staesthete

Curiosity and anticipation mingle as you slip into the cramped space, closing the door as slowly and as discreetly as possible. You down the remainder of your amaretto and coke, placing the glass beside Sam as you wince at the unmixed alcohol that coats your tongue.

The moment the latch clicks, the same smirk he’d given you from across the room mere minutes ago returns as he swallows a mouthful of beer. "Fancy meeting you here," he quips, his voice low and provocative, the red tinsel draped over his shoulders offsetting a warm glow over his face. You don’t want to take him seriously.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you.” You scoff, leaning against the dryer as you’re enveloped by the smell of detergent and clean linen. “Crappy wrapping, tacky gift. I should’ve known you were my Secret Santa the moment it was handed over.”

“Alright, I can’t excuse the wrapping, but, I’ll have you know that these,” He removes a hand from the counter, pulling the offending garment from where it’s poking out of your skirt's pocket, catching you off guard and eliciting a quiet yelp from you as he slingshots the material against your forearm.

“Ow!” You attempt to smack his hand, but his reflexes are quick, and he swipes it out of reach just in time, placing a finger over your lips.

“Keep your squawking down.” He warns with a slightly sardonic half-smile, shaking his head towards the door. “These were not cheap. I don’t scrimp on my favourite girl.” He holds them up to the small lamp on the shelf behind him and you blush a little. “Plus, I just know it’s gonna look fantastic on you.” He shrugs, smug, and satisfied.

You roll your eyes, smirking as you adjust your volume. "Really, though, Samuel? ‘Ho ho ho’? A thong? Real smooth.”

His response accompanies a smug grin. "Well, I had to get you something that matches your…” He holds his beer just shy of his lips as he mulls over his thoughts for a second, “You.”

You snort in response, folding your arms as your brows raise, the two of you locking metaphorical, and very flirtatiously charged horns. “Oh! Well, in that case, we’ll have to get you a matching pair!”

He chuckles into his beer bottle, taking a swig before placing it beside him. He goads you with his look- a soft furrow of his brows that says ‘elaborate’.

“Dragging me into your brother’s airing cupboard in the middle of his impeccably planned Christmas party? Hardly the behaviour of someone who isn’t a… ‘ho ho ho’ themselves.” You feel yourself stifle a giggle- what a stupid conversation.

Ah, who gives a shit. You’re both tipsy, and you both know what’s about to happen.

Sam licks the remnants of his beer off of his lips, pushing himself away from the counter with an amused grin. His smug smile, a silent agreement, sets the stage for what both of you have been dancing around all night. The atmosphere becomes charged, filled with unspoken needs that have lingered in stolen glances and exchanged banter amongst a crowd of drunken acquaintances and giddy friends.

“You must be sorely mistaken, gorgeous.” He starts as his hands brace themselves onto the dryer, gently caging you in. “I wanted to help out my little brother by… folding towels. You know- keep him in the wife’s good books.”

In the intimate, shrunken space of the airing cupboard, the atmosphere thickens as his joke hangs between Sam and you, a veil of playfulness concealing the underlying, and oh so mouth-watering tension that’s coarsening your skin with goosebumps.

“Folding towels. That’s what we’re calling it now?” You grin, though your voice takes on a slightly lower tone as he leans over you. God, he smells fantastic.

The slight wrinkle in his navy t-shirt is a telltale sign that he’s obviously pulled it straight from the dryer and thrown it on as he left his apartment; but that damn jacket. Recently washed, yes, but never rid of that tinge of cigarette smoke that’s practically woven its way into the denim by now; a little aftershave spritzed over it as to not cause offence to those that despise his poor habit, accompanied by… him; A gentle amber muskiness diluted by the subtle red fruit scent that’s interwoven itself into him during his winter period of reluctant domesticity.

“Shame you’ve not got these on now, ya know.” He takes another look at the thong before abandoning it on the top of the washer, re-assuming his position over you. “Red’s definitely your colour. Always has been.”

His eyes make a show of their journey up and down your frame, and much to your own chagrin, you feel your face heat up even more. You should be used to this by now. Your little arrangement has been going on for almost a year. Yet every time, he’s got you blushing like a high school kid with a crush on their teacher.

Sam grins, shoulders jolting with a chuckle as he watches the redness spread across your cheeks.

“Aw. See? Adorable.”

“Stop it.” You chide, head turning to the side as you try to hide the consistent blush bleeding across your face. As if his ego needs to be given any more fuel.

“Stop what?” He smirks, knowing full-well what you mean. You frown. “Ohhh.” He over exaggerates, grinning wide as his head flops sideways in search of your face. “Making you blush? Doesn’t take much, does it?”

“No. I’m not gonna stop.” Sam's smug smile lingers, a subtle spark in his eyes made visible by the warm glow of the lamp. The air crackles with anticipation as he leans in, his lips brushing yours with a teasing tenderness that makes your hairs stand on end. His eyes are sly, and of course seductive, provoking you to lean in and close the gap. He’s offering the illusion of a situation where you get to take charge.

But he’s done this before, and things never go that way.

Not that you mind, of course.

Each passing second adds fuel to the simmering fire as you feel his thumbs grace your wrists at either side of you. You hold steady, your eyes narrowing towards his in a sort of stand off. You’re not going to cave first.

Though… it’s becoming more and more of a challenge as he leans further into you, your back pressed hard against the edge of the dryer as he imposes fully on your personal space. You can feel how hard he is through his jeans.

His head dips down, and you feel light stubble scratch against your jaw as he laughs softly, yet there’s still an undeniable smugness to it that makes your hands go clammy. “I intend to keep that blush of yours nice an’ vibrant for the foreseeable, sweetheart.”

And just like that, you’re butter in his hands. Melted butter, mind you- it’s fucking boiling in here.

You mutter a quiet “fuck sake” in a poor attempt at saving face, but as his lips press against the spot just beneath your ear, you know things are about to progress quickly- just like they always do when the two of you are alone. A few more pecks down your neck, and you breathe in; your nipples rub against your bra, and you exhale shakily as his teeth come into play. Sam removes his hands from your wrists, respectively taking a hold of your waist and your hair, keeping you pressed against him as he reddens your neck, bit by bit, and- God- the sight of him still wearing that jacket is making you feel like you’re in the depths of a furnace. He’s not even breaking a sweat. Bastard.

You find your hands weaving underneath the sherpa, clawing at his dark tee ’til you reach his shoulders. You tuck your hands underneath, and as if telepathy exists, he shunts the jacket off, along with the tinsel, lips still trailing a series of small bruises along your neck.

They fall to the floor, buttons clack-clattering against the washer behind him- dangerously loud whilst whatever song is playing outside seems to be in the midst of a quiet bridge- and you both break apart to stare at the door, wide-eyed and breathing heavily.

After a few butterfly-inducing seconds, a new song starts and someone whoops loudly- you’re safe.

Sam looks back at you with a relieved smile. It’s too innocent and uncharacteristic, so you push him off of the diving board, straight into the deep end; fingers tugging him down to your level by the scalp, using his slight moment of surprise to shove him back into the washer as your lips find his.

Sam's hands trace a path of yearning along your back; they dive under your tacky ‘tinsel tits’ sweater in search of skin, and as his calloused, scarred hands meet the smooth softness of your back, he hums quietly into you, as if he’s checked something off of a to-do list. You take it upon yourself to tick off another, and your free hand reaches down to give him a teasing squeeze through his jeans.

You both smirk in tandem, but as you one-handedly pull out his t-shirt’s French-Tuck- his lazy attempt at sprucing himself up- and your dexterous fingers unhook his belt buckle in one fell swoop, his smirk falters slightly.

Smugness now replaced by an urgent need, he pulls you tighter against him, and the air becomes charged with the electricity of your concealed connection as you unbutton his jeans. Your hand snakes past the zipper, thumb testing the waters with a teasing stroke over the fabric of his boxers as you push your tongue into his mouth. He tastes of nicotine that’s been drowned in alcohol, Nathan’s experimental lebkuchen, and a stick of cheap gum, and as your hand wraps around him completely, you cannot get enough.

Sam fights against your tongue with his own, brows scrunching every so often as you slowly pump his cock in your palm. Shutting him up is always pleasant, and always rare, so you savour every second, watching as a flush of his own begins to make an appearance across his cheeks. Two can play at that game, you think to yourself, your core seizing in anticipation.

A wandering hand squeezes at your ass under your skirt, and as you roll your thumb over his tip, you pull your lips from his, making sure to take in the sight of his growing arousal. You smile knowingly, your other hand freeing his hair so your thumb can swipe away saliva from his lips. You give him a gentle peck, made teasing by the smirk that accompanies it before you pull away from him and crouch slightly.

Pushing up his t-shirt a little, your smirk deepens as you take in the quick rise and fall of his stomach as he breathes fast in expectancy. You kiss him; a soft, open-mouthed peck over each scar, tongue rolling across the hair trailing along his belly, down lower, and lower, fingers pulling aside the waistband of his jeans.

Sam’s hands find purchase on the edge of the washing machine, eyes transfixed on you as you expose him, jeans pulled down just enough to give you access, but still modest enough for any hasty getaway that may be required.

You lower yourself fully to your knees, and the temperature is too much now. You pull off your sweater, placing it gently aside as you twist your hair into a makeshift pony, throwing it over a shoulder. He’s well-groomed. It’s almost as if he knew this was going to happen.

“Don’t be too quiet.” You look up at him. “I love hearing my pretty boy lose his composure.” You smile innocently, taking him in your hand again.

“Shut ya mouth. Calling’ me shit like that.” He laughs in response. The way his cheeks take on a soft pink hue sets you aflame; it’s evidence that his annoyance his feigned. He likes being called ‘shit like that’.

You giggle quietly, tongue licking a stripe up from his balls to his tip, before you let spit roll over your lower lip and onto him as Sam looks down at you with a neediness he’s only ever let you see. You move painfully slowly, lips parting enough to pull his head into your mouth, hands finding the outside of his thighs. He’s tense with anticipation, and your hands squeeze, before your throat envelopes his cock as far as you can take him.

Cheeks hollowed, you slowly retract, making him hiss as you gently graze your bottom teeth against his frenulum, before you retract completely.

“Do that again.” He breathes, knuckles pale.

“Ask nicely.” You grin, opening your mouth a little, hovering just in front of him.

“Christ.” He mutters, unable to wipe away his smile as he shakes his head, eyes closed. “Do that again, please.”

“Good boy.”

“Will you stop callin’ me th-ah-at, fuck!” He cuts himself off as you repeat the action, this time drawing a bead of salty-sweetness from him. You hum in satisfaction, feeling your own slick between your thighs as his hand instinctively grabs a hold of your hair.

As the next minute progresses, you hear Sam’s breathing gradually grow slightly more erratic, his hand unsteadily pushing your hair out of your face as the pace builds. Every now and then you flick your eyes upwards, relishing in the way he swallows in want, hips twitching occasionally as you involve your teeth- his breathy little pants make you want to keep this up forever, but you crave more.

You move particularly deep, and he bucks up; you feel him hit the back of your throat and you gag, eyes beginning to water instantly. You slide him out of your mouth as you take in air, and whilst it takes a whole lot of willpower for him not to push himself back into your throat, he instead tucks himself away and comes down to your level with an apology and a chuckle, cupping your jaw as you pull yourself together.

“Hate it when you do that.”

“It’s a good thing I did,” He breathes, “Don’t think this would’ve lasted as long as I’d want it to if you kept going.”

You laugh whilst Sam’s eyes follow the trickle of drool slowly rolling down your chin. He’s suddenly in a world of his own, barely registering what you’re saying before his tongue gathers the spit off of your skin, pushing it back into your mouth, your back hitting against the cool metal of the dryer as he kisses you; stubble grazes almost painfully against your face, but you don’t give a shit. Sam takes a rushed pause to rest his forehead against yours as he looks down at your chest; heaving, ripe for the picking.

You can only squeak as he grabs hold of you, hoisting you to your feet before propping you back up onto the top of the dryer. You almost fall back from the haste of it all, but with his hands on your lower back, you’re relatively stable again.

You groan as his hands grab your breasts, kneading them with a ferocity that sends your pulse skyrocketing. His eyes flit to yours, and he gives you an warning grin before his hands snake behind you and unhook your bra. You gasp, mildly irritated that he’d expose you so thoughtlessly whilst you’d taken every care to preserve him from any embarrassment that could occur from an innocent party-goer accidentally infiltrating the unlocked airing cupboard.

“These are magnificent.” He preens, and you roll your eyes with a scoff.

“You’re acting like you’ve never seen them before.”

“Been a while. God.”

“Did you just lick your lips? What are you, fourteen?”

“Look, doll, you know me. I’m a simple guy. I see a good pair’a tits, and I start to salivate. Now shut up.”

You huff in amused shock, but as Sam’s tongue goes for your nipple, you force yourself to swallow down a small gasp. A lick turns into a suck, which turns into a bite, and you have to cover your mouth to stop yourself from yelping out in pained pleasure as his teeth apply pressure to the sensitive spot, tugging as he looks up at you deviously. He lets go, and you let out a sharp breath, glaring at him.

“Are you trying to get us caught?” You chastise, panting a little as he pinches your neglected nipple, the roughness of his thumb and forefinger making you squeeze your thighs together in response to the action.

He gives you a toothy grin, pupils blown out; eyes darkened by impertinence as he chooses not to respond. God, he drives you mad.

As Sam takes a moment to look at you again, his smugness gives way to an unseated hunger, his lips briefly seeking yours again with a precision born of familiarity. He smooths his hands up your legs, pulling his lips away, eyes flitting between each one as he squeezes your thighs.

And all of a sudden, your heart is palpitating hard. You’re soaked- that much is certain, but you’re also slightly afraid of the concept of him stripping you completely bare without so much as a lock from keeping you from being walked in on. Perhaps you should’ve thought this through. Perhaps you shouldn’t be-

“Sam!” You whisper-yell as the ripping of fabric snatches you from your thoughts.

“I’ll buy you a new pair.” He replies, completely unbothered by your reaction, the new hole torn into your tights right between your thighs giving him an almost completely unrestricted view he’s been waiting for. “Jesus Christ. Haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re wet through.”

“I will kick you.”

“Nah, you won’t.” He shoots a complacent grin up at you, before hooking his arms around your thighs and pulling you to the edge of the dryer with a quick yank that has your eyes widen momentarily.

You sigh shakily, bracing yourself on your forearms as he comes back to antagonise your chest.

Your gaze fixes on Sam, who looks up at you with a teasing smile as he pushes your thigh aside, deft tongue swirling and flicking around your nipple in a way that makes your lips part with quickened breaths; the signalling of your growing want couldn’t possibly get any clearer. The playful glint in his eyes mirrors the deriding movement of his lips, and for a moment, the laughter, music, and clinking glasses outside the intimate space you’re sharing muffles into the background.

His fingers, warm and skilful, navigate the contours of your skin through your thin tights with a gentle caress. The intention is clear—a slow, tantalising exploration that builds mutual desire with every inch of you that’s covered, and as he finally strokes a thumb over your covered core, sending a soft mewl spilling from your lips, a switch flips in his brain. Playfulness starts to deepen into a smouldering gaze, reminding you of his undeniable hunger beneath the friendship on the surface. As he pulls aside the material and starts to coat his fingers in your slick, it’s all too clear that his movements are deliberate, each touch purposeful, as if he's savouring the anticipation as much as the final destination.

He wants you. But he wants you to need him more. Sam wasn’t lying when he said you’re his ‘favourite girl’.— he adores you, and he wants to give you everything he can through his body that he can’t bring himself to give you through caged in commitment. As a result, he’s not afraid to take his time- time to pretend that this is more than the ‘friends with benefits’ arrangement you’d forged way back when. He doesn’t give anyone else this kind of time. He doesn’t want to.

You're caught between the thrill of the unexpected and the familiarity of Sam's touch. Every stroke and every red blotch left on your skin feels like a shared rebellion against the constraints of everything else life has to offer. He bites you again, and you buck your hips in response, brows furrowing as a quiet hiss pushes through your teeth. Your nails claw against the edge of the dryer, and as he effortlessly slides two fingers knuckle deep inside you, your grip falters slightly.

The hand on your waist tightens, and one of yours goes for the back of his head. You tangle your fingers into his hair, head rolling back as you try to stop yourself from moaning. He hooks his fingers, rubbing back and forth against your sweet spot in quick, repetitive motions, whilst his thumb flicks against your clit. Your breathing grows heavier, and you struggle to keep quiet as he releases your nipple from his mouth with a gentle ‘pop’.

The fire in your lower belly is burning stronger with each passing second, and you clasp your lip between your teeth as he adds a third digit— the stretch forcing a groan bubbling out of your throat as he laughs softly at the sight of you leaking onto the back of his hand. This time you’re unable to keep it down.

You’re sopping, and so damn tight at this angle— Sam feels his cock twitch with need as he feels you contract around him, the sensation of your nails scratching gently against his scalp, tugging at the roots of his hair giving him goosebumps of his own. He loves the way you sound; the wetness, your unsteady breathing, and your quiet, raspy little moans— even more so knowing that you’re trying and failing to restrain yourself.

“Ohh— shit.” you gasp as his thumb speeds up, stimulating your clit to the point where your breath gets caught in your throat. You’re not far from the edge, but he’s not ready for that yet. Neither are you.

Slowly, he pulls his fingers out of you, and you exhale, a desperate look in your eyes as the emptiness hurts.

He presses his forehead to yours, gently nudging his nose against yours in a display of affection that forces a shy smile from you. His eyes flit to your lips, and back up to your eyes, and just before you take it as a silent invitation to kiss him, his hand is brought up from between your thighs. Your cheeks heat up at the sight of his glistening fingers as he hovers them just in front of your chin.

“Open up.” He whispers, lips tugged into a cocky half-smile. You’re more than happy to oblige, and as your lips part, he slides two slick-covered fingers into your mouth, your tongue lapping up the sticky sweetness as he fixates on your mouth for a moment.

Without so much as looking back up at you, he mutters “My turn.”

As you continue to taste yourself on his skin, Sam gets to his knees, free hand holding a thigh to one side before it moves aside the soaked material of your underwear again.

“So so pretty.” He mutters, voice gruff, eyes ravenous as he takes in the sight of you; glistening, ready. All for him. All because of him. He leans in, hand keeping you exposed as he pulls his fingers from between your lips, instead choosing to keep you wide open for him. His tongue scoops you up, from the bottom of your folds up to your swollen clit, and you shudder, fingers instinctively tightening in his hair as you look down at him.

Sam goes again, this time sucking the sensitive bud in order to draw out a noise from you. You hum; high pitched and needy, leaning your coccyx against the dryer as you spread your legs open a little further.

He groans into you, fingers digging into the fullness of your thighs as his tongue moves; slow and deliberate, as if every stroke, every lick, every bite is a carefully composed note in a well-practiced symphony. The taste of you spurs him on, and through the feeling of your thighs involuntarily tightening around his head as he begins to devour you like you’re the first meal he’s eaten in days, and the slight tug you give his hair every few seconds, a blend of mischief and longing and lust takes him over.

You’re a mess, flustered, muffled moans and curses spilling into your hand, your bare chest heaving as he becomes more unrestrained; he can’t get close enough to you, his nose rubs against your clit while his tongue snakes inside you, pretty, dark eyes flicking up to see the effect that he’s having on you every so often.

You could do this all day. So could he. But you’re approaching your peak far too quickly, and whilst his tongue feels wonderful, you want more. You want him inside you when you finish— you want him to feel what he’s done to you in the most intimate way possible.

“Sam?” You rasp, tugging at his hair slightly harder. “F-fuck, Sam, s—stop.” You tug a little harder, and you whimper as you feel his breath fan over you as he reluctantly allows you to pull him away from your sensitive cunt.

He swallows, chest heaving as he takes in air. “You okay?” He asks, brows furrowed, nose, lips, and chin coated in a glistening layer of your arousal. You have to give yourself a moment to take it in. This is far from the first time you’ve seen him like this, but each time you do, you feel yourself fall in deeper. You nod, hand moving to the back of his neck, drawing him into you. Your lips press against his again, and as his tongue dives into your mouth, sharing with you the tangy sweetness he’s obsessed with, you pull his cock into his other hand. Your thumb smooths over the dribble of pre-cum that’s seeping out of him, and you pump him in your hand a few times just to feel how hard he is. He huffs out through his nose as you squeeze him gently, and as you rub him against your dripping pussy, his arms tighten around you.

You line him up, edging yourself forwards just enough for his tip to breach you, and as he swallows down a quiet moan, you peel your mouth from his and get him to look at you. “You know I love you, right?” You breathe, thumb stroking the bridge of his nose as he looks at you with parted lips.

“I know you love me.” He says, just a little louder than a whisper. He pushes into you, a cuss sighed into your neck as he tucks his head beside you. You swallow a moan as he stills, nestled into you as deep as he can, your arms wrapped around the back of his neck as he gives you a moment to adjust, and him to embrace.

You laugh, quiet and breathy into the shell of his ear. “I know you do.” You say, pressing a kiss just behind his ear as he drags himself part-way out of you. He rocks himself back into you, hips rolling gently as he begins to build a gentle rhythm. He doesn’t want to come just yet. He wants to savour this. To enjoy this perfect glimpse into the normal life he’s never wanted. He loves you. He loves you so much, but he can’t give you everything you want, so you both settle for stolen moments like these.

He quickens the pace ever so slightly, and as he continues to litter the delicate skin of your neck with deep pink nips and wet speckles your eyes close. You cradle his head in your arms as his thrusts grow a little harsher, and he hums out soft, vulnerable moans that make his closeness to his peak all the more evident.

“So good t’me.” He murmurs into your neck as he slots a hand between you, blindly searching for your clit with shaky fingers.

You cry out into his shoulder as he finds it, and you cling onto him with all of your might as he fucks you with more intensity with each passing second.

He grips onto your lower back as he continues to groan into your neck— he pulls you into him with such intensity that every small bruise developing on your chest is stimulated as your tits are crushed harshly against his t-shirt.

Sam goes deeper, sweeter, and your eyes water as he squeezes your clit almost desperately. You grunt, the coil in your abdomen tightening and tightening with each passing second, eyes squeezing shut as he gives up concentrating on your neck, collapsing into the crook of it altogether.

He breathes heavily, grunting as you bite into his shoulder to suppress a scream as you completely lose yourself. You convulse in his arms, your pussy spasming around his cock as you feel your orgasm crash over you, muffled expletives and Sam’s name spilling mindlessly from you as you feel nothing but white hot pleasure. The coil releases, and you fall limp in his grasp as you begin to milk his own orgasm out of him.

“G—God,” He groans, hand snatched from between you as he braces himself against you. He keeps moving as you feel hot ropes of cum fill you, leaning back just enough to see it dribble out of you and onto him.

He stills, foreheads touching again as you catch your breath. You feel his eyebrows scrunch and unscrunch as his breathing slowly becomes steadier, and the intensity of your respective climaxes dim into a soft afterglow.

You feel a hand stroke against your jaw, and he huffs out a laugh as you smile.

“Hi.” He whispers.

“Hey.” Your responding laugh quickly dissipates into a wince as he slides out of you.

He sniffs, with a smile to mirror your own. “Perhaps I should’ve gotten you a towel instead of that thing.” He shakes his head towards the Secret Santa gift lying abandoned on the washer behind him, and you snort.

“Hmm. I mean you could always use them as a cum rag.”

“Love it when you talk all ladylike.” He jokes. “Christmas isn’t over til New Years, the way I see it, so you’ve got plenty of time to model them for me before they’re allowed to be used for something so…menial.”

You shove him playfully, hopping off of the dryer, legs wobbling slightly as you get used to being on the ground again. He throws you your bra and sweater, which you throw on as he relocates his jacket.

You rake your fingers through your hair in hopes that it still looks relatively presentable and suitably covers your thoughtfully gifted hickey-patchwork, before you swipe up the thong and walk over to the door.

“Gonna... take a stealth walk to the bathroom.” You clear your throat, smiling as you rest a hand over the handle.

He nods in response, a half, and slightly coy smile on his lips. As you twist the handle, he gets your attention with a quick “Hey”.

You turn, raising an expectant brow. He clears his throat, nodding as if he’s reassuring himself about something.

“You… you know I love ya too, yeah?”

You smile, taking in the slight nervousness in his eyes. “I know you do. Despite these.” You swing the red monstrosity around your finger before bunching it up and shoving it into your skirt pocket. You give him an endearingly sweet wink, opening the door slowly, exposing the room to the bass boost of Nate’s festive playlist and someone’s dreadful karaoke attempt.

“See you out there?”

He chuckles as he watches you check that the coast is clear. God, he adores you.

“See you out there.”

*

Ellie knew something was wrong. She had heard you and Joel arguing over the last couple of days. You weren’t happy here. You didn’t want to carry on with the journey, and you were beginning to regret ever coming along. 

You were as much of a bad person as Joel was. Hell, you were even worse at certain times. Maybe that’s why you and Joel clashed so much. You two spent a few heated nights together tearing each other’s clothes off as you screamed obscenities at one another while fucking your pain away, yet when the lust ran out and the sun rose again– you two were as bitter as before. 

Joel might’ve slipped up and said he loved you.

And maybe you didn’t say it back.

And maybe Joel thought a little too hard on it. Maybe he thought now was a good time for you to reciprocate the feelings, yet you never did.

You had seen so much bloodshed, added to the bloodshed by your own hands. You had purposely killed people in order to survive, to get what you wanted. You had survived, but what else were you supposed to do when the world was seemingly falling apart around you? It went up in flames the moment outbreak day happened, and it never returned to solitude. 

“I’m fine.” You answer, your breath labored. 

Ellie was preparing to go meet up with Tommy to help feed the horses. “Are you sure? You don’t…” She stops in the middle of her observation when she notices the way your eyes catch the kitchen light. She saw pure irritation lacing your face and she knew not to bother you anymore. 

“…sorry,” She mutters under her breath. She was going to tell you something Joel had said, something along the lines of him finally breaking his hardened exterior to laugh at her corny jokes. She thought she was making progress with him. But when she saw the bottle nearly emptied, she knew you needed an intervention. So without uttering another word to you and silently whispering for you to forgive her, she set out to find Joel. 

You heard the door open and close. You brought the bottle back to your lips and nursed the neck, the sting having long since faded. You had popped a couple of painkillers for the dull ache that throbbed wildly in your back, just searching for any inner peace. Peace didn’t reside in Jackson.

Peace didn’t reside in the world.

Peace didn’t reside in Joel. 

You thought that maybe, for a split second, a sliver of hope guided you to the assumption that Joel Miller was who would make your life better again. You were wrong. All you felt was depression. There were some instances where you wished one more painkiller would do the trick, maybe alcohol poisoning would come for you. Whatever it was, you didn’t want to be here. You wanted to get up and leave. 

And as tears sprung to your eyes at the mere thought of Joel– you realized he wasn’t showing his better side. All you two knew how to do was scream in each other’s faces and rip each other’s clothes off. Sex, sleep, fight, repeat. It was a never-ending cycle.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had been lovingly touched by a man, let alone anyone. You thought you and Joel understood one another, but he was a selfish man. A man who was only out to get what he wanted. After that? You were useless. 

“Bullshit,” You tell yourself. “This is all utter bullshit.” 

As you finish off the rest of the bottle, you ultimately decide to trudge your drunken way to bed and fall into the sheets. Maybe sleep would finally come and take you. 

As you stumbled to the room you had claimed as yours, you sighed and piled into bed after removing your shoes and pulling the blankets around you. 

Ellie was on the move. She covered herself as best as she could as to not be obliterated by the rain. She was hurrying to the stalls to find Tommy while also on the lookout for Joel. When he saw the two brothers standing beside each other, she felt relieved. 

“Joel!” Ellie calls his name.

The older man’s head turns, salt and pepper flakes in his hair drenched by the rain. 

“What?” He looks at Ellie who inhales sharply. 

“Can I talk to you?” She asks him. His eyes leave hers and meet Tommy who nods his head, taking a step back as he gathers up some of the feed to begin nourishing the horses. 

“What is it, kid?” Joel questions as he and Ellie walk beside each other a little further from Tommy. 

“What’s going on between you two?” Ellie first questions. “I walked into the kitchen and… She was drunk, Joel. She even had the bottle of painkillers out.” 

Joel slows down a touch. You appeared fine when he left you this morning. What had happened between then and now? 

“I thought she was fine,” Joel responds through a huff. 

“Well, you thought wrong.” Ellie looks back as she pushes her hands into her pockets. “Look, it’s none of my business what goes on between you two. But it’s not a healthy situation. And I don’t want her to kill me for coming to you but–”

“I’ll talk to her.” Joel tells her. He can sense she’s growing nervous. “I’ll go now.” 

Ellie exhales. “Please don’t tell her I said anything. I don’t want her any more pissed than she is.” 

Joel looks over at Tommy and pats Ellie’s shoulder. “I’ll be back later,” He promises before turning around and leaving from under the stalls. He trudges through the mud as rain pours on top of him. He’s aiming directly for the house that sits in front of Tommy’s. 

He’s muttering his thoughts under his breath. He wasn’t sure why you were acting like this. To him, you were acting out. He thought everything was fine between the two of you. Sure, you two had gotten into an argument this morning, and Joel paid no mind to the issue at hand, but he felt that his feelings were justified either.

Deep down, Joel cared about you. He had already admitted he loved you, but you didn’t say it back. So Joel thought he was overstepping his boundaries with you and he let off the accelerator. Yet even he knew how toxic it was– the kind of relationship you two shared. It was pure venom seeping from one another’s lips every time you spoke, and it felt like the only time you remotely agreed on an issue was when his dick was inside of you or your mouth. 

He wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on like this. 

Before Joel opens the door, he draws in a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the fight about to unfold. He knew you were a hard person to deal with. You had warned him of that the moment you two met, yet he let you come along for the journey anyway.

He thought that after the events were over and everyone could peacefully attempt to live a normal life, you would open up. You would be far more willing to help him out, to give him the insight he needed to understand you. But he knew you were caging your feelings. You were on an emotional rollercoaster ride that was only going up, unsure of when the drop was coming. 

And you felt like you weren’t strapped into the seat.  

Joel walks inside and the first thing his eyes meet is the pill bottle on the table. He hisses under his breath as he looks around. A couple of things had been thrown around– you did so when the anger became far too much. After all, Joel wasn’t there for you to sink your claws into. Even then, you wouldn’t have had someone to hang onto permanently. He would’ve been gone in the blink of an eye, another sour screw to get the emotions out, only to return to the depths of your despair. 

Joel creeps throughout the house and he turns the corner. He sees that your bedroom door specifically was shut. Closing his eyes, he raps his knuckles against the door.

You heard it. 

“I know you’re in there.” Joel crosses his arms over his chest. “Can we talk?” 

Scoffing, you close your eyes and rub your face. 

“No.” 

Joel bites down on his lip. “Listen, Ellie’s worried about–”

“I don’t care.” 

Your jagged attempt to drop the conversation was useless. 

“I care,” Joel responds. “So I’d suggest you open this door.” 

You chuckle under your breath. “So now you’re barking orders at me?” You ponder. “Nice goin’, but no thanks, cowboy. I’m fine.” 

You were obviously slurring. Joel nods his head.

“Then the damn door is being kicked in.” He answers harshly. 

“Come in here and you’re dead.” 

“My chances are better than yours.” Joel’s voice is tight, venom seeping from the edges. In one motion, he kicks the lock off the door, and the door swings on its hinges. A loud creak sounds throughout the room, and you barely flinch. 

“Seriously?” You ask him.

“You gave me no choice.” Joel hisses. “Now, what in the hell is going on? Why are you being so short?” 

“Me? Being short?” You sit up. Joel can see the redness in your eyes. The hoarseness in your voice also confirmed that you had been crying. “What gives you any sort of right to barge in here and say that I’m being short? Shouldn’t you be out there swooning the ladies at the bar?” 

Joel’s eyebrows furrow. “What?” Was this your poor attempt at showcasing jealousy? Joel knew you weren’t a jealous woman. You had fought far too hard to stay alive to be jealous over anything. Joel had seen the way Tommy’s guys looked at you. It made him sick to his stomach and he desired nothing more than to drive his knife into their throats and cut out their vocal cords. He’d strangle them black and blue if it meant keeping you safe and their hands off you. 

“Oh, shut up.” You roll your eyes and stumble around on the mattress. You’re reaching for the bottle you grabbed just before solidifying your entrapment inside the bedroom. You twist the cap off and Joel’s walking over, snatching the glass bottle from your hands.

“HEY!” You scream, thrashing to get it back, but the moment Joel pushes you down onto the mattress, your eyes snap open.

“SNAP OUT OF IT!” Joel screams at you, slamming the bottle down on the bedside table. “What is wrong with you?” 

“YOU’RE WHAT’S WRONG WITH ME!” You scream at the top of your lungs, spit flying to hit Joel in the face. His face twists with hurt. He’s confused. He stares down at you and as you continue to thrash and punch against him, he’s taking your hands and pinning them above your wrists. 

“What did I do to you? Nothin’. I let your ass come along for the journey to Jackson. We got what we wanted. You got what you wanted. You’re safe. What more could you ASK for?!” His voice grows louder with each argument he made. 

You rattle beneath him. Your head was swimming with alcoholic haze as you stared into his deep-set brown eyes. The wrinkles in his forehead only appeared to deepen the angrier he got. 

“This is all we do, Joel.” You hiss. “It’s bullshit. We’re bullshit.” 

“We’re bullshit?” Joel repeats. “I don’t know how to READ you, damn it!” He lets you go and you’re rolling onto your stomach and pushing yourself to your feet. 

“You don’t even TRY to read me, Joel. You come in, get off, and you leave. Every. Single. Time.” 

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Joel inhales sharply and grabs the edge of his jaw. He scratches his fingers into the scruff of his face as he twists his back to you. Have you forgotten his declaration from a while back? He told you he cared about you, that he loved you. Was that all just a fever dream? Had he dreamt of it? 

“You’re bullshit,” Joel wasn’t going to lower his guard for you again. 

“Excuse me?” You ask him. You walk over and shove his shoulder. “I’M bullshit?!” 

“YES!” Joel grabs your fist before you can punch him again. The anger circling in his gaze has your head spinning as he gripped your wrists. “EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU IS BULLSHIT!” 

You can feel your vision begin to cloud. The alcohol had done its job of wrecking your emotions. When it was meant to dull the pain, it seemed to amplify it. 

“You’re a joke.” You rub your face after snatching your wrists from him. “You’re a complete joke. I’m not just someone you can screw all night when you get angry, and then wait for you.”

“I NEVER TOLD YOU TO WAIT!” Joel cries. “I told you I LOVED you. You didn’t want to hear it. You didn’t say it back.”

“HOW CAN I SAY I LOVE YOU WHEN I CAN’T EVEN LOVE MYSELF?!” Your voice grows to a higher octave and the break officially happens. Joel sees your face shift and his heart sinks in his chest at your revelation. 

“What?” He asks. He thought of you to be this hardheaded woman who got off on the idea of survival. You had taught Ellie so much in the short time you’ve been with her and Joel, that Joel was thankful for your tactics. He had learned you were in the military before the outbreak occurred, which meant you saw so much that a woman shouldn’t have had to face. No human should’ve seen it. Killing the enemy was in your blood. You fought for your country, your freedom, and you couldn’t even love yourself. 

Crossing your arms over your chest, you fall apart.

“I can’t do this,” You cover your face and beeline for the door, but Joel steps in your way.

“No.” He shakes his head. “You’re not doin’ it like this. You’re going to talk to me.” 

You whimper as tears fall down your cheeks. “I’m not just a hole you get to use when no one else will give it to you.”

Joel shakes his head vigorously. “I never saw you as a hole. I know I can be an asshole, but I respected you.”

“Respected? You don’t anymore?” You look at him.

“That’s not what I meant.” He responds. “Darlin’, you should love yourself. You’ve gone through hell and back, but so have I. We’ve both been dealt rigorous cards that should’ve killed us. But never once did I lose my respect for you. I know…” He’s running out of things to say. He was never good at the word thing. You slowly stare up at him. “I know we had our differences. But it’s all over now. Ellie’s safe. We’re making a place in the sand here with Tommy.” 

You wipe your eyes. “Then why don’t I feel like we’re serious, Joel? Why can’t I come to terms that you do care about me? Do you care?” 

Joel closes his eyes. “I would kill anyone out there for you. If it meant keeping you safe, I don’t care who it is. I’ve realized thanks to Ellie that I do need someone. And that someone is you.” 

You close your eyes and blink away the oncoming tears. You felt like an idiot now. 

“Joel–” He walks forward and without another word, he takes you into his arms. This hug is far different from the ones you’ve had before. He held you ever so tightly that it felt like he was trying to piece you together with his hold. 

“I love you.” He says into your hair. “I love you, do you hear me?” 

You close your eyes and fold your arms around him. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve made you feel like a… a hole. I didn’t mean to, I just– it was hard for me to understand how you worked. How you functioned. But I guess you had a hard time reading me, too.” 

You soak in his words and snuggle your face into his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” You spill through trembling lips. “I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot.” Joel reprimands you. “You were scared.” 

You gasped when he said scared, feeling yourself loosen in his grasp. You squeezed as hard as you could because you realized he knew. He did know how you were feeling. Fear was the only word that continuously wrecked your conscience when you’d reflect at night. 

“I want us, Joel.” You whisper. “I want us to be real.” 

“We are real, darlin’.” Joel says through a promising tone. “And while your drunken words are sober thoughts when you’re on your hangover… I promise I’ll show you how real we are.” 

A smile spreads across your face as you clutch onto him. 

You’d hold him to that promise.