desperate moans, high and rampant.

he chuckles, low and pleased, “y’always make such good sounds for me, should fuck you more often so i can hear this all the time. sweet little pussy can't help herself either, can she? so wet, she's soakin’ me.”

“joel,” you gasp at a particularly meaningful thrust, anchoring yourself to the moment. it hits you without warning, a spark set off by the obscenities still flowing out of his mouth. whatever he was saying was beyond you now, a comforting familiar murmur as your orgasm washes over you. you hear the tail end of a good girl as you come to again.

“keep going,” you whisper. you hold his face between your hands, looking at him through the daze. his features shine out like a beacon, you push the hair out of his face. unobstructed, your eyes trail over the faint tan, sunkissed, over the high points of his face, the result of how much he's been doing, how much he still is. 

“you are so, so wonderful, so good at everything you do, i don't know how you do it,” you murmur, gaze drenched in reverence. 

joel tries to speak then, eyes glazing over, to give himself a moment before you continue. to compose himself before the back of his neck grows too hot to handle, he has to hold it together otherwise he cant fuck you like he wants. it's not often the praise gets whirled back at him.

“need you to cum, joel,” you sigh. “fill me up, please.”

the quiet please does him in. his hips stutter, messy and impetuous as he chases his high. the peak crashes and he spills into you with a shout, muffled over where his lips press to your forehead.

you wrap your arms around his shoulders, casting your hand over his back, rubbing in soothing strokes. he flips over with a tired huff. you’re lazily draped over his body, face smushed in his chest.

“i mean it, y’know,” you mumble. joel has to strain his ears to hear you, because you aren't making any effort to move. “you’re so capable, i can't handle it. i can barely control myself from shoving my hand down my pants around you.”

“hey, i’m not complainin’,” his voice rumbles under your cheek, stupid and smug.

you give him a hard poke in the stomach, to which he winces at, and then you continue. “all that being said, i think you’re just neat.”

he's smiling so hard that his cheeks hurt, he's glad you can't see him and tease him about it. “right back at’cha, sweetheart.”

You’re laughing from something Jack had said when the rain starts.

You’ve learned, in the short week you’ve been overseas, that the weather here turns on a dime.

Perfect one moment, furious the next.

And at first, it’s almost lovely; cool, scattered droplets like tiny crystal fairies kissing sun-toasted skin.

And it’s hard not to smile wider when Jack’s face tightens into that annoyed little scowl of his, because really, there is something delightful about a man as handsome as him looking inconvenienced by a little nature.

But the humor dies fast when those same droplets warp into biting sheets, lashing down as if angry for being laughed at.

You both scramble at once, quick steps and frantic eyes, until you’re packed beneath a narrow archway with barely enough room, shoulder pressed to thicker shoulder, hair plastered damply to your foreheads while the rain still sprays you both anyway.

“You okay?” He’s looking down at you. Eyes big and brows wrinkled.

“‘M fine,” you manage through clattering teeth, each syllable clicking against the next. 

Not your best work. Not even believable enough to count as lying properly. 

He doesn’t even bother pretending to buy it, just gives you a look that says, sure you are. 

You’re dressed for balmy afternoons and golden-hour strolling and being admired properly, not this.

Your thin sundress is pasted cold against your skin, and your sandals (the ones he said made your legs look endless), are now doing nothing for you now except sliding around on wet stone.

“What about you?” you ask, nudging him an elbow tucked against your side. “Know you hate rain.”

“I’m tougher than I look,” he teases, lips twitching. 

“That feels unlikely, seeing as you look pretty tough.”

The smile he gives you is a killer. A proper smile, too, cracking through his usually composed surface like sunlight slicing clouds.

He's quiet while he shucks off his overshirt to drape it over your shoulders. A very sweet thought, if not super practical, because the thing's already soaked through and instantaneously cold against your skin. But, well, it's still better than nothing.

And also, now you smell like Jack, which is never a bad thing.

“Plus body heat is a beautiful thing, you know,” he says, completely ignoring your obvious plight. “I’ll just stay right here and steal yours.” 

He makes a grab for your sides and tugs you flush against him, sealing the whole heist with a swift, soft nip at your bottom lip.

You hum in surprised approval, feeling all the chill being sucked from your limbs straight into the pool of heat collecting in your toes.

He shifts slightly, taking the brunt of it on his back in order to keep you drier.

“That’s very parasitic of you,” you finally respond into his lips, feigning accusation even as you lean in, every excuse welcomed, fingers curled loosely into the wet cotton of his shirt.

His eyes glitter. “Yeah, well,” he continues, pulling you a little closer, “I’m cold and you’re pretty. Tough combination.”

Heat climbs into your neck. You duck your head a little, like maybe the rain and the dark and the fact that he’s looking at you like that will do you the courtesy of swallowing the reaction whole. 

“You really do just say whatever pops into your head, don't you?” you mutter, mostly to his chest because making eye contact now would probably be the end of you.

“What?” he says, voice dripping with exaggerated innocence as he pulls you another tiny, entirely unnecessary inch closer. “You know you’re my pretty girl. Wanna hear you say it too.”

A helpless little laugh bubbles out of you, muffled as you try to hide your face. “Jack —”

“C’mon.”

You hide for one more second, then surrender with a mumbled, “I’m your pretty girl.”

He smiles again, and this time it's smug and triumphant and entirely too charming. He always manages to get exactly what he wants. You included.

“Yeah,” he says. “That’s right.” Then he presses a kiss to your mouth and starts guiding you out from the archway. “Now let’s get my pretty girl inside before she gets sick.”

this fic was part of my 2 year celebration: maria's summer in santorini 𓆉°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ to learn more, click here!

You should’ve just gone home, but here you were, the last person from the day shift still catching up on your charting.

You were seated at one of the make-shift desks, staring at the computer when both Robby and Jack approached you. 

“You’re still here,” Robby said. 

“Yes,” you muttered. 

“Everyone’s gone home.” 

“Not everyone. You’re still here,” you finally looked up at them both. Jack caught your eye immediately, gaze lingering just for a second longer before you turned your attention to Robby. 

“You’re picking up my bad habits.” 

“Guess you should lead by example then,” you said with a sigh. 

Robby chuckled. 

Jack looked at you, amused, with his lips curled into a small smile. 

“I’m almost finished,” you continued. “Just want to make sure it’s accurate and detailed, that’s all.” 

“That’s never an issue,” Robby pointed out. 

“Good to know.” 

Jack crossed his arms over his chest and your eyes flickered over to him, immediately glancing down at his arms. “Your notes are always very detailed. Makes it easy for continuity of care,” he finally chimed in. 

“I’m on my last two patients,” you sighed. “I’ll try to get it done in the next hour.” 

Robby sighed and glanced over at Jack. “Right then. I’ll see you in a couple of days.” 

“Night, Dr. Robby,” you called out, turning your attention back to the computer screen. The other man turned on his heel, leaving you alone with Jack. 

You could still feel his presence, so you sat back in the chair and looked over at him. “Yes, Dr. Abbot?” 

“Nothing,” he answered. 

“You’re staring.” 

“I’m… observing.” 

“And I’m trying to get this done,” you ran a hand over your face. “Trust me, I’d rather be home right now.” 

“There’s gotta be another way to be more efficient,” he pointed out. 

You scoffed. “Efficiency is not my issue.” 

“Sure seems like it.” 

You shook your head. “I’m fine.” 

“You’re exhausted.” 

“Aren’t we all?”

He chuckled. “Suppose we are, but I’d rather not have a straggler from the day shift bleed into my nights.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“It becomes my responsibility.” 

“I’m just charting,” you said. 

“And it’s the second time this week that you’re staying later than everyone else,” he pointed out. 

“I’m fine.” 

“You’re distracted.” 

“I’m not your patient, Dr. Abbot.” 

“No,” he shook his head. “Because my patients actually listen.” 

Your lips parted in surprise. 

He leaned against the edge of the desk. 

“Finish your charts, then head home.” He said, softer this time. “You need rest.” 

You watched him walk away, sighing quietly to yourself as your eyes lingered. Your crush on the older man was the reason why this was the second time you had stayed later than everyone else and you weren’t sure how it made you feel that he noticed it too. 

Because he was right. 

You were distracted.

And it was because of him. 

“At this point, you should just join the night crew,” Ellis said, resting her elbows on the counter as she looked down at you. 

“I don’t know if I can function,” you answered. 

“Well, you’re here later than everyone else. I’d say you’ll be able to adapt.” 

“I’d be distracted.” 

“Aren’t you already?” She grinned. 

You looked up at her and narrowed your eyes. “Trinity told you.” 

“No,” she said. “I just have eyes and you… well, you don’t try to hide it.” 

You gasped. “Do you think he notices it too?”

“He’s an observant man,” Ellis answered. “I’d be surprised if he doesn’t.” 

“Great,” you sighed, finishing the last chart of your patient and standing from your seat. “And with that, I’m going home.” 

“You know,” she said. “He likes you too.” 

You furrowed a brow. “Doubt that.” 

Ellis chuckled. “In denial… both of you.” 

“He’s an attending,” you muttered. 

“Doesn’t stop you from staring at him like you want to jump him though, does it?” 

You rolled your eyes and stood from the computer. You hadn’t seen Jack since he told you to go home, but there was a small part of you that hoped you would get to see him before you left. 

“I don’t stare at him like—”

“Stare at who?” Jack appeared behind you. It seemed like he appeared out of thin air. 

Your eyes widened. You still hadn’t turned around. Ellis was smirking, glancing over your shoulder at Jack. 

“Oh, gotta go!” She said. 

“Ellis—” 

“Duty calls!” She interrupted. When Jack moved his gaze towards you, Ellis gave you a quick wink and turned on her heel, leaving you with Jack. 

“Stare at who?” Jack repeated. He felt closer now. His voice hovered near your ear. 

Slowly, you turned around to face him. “No one.” 

His eyes narrowed. “Uh huh.” 

You were tired. Exhausted, really, and standing in front of him like this, so close that you could see the different shade of color in his eyes, the freckles along his face, the stubble on his chin, wasn’t helping. 

“I finished charting,” you said, changing the subject. 

Then, he crossed his arms over his chest. Your eyes flickered to his arms, trailing his forearms up to his biceps that seem to bulge out from beneath the fabric of his shirt. 

He cleared his throat. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” You asked, staring up at him now. 

“I didn’t say anything.” 

“Right.” 

Jack tilted his head. When you glanced back down at his arms, he let a faint smile line his lips. It gave him the chance to look you over once too. 

“So, will I be seeing you again tomorrow night?” 

“What?” You asked. 

“When I come in for my shift, will I be seeing you again?” 

“No,” you answered too quickly. “I don’t know.” 

He let out a quiet chuckle. Took another step closer. “Hm.” 

“What? What hm?” 

“Nothing.” 

“That wasn’t nothing.” 

“You ever think about moving to nights?” Jack asked. He was closer now. 

“No,” you said. “I don’t think I’d survive.” 

“I think you’d fit right in.” 

Your lips parted in surprise. Was Jack flirting with you? “Nights aren’t for me.”

“Well,” he shrugged. “I know that nights would be more fun with you around.” 

You felt your cheeks flush. Maybe you were tired and just hallucinating that the man you had a crush on was standing so close to you and saying things that you were sure you’d think about over and over again later. 

“You think so? You wouldn’t tease me about my charting?”

Jack grinned. “Oh, no, that’s a given.” 

“I’m just… detailed.”

“Sure.” 

“I am.” 

“Uh huh,” he said, eyes glinting with amusement. 

Your eyes moved from his down to his lips, lingering for a moment before you moved your gaze to his arms. You were exhausted. You weren’t thinking straight. The fact that he was standing there flirting with you caused your brain to short circuit… or at least it felt like it. 

Because you wanted to reach out and touch his arms. Squeeze those biceps that always seemed to press against the fabric of his shirt whenever he crossed his arms over his chest. You’d want to trace the veins along his strong forearms, wondering what else would be—

“Um…” he mumbled, looking down at you. 

Your eyes widened. 

Your hands were already on his biceps. 

“Oh my god,” you said, pulling your hands from him quickly. “Shit. I—I’m so fucking sorry, Dr. Abbot.” 

You needed to slip back into some sense of professionalism. He was an attending. You didn’t work directly under him, but he was still a superior at the Pitt. Your mind had drifted to the point that your intrusive thoughts about touching him won.

Jack gently wrapped a hand around your arm and pulled you into one the empty rooms. The door shut behind him, giving you both the much needed space away from prying eyes. 

“That was…”

“Uncalled for,” you finished for him. “I’m sorry. I’m just—I’m tired.” 

“You touch Robby like that when you’re tired?” 

“No… Robby doesn’t have your arms,” you blurted out. “God, I need to go home.” 

Jack smirked. “Oh, so it’s just me?” 

“Can we just forget about it?”

“It’s going to be very difficult for me,” he teased. “You were practically… feeling me up.”

“I was not!” You shook your head. 

Jack crossed his arms over his chest again. 

Your eyes flickered to his arms. Almost like you had been conditioned to watch his muscles flex at the motion. 

“You want to do it again, don’t you?” Jack smirked. 

“No,” you answered, looking back up at him. “You’re teasing me.” 

“So what if I am?” 

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you muttered. 

“And what if… what if I said I liked having your hands on me?” Jack admitted. “Then, what?” 

“I’d say you’re lying.”

He cleared his throat. Dropped his hands back to his sides. 

You bit your lower lip as you kept your eyes on him. 

He took a step closer to you. 

You opened your mouth to say something before the door opened abruptly. Shen looked between the two of you with a furrowed brow. 

“Jack, we got incoming. Multiple injuries from an MVA.” 

“Got it,” he said. Jack stepped back and away from you. “I’ll be right there, Shen.” 

The other man nodded and gave you a knowing look before he shut the door once more. 

“I should head home and get some rest,” you said. 

Jack sighed. “Can I take you out for dinner?” 

“What?” 

“Dinner. You and me.” 

You bit back a smile. “Okay.” 

“Yeah?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, Jack.” 

He let out a relieved breath and nodded. Then, his own intrusive thoughts won because Jack leaned forward to kiss your cheek. When he pulled away, you noticed the redness in his cheeks. 

“Have a good night,” he said. 

“Good night, Jack.” You reached out and touched his arm, biting your lower lip as you squeezed his arm before he smiled down at you. 

Then, he turned around and left the room. 

You couldn’t help the large smile that lined your lips. 

Jack liked you too. 

And he asked you out on a date. 

his hand slips under the faded flannel you wear to sleep, courtesy of him of course, cupping your boob and kneading the flesh in his hand. you hum into your pillow as his thumb skims over your nipple, sleep still clinging to the corners of your eyes, limbs still in need of stretching. you can't move with the mass of him attached to you, grounding you in place, and quite frankly you don't want to. 

joel can get very touchy in the morning. not that he isn’t throughout the day, you're never without a possessive, protective hand at the small of your back when you take walks around town. but something about the just risen sun and the warm blankets has you looking extra holdable. who could blame him?

he buries his nose into the crook of your neck, his breath coming in warm puffs. the coarse greying hair of his beard scratches against your skin, you relish in the sensation. what's even more is the soft plush of his lips that press against your shoulder, gently kissing you awake. 

“mornin’ sweetheart,” he says, a low, raspy tone only reserved for you in the early hours.

you don’t say anything in response, simply reaching behind you to hold the nape of his neck, fingers slipping into his hair and scratching the scalp there. he hums, still low and riddled by sleep, pleased. the sound sends a shiver down your spine, the line of vertebrae fitted perfectly to his chest. 

he continues to idly touch you, absentminded passes of his hand over the expanse of your stomach, while your fingers stay threaded in the strands of his thick hair. it's been longer in recent months but you have no qualms, you like the way it falls into his face and gives you the opportunity to push it back–as well as the way he blushes furiously when you do so. 

you turn your head to the best of your abilities to look at him. morning light makes his eyes glitter, you try to ignore the unfiltered adoration in them, in fear of rolling over and never being able to look at him again. you’ve never been with anyone who loves as strongly as joel does, and makes it evident in everything, spoken or (mostly) unspoken. it's debilitating–in the best way. 

“beautiful boy,” you coo, scratching behind his ear. he leans into your touch.

“i’m neither a’those things,” he scoffs roughly, eyelids fluttering shut when your nails pass over that particular spot he loves.

“dont make me fight you, miller.” you tuck your face in the pillow again, snuggling back into him. his arms tighten around your middle in response. “its too early.”