#pintobug

Your fingers hurt with how hard you're pushing them into the countertop. You look at your Dad, still rambling. The whooshing of blood between your ears builds and you try to silence it by focusing on his lips. They curved around his next words so innocent and unknowing. It makes you want to spill your guts onto the counter.

“Yeah, kid! Joel Miller. Known him for years- he's good people. Used to work with him every day when I did that big commercial project a few years ago. Did some tile work there, even brought his brother along with him the days we needed some extra hands. Hell, he’s been on a few jobs with me since then. Bring him on specifically if I know it’ll be a big one,”

“Do you still talk to him?” It doesn't even sound like your voice when it leaves your lips. 

It's muted and pathetic. You feel dizzy. Not the dizzy Joel made you feel. In a way that you're sure you're losing the color in your face.

Do you tell him?

Do you tell Joel?

“Every now and then, yeah. He keeps to himself. Quiet. Solid worker though. Don't know what the hell he's doing in maintenance, but that's Joel. Likes laying low. He’ll die standin’ up, he’s hard headed like that. One of those guys who always says less than he knows, but when he says something? You listen.”

You swallow hard.

You’ve been aching to learn more about Joel since he closed the door behind him. The last thing you wanted was your Dad being the one to fill you in.

“I can see that.”

He doesn't notice your stunned silence. He continues to walk around, even sits with you on your couch for a while and tells you about work. You nod and hum, smile when it's needed. You're not paying attention though.

He's your Dads friend. He has no idea who you are.

Did he lie? Does he know who you are?

“Alright, kid. I'll get outta your hair.” He says, clasping a hand on your shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

You both stand. You follow him to the door with a forced smile. 

“Hey, if you see Joel again, tell him I say hey. Maybe I’ll catch him sometime.”

He's so blissfully unaware of the bomb he just dropped.

You nod your head and thank him, giving him a hug. 

You're standing in silence by your door again. This time for a very different reason. Your heart is in your throat, fingers numb. You let him in, you touched him. He touched you. He is your dads friend. Your dad.

He can't know. He would've said something. He wouldn't have touched me if he did. 

Would you have touched him if you knew?

You start pacing in your living room, hand over your mouth. You need to see him. You need to ask if he knows. No- you can't ask. If you ask, it ruins the chance of it happening again. Will it happen again after you tell him? But what if he finds out? 

You need to see Joel. The desire is physical. Your skin aches and your chest is tight.

He has to know now. He has to. And if he didn't before, he will soon.

But then what?

Late that night you sat at your desk, his Facebook profile on your laptop, mouse hovering over the ‘Add Friend’ button for at least an hour. The skin around your nails picked raw. You can't friend him on here, that's insane. He's going to think you're crazy, and then you're gonna drop an insane bomb on him and it will scare him away. You take a deep breath. You need to think this over, you need to be careful.

You feel physically ill. The feeling has been sitting heavy in your chest since your dad left days ago. It's been almost a week since Joel kissed you in your room. It doesn't help that you're alone. You're doing what you can to distract yourself. Applying to jobs, taking walks, reading and bingeing some old horror movies. But no matter what you're doing you catch yourself imagining Joel doing them with you. You imagine he's laid into the couch with you, big hands skating up and down your legs. Or he's walking beside you under the shady trees.

It's wrong to think like that now, he's your dads friend, you have to keep reminding yourself. Joel hasn't contacted you. You don't even think he has a way. 

You’re grateful when Ellie calls you, breaking the internal back and forth you've had going on for the past few days. She facetimes you.

“Heyyyyy.” Ellie's voice rings through the living room for the first time in over a week.

You smile widely when you see her face. Her freckles are prominent. This is probably the longest she's spent in the sun in some time.

“Hey! How is it there?” You say, holding your phone up so she can see your face.

“It's great, honestly. Wait- lemme show you this.” She grunts while getting up, you assume.

The camera is shaky and Ellie is cropped pretty much fully out of the screen. You can see the sky, it's a beautiful shade of blue and there are no clouds in the frame.

The opposite of here, you think. There has been a dark, angry cloud hanging since you woke up this morning. It even smelled like it was going to rain.

“Dina!” You hear Ellie shout.

“Wait a second I’m gonna get Dina to show you.” Ellie peers down to her phone briefly, cueing you into what's going on in Montana.

You laugh and nod your head even though she's not looking.

Suddenly Dina’s face comes into frame. 

“I can't believe you’re alive after the other night.” Dina laughs and you laugh with her.

“Me either, to be honest, it was bad.”

Ellie shifts the phone so you're looking at her now, her brows are furrowed and eyes squinted, the bright sun warming her face.

“Ready to see this? Fuckin’ nuts.” Ellie raises her eyebrows.

“Yesss. I’m ready.” You say. 

Ellie flips the camera and your jaw drops.

There's sheep.

A lot of them.

Standing and grazing, strolling and some were walking around, overlapped bleatings spilling out of your phones speaker.

“What the fuck?” You say, in awe.

You hear Dina and Ellie laugh on the other end.

“I knew her family had a farm but this is fucking nuts, right?!” Ellie shouts, out of view.

Ellie walks around, sheep around her hips, Dina coming into frame every now and then as Ellie shows off the farm life.

“Dina, how did you not tell me this before?” You gawk.

There has to be a hundred of them if not more.

“Don’t know. This is what I grew up with, just slips my mind that people find it so fascinating sometimes.” She says lightly and chuckles.

Ellie flips the camera back to her face and angles the camera high, holding it sideways. She squints one eye and looks into the camera with a wide smile.

“Sick, right? Got me a cowgirl.” Ellie muses and you see Dina’s hand push her shoulder in the corner of the frame.

You laugh.

It is beautiful. 

You are beyond happy for Ellie. She met Dina in the start of sophomore year and they have been inseparable ever since. Dina is a good contrast to Ellie. Keeps her in line and focused on the important shit that Ellie sometimes lets slip through the cracks.

“Aw, fuck. Am I frozen? Can you hear me?”  Ellie mutters while pulling the camera close to her face, her brows drawn together in concentration.

You shake your head.

“I can hear you, sorry.” You smile at her pinched up face.

“Oh okay. What have you been up to? Has the dryer been fine since that guy came to fix it?” Ellie asks, you can hear hay crunching under her feet, the creaking of a porch door and suddenly she's inside. 

That guy.

You let out a soft sigh, stomach twisting at the thought of Joel, your Dads friend. Clearly you don’t hide your emotions well because Ellie doesn’t let you respond.

“Aw, fuck. What happened?” She sighs, propping her phone up as she bops around the kitchen.

“No- nothing. Nothing happened. The dryer is fine. I told you about the light bulb, he came and replaced it last week. Everything has been good.” That's a lie. 

Nothing has been good. Your mind is constantly racing, your chest is heavy and your stomach is queasy. You want to unload everything onto Ellie, but you hesitate. 

Are you in the wrong? 

You made out with your Dads friend and didn’t tell either of them. 

You didn’t know at that point though. It feels wrong because you want to do more than that. 

Would Ellie think it's gross? 

Is it gross that you find him attractive? 

No. 

You don’t want to think like that. Gross is the last word that comes to your mind when you think of Joel. Joel is handsome. You don’t think you’ve seen a man quite as handsome as him. He’d look good in anything. 

Ellie pauses and looks at you through the phone for a moment before shrugging her shoulders.

“Well. Whatever it is, you’re not hiding it well. I’ll be home in no time. Maybe I can sneak one of these sheep on the plane. We can keep it.” Ellie gets close to the camera and smiles widely. 

You and Ellie continue to facetime for sometime. She tells you about handling the farm and finally meeting Dina’s extended family. Her parents have come to visit a few times and would come around. They were kind, gentle people. You know where Dina gets it from. Ellie tells you about the barn cat that lives there, how Dina’s sister begs it to come in the house every night, and it refuses- won’t even pass the threshold of the porch. You’d much rather have the life of a barn cat right now. Coming and going as you please, prancing through tall grass and pestering sheep as the days pass by. Having someone beg you to come be safe and warm in their hold. 

The sky is dark by the time Ellie says her goodbye. The dark lingering cloud from earlier has spread, soaking up every inch of blue that tried to peek through. You walked a loop around the house, making sure all of the windows are shut and locked. Last thing you need is rainwater seeping in.

When it comes, it comes fast. Fat, heavy droplets hit the cement, soaking it through. You stand by the large bay window, curtains drawn back to watch. Puddles forming in the streets and in the patches of grass by the sidewalk. You see lightning in the distance and a low thunder rumbles a few seconds later. Wind blows the trees and its leaves scatter, twisting through the air to smack wetly into whatever surface it's being thrown into. 

You leave the curtain open and settle yourself on the couch, curling up with a blanket. You snatch up the remote and search through movies on streaming apps until you settle on Pet Sematary. You love this movie and its perfect vibes for stormy nights. A comfort movie. That's what you needed after the week of inner rambling.

The lightning gets more frequent, thunder gets louder. This is bliss. Your head is empty for the first time in a week. Quiet, despite the shattering thunder and heavy rain outside. No sweating over job applications and their lack of responses. You’re pushing your internal struggle to the side to enjoy some movies in the comfy atmosphere. 

Enjoying it is an understatement. You are lulled to sleep by the thud of rain against the outside of the house, the occasional flicker of lightning filling the room for a split second and illuminating all that is inside. A particularly loud pang of thunder jolts you out of your sleep state. You gasp and clutch a fist to your heaving chest. It takes a moment for you to regain your bearings. You rub your tired eyes and stretch out of the couch.

An earth shattering boom steals all the breath in your lungs. A mechanical whir sounds before every light in your living room clicks off.

“Fucking-” The bright ball of orange barely visible over the top of the building outside your window catches your attention.

TV is off, overhead lights, the fan in the living room. All of it is off. Transformer blown. Great. You whine softly and pull your phone from your hoodie pocket and click the flashlight on, sighing in relief that you have a decent amount of battery left. You go around and turn all of the lightswitches that were on, off. Something your Dad always told you to do, and it stuck. While you do that you gather all of the candles you see, silently thanking Ellie for keeping so many from her dorm room. You’ve collected nearly ten of them, scattered them around the living room. On the TV stand, the coffee table, windowsill and the rest were scattered on the floor. The room was glowing in flickering orangey, red light. It felt cozy. 

You settle yourself back into the corner of the couch once you're content with the ample lighting from the candles. All of the smells mix together to make something comforting even though you can't put your finger on it. You tuck your bare legs inside your hoodie, balling up and tugging the throw blanket over yourself. You keep the curtains drawn on the bay window and you shuffle to face them, heavy lidded eyes boring out into the monsoon.

The thunder roared closer and closer together, each time it jolted your eyes open in surprise. The vibration of your phone catching you off guard. It was just a photo from Ellie. A picture of her and Dina with the beautiful blue sky you saw earlier on her facetime call. You quickly snap a picture of your current situation, the stark contrast in the skies alone was comical. Before you can press send three consecutive bangs make your heart jump. You’re sitting up straight, eyes wide. That wasn’t thunder. You’ve heard that before but theres no fucking way. You quickly stand, bare feet padding on the hardwood floor. You’re aware of the chill in the air when your bare legs are exposed from their warm spot under your hoodie and the blanket not long ago. You approach the door and crack it. The red emergency light is casting shadows onto the figure in front of you while you swallow the lump in your throat.

Joel?

The past two times he's been here the sun has been illuminating his golden features. You open the door widen, your lips parted in awe, or disbelief, you can't tell which one right now as you take him in.

Joel Miller.

At your door right now, dripping and sputtering rain water off of his beautiful lips when he speaks up.

“M’truck stalled ‘bout a block out. My wipers were losin’ the fight anyways. Couldn’t see a damn thing. Didn’t know where else to go to wait it out.” He projects his voice over the loud rainfall and rumbles in the sky.

“You’re soaked.” Is all you can spit out.

He nods his head, the rain soaking his hair a darker color and plastering thick strands of curls to his face. Common sense smacks you in the face as you stand there dry and he’s continuously getting beat on by rain.

“Come in.” You blurt out and back up, allowing him space to walk into the entryway.

“Y’don’t mind?” He says while ducking in looking sheepish.

“Y-You can come in. It's not like I have electricity to offer but-”

“Dark and dry is better than soaked n’ blind on the road.”

You close the door behind him, the wind chilling you to the bone. You shiver as you lock it up. You take a step back and take him in. Standing in your entryway, his dark t-shirt soaked even darker and clinging to his skin. You’re jealous of it. Fat drops of rain slide down the curves of his curls and drip down the sides of his face. They roll from his temple and down his strong jaw, getting muddled in his beard hairs. Roll from the curls tucked behind his ear, down the thick vein in his neck and pool at his collar before slowly being absorbed into the fabric. You swallow hard to prevent yourself from drooling.

Joel stands there in silence, soaked through. His eyes adjust to the warmth of the candle light, adoring the way it flickers across your soft features. You look comfortable, big hoodie hanging from your frame, bare legs on display again. He takes an extra second to let his eyes linger at the curve of your thighs, where his hand was merely a week ago. He remembers how soft, plush and warm they were. He’s getting carried away, he needs to stop. He pulls his attention away from the exposed skin and settles them onto your face again. Your eyes look tired, a pang of guilt hits deep in his chest, did he wake you? His brows start to saddle together before you yip quietly. He’s been dripping onto the tile, a decent sized puddle forming around him, the cold water spreading and finally making contact with your foot. It pulled you both out of the trance you seemed to be in. He looks down to see just that.

“I’m sorry-”

“I’m gonna get you a towel.” 

You both speak over each other. You don't acknowledge his apology, there's nothing for him to apologize for, it should be you. You can't imagine how cold he must be if you got goosebumps from that one gust of wind. Joel is soaked to the bone.

You make quick work of the stairs, grabbing a handful of towels, making sure there's enough for him, and enough to soak up the puddle on the floor. Just as quick as you went up, you came back down, shoving the fluffy bath towels to his chest. His wet fingers brush yours and the way your body jolts doesn't go unnoticed by Joel. You seem twitchy and guarded. He feels shameful, is it because he almost laid you down on your bed before getting up and practically running out of there? Or was it because he did that and then had zero contact with you since then. The latter. No shit, Joel.

“Thank you.” 

Joel kicks off his boots and peels off his soggy socks, drying himself with the towels you so generously provided. You stand in the living room and watch, practically gawking. He tosses the towel over his head and brings his hands up to scruff up his hair underneath. He pulls the towel off and runs his thick hands through his wet, messy hair.

Fuck, it looks beautiful. Is this what he looks like after a shower? Beautiful curls slicked back from a push of his hand, coiling at the back of his neck. Smaller curls falling around his temples as they broke loose from larger chunks. He holds that towel over his forearm, stepping back as you take the other to sop up the puddle between the two of you. You fold it and leave it next to the door, picking up his boots carefully and setting them on top of the folded towel. You stand up straight and brush your hands on your hoodie. 

Joel is watching you move. He realized within the past week he hadn’t taken enough time to study you the short times he was here. Or maybe the way you looked at him while kneeling on your bed was just so significant he couldn’t remember anything else while he’d touch himself in bed at night. His heart skips a beat at the thought. 

Do you feel the same way? Are you lying in bed at night, hand between your thighs because you can’t get him out of your head? Or is he stuck in a fantasy world? Maybe he should just ask. But he doesn’t want to scare you away.

 He has to give himself a reality check. The last words you spoke to him before he left last week was reassuring him that you wanted that, too. It didn't feel real to him. Too precious, careful and beautiful. The way your face is hidden behind your hair as you bend over, your delicate hand coming to tuck a lock behind your ear. So soft. He did that the last time he was here. The way you carefully pick up his boots and place them down without a noise. He flexes his fingers not realizing that he was making a fist so tight that his blunt nails left indents in the fleshy heel of his palm.

“You’re still all wet.” You speak up finally, frowning at him.

Fuck, theres that face again. That face makes his chest throb. He wants to cup your rosy cheeks in his big hands and plant his lips right on that pout.

Joel shrugs his shoulders. “S’okay. Better than before.”

He is proud of himself for keeping his cool as far as his exterior goes.

“Actually, our dryer works now, thanks to you. I can toss them in there if you’d like.” You offer, neither of you have moved yet.

Both of you standing still, a few feet apart. You feel like he’s holding something back. The tension is thick and you want to climb him like a tree right now but you need to remind yourself what this past week has been like for you. Making yourself so stressed over a simple make out because he knows your Dad. You need to hold yourself together at least until you tell him. He’s standing here- wet and real and quiet- and he doesn’t know you’re your fathers daughter.

He chuckles and nods his head once before realization settles over him.

“I don’t have nothin’ to change into. Don’t think your lil’ shirts would fit me. Also, don’t know if you remember, but the power is out. I’m good at fixin’ but not good enough that the dryer would start workin’ with no power, sweetheart.” He says and his lips twitch like he's holding back a smile.

His shoulders relax as he breathes out. Your stomach tightens at his comment. The lil’ shirt you wore for him last week. The too tight one that showed just a little bit of your tummy? 

Joel is talking about that little black shirt and he doesn’t miss the look on your face when you piece that together. He has a feeling you put that on just for him the other day. It hugged your torso beautifully. But Joel's favorite part of that shirt wasn't the way it settled on your skin, but rather the places it didn't. The neck of it swooped to show off your cleavage- don’t get it twisted but that part that really does his knees in was the bit of your tummy that was showing. That sliver of skin was enough to keep him going this past week. He desperately wanted his hands there again, tracing aimlessly or sprawling his broad palms there.

You swallow down the lump in your throat, holding your hands together in front of you and squeezing the absolutely living shit out of them to keep yourself from reaching out and grabbing him.

“I’ve got something of Jesse’s. I’ll be back.” You were quick with your words and even quicker to run up the steps.

Jesse? 

Who the fuck is Jesse?

He knows your roommate is Ellie, that's who placed the first work order. Wait, he's heard you mutter that name before, right before he carried your dresser upstairs. This Jesse told you he wouldn't be able to come and help you move the dresser until later, Joel didn't stop to ask the question then, he just wanted to help you. Wouldn't you stop him from kissing you if you had a boyfriend?

Woah now- Don’t jump to conclusions, he's nervous and getting himself all twisted over such a small detail. He unknits his brows when you come puttering down the steps again, holding your hand out with clothes. Joel swallows with enough force you can watch his Adam's apple bob. You show him a kind smile, gesturing the clothes towards him when he doesn't take them right away.

“Here, they should fit. If you wanna go to the bathroom and change, I can hang your wet stuff up. Is that okay?”

Joel hates how awkward he's being. But now he can't stop thinking about whose clothes he's taking. His eyes flicker from the clump of clothes to your face. You are bold, but certainly not bold enough to offer up your boyfriend's clothes to him to change into, right?

Joel gives a tight smile.

“Thank you.” His voice is hoarse as he grabs the clothes.

“Bathroom is at the top of the steps, it's the first door right there.” You say and point to it from the bottom of the steps.

Joel nods his head and makes his way up the steps as gracefully as he can in soaking wet jeans. The second the bathroom door closes you blow a fat breath through your lips. You’re so fucking tense right now. You are beyond conflicted and the coil in the pit of your belly grows taught the longer you look at him. Quickly, you give your living room a once over. No trash or anything extremely embarrassing lying around. You make quick work of his clothes, writing them out in the kitchen sink before laying them over the backs of your kitchen chairs, making your way back into the living room. You close your eyes and steady your breathing while you wait for him.

You hear heavy footsteps shortly after. Joel doesn't see you in the entryway anymore, he cranes his head around the archway into the living room and pulls his lips in a tight smile when he sees you. He takes a step forward, bringing his body past the threshold to stand in front of you, his wet clothes in hand. They’re dripping onto the hardwood floor. Soft pattering is a grave difference compared to the beating your windows are taking from the rain. You’re not even giving him the decency to look him in the face right now. The sweatpants look to be a decent fit, maybe a little tight around his thighs but you’re not arguing. What catches you off guard and knocks the wind from your lungs is the shirt. Your eyes are trained on his broad chest. You don't even know if he could take a deep breath in this thing, that's how tight it is. The outline of his soft belly makes your heart throb.

Okay, reel it in.

God, his arms. You think if he moved the right way they’d rip right through the fabric.

This is just as lewd as him in the wet t-shirt.

Joel clears his throat and you snap out of it. You snatch his wet clothes out of his hands, letting him know that you’ll be right back. When you disappear down to the basement Joel turns to look outside. It doesn't look like it has let up at all. He rolls his shoulders before crossing his arms over his chest. This shirt is fucking too small. Is it odd that this offers Joel some confidence? That if Jesse is your boyfriend, Joel is bigger than him. It strokes his ego. His head whips around when he hears your bare feet pad against the hardwood floor.

Holy shit, his arms are huge. You thought they were big before. While they are crossed over his chest in front of you, they look about double the size of your head, you think. 

“How long has the power been out?” Joel breaks the heavy silence.

You nod your head and gesture to all of the candles around.

“Went out a little before you knocked. You didn’t hear the transformer? Grateful Ellie has a bunch of these or else we’d be sittin’ here in the pitch black.” You smile, walking over to the couch.

“You can sit, y’know.” You tell him while taking a seat in the corner of the couch.

Joel hums in appreciation before lowering his body onto the couch next to you. The couch isn't big. It can fit three people comfortably, four is everyones willing to be touching knees. But Joel is so big and broad, you don’t know if you could fit four people on here with him being one of them. You turn slightly to face him, hands nervously picking at a loose string on your sleeve.

“Are the clothes okay?” 

Joel clears his throat and nods, thoughts of this Jesse lingering in the back of his mind. He wants to ask, but doesnt want to seem like he's jumping down your throat. It's a fine line he's walking. 

“Lil’ tight up top.” He chuckles, leaning into the armrest of the couch, knees spreading apart from the other. “They’re fine. Thank you again. For all’a this. Dryin’ my clothes n’ letting me barge in like this.” 

You laugh softly before your features soften to something more genuine.

“Yeah, of course.” 

Pliant silence falls over the both of you. Illuminated by the orange flickering glow that licks over both of your features. It casts heavy shadows, emphasizing each curve. The storm is still rolling strong. Lightning paints the room white every few minutes and the thunder that follows after rattles the windows. The both of you pretend to look at everything else but each other. Stolen glances making your heart skip when he almost catches you.

“S’Jesse your boyfriend?” Joel finally breaks the silence.

His eyes widen at your expression. Your face pinched in confusion. You stuttered on your words a bit before choking out a light laugh and shaking your head. You held your hands up, palms towards him and shook them.

“No! Jesse? God- no. He’s friends with Ellie and I.” You toss your head back and laugh a little more.

Joel closes his eyes and sighs, relief visibly relaxing his frame. Your laugh radiates between his ears and he can’t help the smile spreading his lips, a low chuckle of his own rumbling from his chest. It was infectious. He much prefers this over the pouty face you put on earlier.

“Don’t you think your last visit would’ve gone a little differently if he was?” Your laugh settles and you turn your attention back to him.

You’re taking the opportunity to chop at the tension. If he’s gonna be here until the storm calms down, you don’t want to sit in heavy silence the whole time. 

Joel's chest grows tight. You’re bringing it up. He can’t read the way you’re bringing that up. Is it laced with regret or want? You told him you wanted that, but that was a week ago. There has been zero communication from that point until now. He’d be lying if he said that week wasn’t spent waiting for another maintenance request to come in from you. He wouldn’t care if it was a lie. He wouldn’t care if it was as simple as changing another lightbulb. He wanted to see you. He thought showing up out of the blue was uncalled for and probably scary for you. But that's exactly what he did tonight. It felt different even if he was justifying it for his own selfish reasons. 

Joel shrugs his shoulders, hesitant to meet your eyes, afraid of the distaste he might find in them. When he does meet them, there isn’t any. He narrows his eyes in concentration, maybe the lighting is hiding it. You give him an expectant look, waiting for his response. He doesn’t find any distaste. He sees soft and kind. Welcoming. 

“It should’ve gone differently for ‘nother reason.” He swallows thickly, wiping his sweaty palms over his thighs before settling them in his lap. 

That hits you like a ton of bricks. What could he mean by that? You want to question him but your Dad’s voice is bouncing around in your brain. They’re friends. 

“This is normal, right? Casual stormy hangouts with my building’s maintenance man.” You laugh softly, trying to bring some reality back to the conversation mostly to remind yourself who he is and that you shouldn’t be feeling the way you do.

“Is that what I am?” He raises his eyebrows, shifting his body more towards you, his arm closest to you swinging up to rest on the back of the couch.

You freeze. Your mouth is so dry, it’s uncomfortable. No, you want to tell him. That's not all he is. That's all he knows he is. If I tell him the truth this ends. He’ll be angry or uncomfortable. He’ll walk out. You won’t see him again, not like this at least. 

“You fixed the dryer.”

“I did.” He seems amused.

“And the lightbulb.”

His hand grips the cushion at the back of the couch, sighing softly while adjusting. He pushed his hips forward and slouched deeper into the couch.

“Want me to fix anythin’ else?” 

There it is. That same syrupy draw he had in your bedroom last week. When he called you beautiful. Your body reacts immediately. Your breath catches and your thighs press together. Yes, you want to scream. You want to tell him to make all the racing thoughts go quiet but you can’t. You can’t speak. The silence is comfortable despite you feeling like you could jump out of your skin. You wonder if he feels the same. 

Joel lets his question hang in the air. It’s thick. He likes watching you squirm in front of him. He slowly drags his palm along his thigh, resting it on his knee. His hand at the back of the couch hangs there. He’s inches from you and he’s fighting every urge to reach out and actually touch you. Feel the way your soft skin gives way under his grasp. 

He can tell you hold a lot on your shoulders. You’re jittery and always huffing breaths. An anxious lil’ thing. He wants to make you forget about whatever it is you’re stressing about. He wants to quiet the non stop in your brain. Joel wants to make you feel good. 

“Joel. There's something I need to-“

“Don’t say it.” His voice is low, rough like gravel soaked in honey.

You freeze. Fuck, does he know?

“If you’re about to tell me that kiss was a mistake- don’t.”

‘Because I’ve been telling myself not to think about it. Not to want it again. But I do. I want it like hell.’ Is what he wants to tell you. He’s afraid if he said that, you’d tell him it means nothing. He would have to believe you. And he doesn’t want to.

You open your mouth, lips shaped around the words to tell him about your Dad. Just say it. Say he knows your father. That he’s your dad’s friend. That you shouldn’t have kissed him, or liked it, or thought about it every hour since.

Just say it.

You don’t.

“Joel-“

‘Don’t tell me something that makes me stop. Let me have this. Let me give this to you. One goddamn thing that feels good again.’ Joel hopes his expression is conveying his emotions because they’re too big to tell you so soon.

“I keep thinking about the way you taste.” Joel settles on that. 

Your eyes are wide. With one swift movement Joel is close to you on the couch. You don’t move just yet. If you let him kiss you, you can’t take it back. If you tell him who you are, this ends. But if you lie? If you lie, maybe you get to keep him for just a little longer. 

Joel's thick fingers wrap around your wrist, pulling you closer. You lean into his touch, your shoulder brushing against his chest. 

“You don’t have to say anything, darlin’. Just let me kiss you one more time.” 

“Joel..” You say his name again in a whisper, eyes locked onto his lips.

You don’t stop him when he leans in closer, you lean in and kiss him. Joel's broad hands cup your cheeks. He kisses you hungrily, like he’s a man ten years starved. Just like the first time, you melt into his touch and twist your hands up in the fabric of his too tight shirt. You’re soft and pliable in Joel's hands. You’ve got him tied up in knots and you don’t even know it. 

Joel angels the kiss downwards, shifting on the couch to crane over you. His broad shoulders shadow your frame as he pulls back from the kiss, his warm breath puffing over your face. Your eyes are blown black. Wide like saucers. Cheeks are flushed.

A second later Joel's hands are gone from your cheeks and he’s settled back into the cushion of the couch, his chest rising and falling quicker than before. You’re frozen. You feel like the worst person alive. But you want him so badly you’d lie to your fathers face to keep this. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t want this. Didn’t need this. You want to give into him. 

You don’t know if it's because it’s been so long since you’ve been touched like this, or maybe it’s because no one has ever touched you like Joel does. There's been boys here or there making comments, Owen specifically being persistent but you didn’t feel like that with any of them. Joel is looking at you right now like he could eat you alive. It makes you feel good. Makes you feel wanted. You couldn’t name the last time someone has made you feel that way. You can’t wrap your head around anything further than kissing him, it’d feel too surreal. But you want it, badly. 

Joel evens his breathing from the other side of the couch, his eyes still trained on you. Everywhere on you. Your face, your shaky hands, the curve of your thigh disappearing under your hoodie.

“C’mere.” He gruffs.

His voice almost startles you, too lost in your own head. You furrow your eyebrows and scoot a little closer on the couch.

Joel sucks his teeth and shakes his head, leaning into the back of the couch and spreading his thighs apart. His hands rest at his thighs.

“No. C’mere darlin’.” He draws, tapping his fingers on his lap.

Excitement jolts through your spine and curls around your belly. You bring yourself to your knees, shuffling closer before slinging your knee over his lap. Joel's thick fingers wrap around the side of your knee, guiding it over his lap and letting it sink into the cushion. You’re straddling him, hovering over his lap.

His other hand rests on the top of your opposite thigh, his calloused thumb rubbing small, lazy circles into your skin. Joel doesn’t ignore the way your breath hitches when he does that. A coy smirk plays at the corner of his lips while he relaxes into the cushions behind him.

You swallow thickly, eyes darting around his face frantically. The soft creases by the corners of his eyes. The way the grey in his hair seeps into his beard, speckling through the dark hairs. Your body jolts, nerves heightened, the earth cracking thunder rumbling through the house. Joel puts his hands at your hips, pressing his fingers into you through the fabric of your hoodie.

“Easy.. Relax.” He says smoothly, putting pressure on your hips to coax you to settle on his lap. 

You gladly comply, his words twisting your belly. Letting your thighs relax, all of your weight settled in his lap with a quiet groan. The weight of his hands at your hips, the stretch of the inside of your thighs as they entrap the width of his hips. Hands are pressed against his shoulders, fingertips pressing into his muscle. You feel arousal pooling at your center.

“M’gonna make you feel good, yeah?” He nods his head, his low voice is breathless.

Your shoulders crumple, muscles in your tummy contracting, his words affecting you physically. With brows saddled together, you nodded your head. One of your hands ball his shirt in your fist.

“Lemme hear you, baby.” Joel growls. 

“Y-Yeah. Yes. Please.” You huff out, nodding again. 

“Good girl.”

Joel swallows your whimper, not giving you a second before planting his lips on yours. His lips are soft and warm against yours. He wastes no time to drag his tongue along your lower lip. You part your lips willingly, tongue meeting his and moving rhythmically. Joel's hands push your hips, grinding you down into his lap. His cock is hard beneath the sweatpants, throbbing against your clothed core as you respond to the coax of his hands. You slowly dragged your hips back and forth, rolling them against his lap and whining quietly against his lips. 

Joel pressed his teeth into the flesh of your lower lip, tilting his head back before letting it snap back into place and pressing a wet kiss there to soothe it. The whine that drew from you hit him deep in his stomach. 

“God, listen to you.” He muses with a lazy smirk on his lips. “Soundin’ real pretty.”

Fuck, you didn’t know you have a praise kink until now. Your face pinches up when the pang of pleasure is sent through your core, settling low and adding to the slick between your legs. Lightning illuminates the room for a split second before it returns to its orangey, flickering hue. 

Joel's hands slide under the fabric of your hoodie.

“Keep movin’.” He encourages you as your hips sputter when his hands leave.

“O-okay.” You breathe out.

Your fist tightens, tugging at his shirt. Warm, rough hands meet the bare skin of your torso and your breath hitches. A low groan rumbles from Joel's chest. You’re melting against him and he’s barely touched you yet. He wants to see you unravel from his doing. Joel doesn’t mind being greedy in this setting. He wants to take everything you’ll give to him. He gets off on seeing you lose yourself in pleasure, grinding into his lap.

His hands slip farther up your skin, fingers wrapping at the spot under your ribs, thumbs rubbing in small circles on your exposed skin. His grip tightens as he bucks his hips into yours. A broken moan is ripped from your chest, the pressure against your soaked cunt sending stars across your eyes. Thunder cracks and the padding of rain hiding your uneven breaths.

“Make yourself feel good.” He commands, voice softening. 

Your hips stutter, his request making you nervous. Make yourself feel good, using him? Red creeps up your neck and spreads over your cheeks. Lightning lights up the room.

“Don’t get all shy on me now, baby. Go on n’ take what you need.” He rasps, pulling your torso into his.

His lips ghost the shell of your ear, heaving chests just inches apart.

“Let me hear you.” He coaxes for your words again.

The only response you could muster was a whine of his name and, fuck, Joel grips your ribs harder, restraining himself from fucking up into you again. He meant it when he said he wanted you to take what you need. He wanted to watch you pant, whine and chase after your high. He wasn’t worried about his own physical pleasure right now. Watching you repeatedly circle your hips into his was pleasure enough for him. It makes his chest tighten, throat dry up and his cock pulse.

Joel slips one of his hands over your clothed breast, pressing his finger pads into the fleshy bit that spills out of the top of your sports bra.

“Fuck- Joel.” You whimper, your hand that isn’t gripping his t-shirt moves quickly to lace itself in his damp hair. 

“That feel good, pretty girl?”

He’s throwing new pet names your way and if you were standing they’d make your knees buckle. 

“Feels. R-Really. Really good.” You stutter out, jaw falling slack.

“That's it, baby.” He praises, letting his head rest against the back of the couch to take you in.

He kneads his hand into your tit, palm rubbing against your hardened nipple beneath the fabric. You arch your back, pushing your chest further into his hand. Your hips buck into his hard on as pressure builds in your core. The room is filled with wanton moans and the soft squelch of wet fabric sticking to your slick cunt. Joel's eyes never leave you. They linger at your mouth to make sure he doesn’t miss any of the noises that spill out. The constant thud of rain fading from his brain as he focuses everything he has on you.

Babbled words spill from your plump, glossy lips. Joel's fingers curl around the cup of your sports bra and tugs down, letting your boob spill out of the restraining fabric. His palm immediately goes back to work on your bare breast, kneading and pushing his palm into the soft flesh.

“Speak up.” He tells you. 

“Joel-“

“Yes, baby?”

“Please.” You beg quietly. 

Not for anything specific. The coil in the pit of your stomach has been tightening, it's threatening to snap and you need to feel him. He’s cool and collected from what you can tell and the imbalance turns you on even more. How can he be so put together and grounding when he’s unwinding you thread by thread? Making you a glassy eyed, whimpering mess on his lap. 

“Tell me what you need. Wanna hear you.” He gruffs.

“Touch me.” You blurt out breathlessly.

Joel tuts and shakes his head.

“Be more specific.” He commands.

You crane your head into your shoulder and whine in frustration, hips sputtering against his. Your slick has soaked through your panties, sleep shorts and it's begun bleeding into the crotch of Joel's sweatpants. He can feel how warm you are even through all the layers.

“Fuck. You’re soaked, hm?” 

You nod your head in a hurry. His thumb brushes over your nipple and you whine.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout you all week.” He whispers and leans in, pressing a hot kiss to your temple.

You collapse into him, your full weight on him.

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve touched myself to the thought of you this past week,” Your name leaves his lips effortlessly.

His words beat into your core. The thought of Joel touching himself in his bed to the thought of you drives you crazy. When you’re able to form coherent thoughts you’ll tell him you’ve done the same. But none of that felt half as good as this does.

“T-Touch-“ Was all you were able to get out again.

Joel's lips press hot, open mouth kisses to your jaw and just below it, nipping there before dragging the flat of his tongue over it. His thick forefinger and thumb rolling your nipple slowly before tugging. 

“Alright, baby. I got you.” You mutter against your damp skin, his breath fanning over the wet spot sent a shiver down your spine. 

While one of his hands stays kneading your breast, the other travels from your ribs and smoothes over the curve of your ass, gripping it tightly. It doesn’t stay there long as it slips down your thigh, raking his dull nails against your sensitive skin and back up, his large hand sprawling against your lower stomach, thumb pushing between your folds. You cry out a moan, your forehead falling onto his broad, warm shoulder. Joel cranes his thumb, pressing into the soaked fabric and making contact with your clit. You sink your teeth into your lower lip, fighting the noises that threaten to fall past it. You hand curls into his hair and tugs, eliciting a moan from him.

Joel's hand palms your breast, pulling your bra down once more to give him more freedom, gripping it roughly before returning to teasing and rolling your hardened nipple

“Joel- I’m c-close, please. I’m gon-“ You whine your heavy breaths fanning out over his neck.

“Give it to me.” He says slowly, your ‘please’ making him feel dizzy.

Your hips buck forward and fall out of rhythm as you grow closer.

“Atta girl. Doin’ so good for me.” 

His praises push you closer to the edge.

“Go ‘head n’ cum for me, pretty girl.” He rasps.

That's all it takes. 

Your eyes screw shut, white streaks flooding the back of your lids. You cum, hard. Stomach is hot, muscles twitch and tighten under your skin. A slew of moans and his name leave your lips, muffled by you pressing your face into his shoulder. He releases your breast, that hand settles on your hip, takes over for you and he grinds you into him to ride out your high. Your breath hitches as his thumb adds more pressure. The feeling of fresh arousal seeping quickly through the already soaked fabric. He continues to work your hips, slowing them down as he feels your thighs twitch and torso quiver. 

“You did so good.” He whispers into your hair, pressing a soft kiss there.

You whine in response and again when he pulls his glistening thumb away. He wipes it at the inside of your thigh before wrapping both of his strong arms around your shaking frame. The whooshing between your ears making everything sound far away, the rain, low rumble of thunder at the storm moves farther, his deep, syrupy voice. 

“I gotcha, baby. Relax.” 

You do. Deep inhale and exhale causes you to fold deeper into him.

“Thank you.” Is all you can muster.

Your body rises and falls with Joel's chest that shakes with a low chuckle. The two of you sit there like that for a moment, chests swelling and falling opposite the other. Fitting together nicely. You shift on his lap, thighs burning from the stretch and you feel him still hard under you. You whine quietly at the feeling, still sensitive from your high. You shift farther back onto his thighs, drawing distance between you, your hands smoothing over his shoulders and onto his chest. Joel lifts his head and furrows his eyebrows, watching you carefully.

Your hands skate lower, down his torso and pressed into the soft of his belly.

“What’re you gettin’ up to?” He questions.

“Wanna make you feel good, too.” You respond in a quiet voice.

Joel smiles warmly but shakes his head.

“Uh-uh. Don’t worry about me, darlin’. Watchin’ you made me feel plenty good.”

Your face pinches in confusion. He doesn’t want you to touch him? Your body fills with an anxious driven pit.

“Did I do something wrong?” You ask. Pulling your hands back from his torso and wrapping them around your own to comfort yourself.

Joel quickly shakes his head and reaches out to grab your hands, placing them on your thighs, and his hands over yours.

“Not at all. You did good, told you just that.” He murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss to your kiss. “Y’looked like a hurt puppy earlier, wanted to make whatevers goin’ on in that busy lil’ mind a’ yours quiet for a while.” He presses another kiss there before leaning back into the cushion.

Your eyes soften. He just wanted to make you feel good with nothing in return? Your expression is clear to Joel.

“You’re breakin’ my heart, baby.” He brings a hand up to cup your warmed cheek. “These lil’ college boys always expect somethin’ in return, hm?”

You nod your head into his palm slowly.

“Don’t worry your pretty lil’ head ‘bout me. Just relax.” His voice is slow and sweet.

You try to. Your tired body does, but your mind is still racing. He said you looked like a hurt puppy earlier. Are you really worrying over your Dad that loudly in your expression? Enough for him to notice in this flickering candle light? His hand runs smoothly over your back, quieting your rambling thoughts. Your body is heavy and it feels like there's weights wrapped around your wrists and ankles. So with a deep breath in and out you close your eyes and relax. You’re allowing yourself to have this and enjoy it, too.

You don’t remember when you fell asleep. You don’t remember walking up the steps and getting under your covers. But when you wake up that's where you are. Tucked under the covers in your bed still in your hoodie and shorts. You rub the sleep from your eyes and sit up, squinting. The sun is rising.

It takes a minute for your brain to wake up and its first thought is; Joel.

You throw the blanket off of your legs and hop out of bed on wobbly legs. You make it down the steps in record time and stand in the entryway, eyes blinking rapidly.

All of the candles are blown out and sitting on your coffee table. You take a few more steps, his clothes are no longer hanging on the back of your dining room chairs. A few more steps. The clock on the oven is blinking: 12:00. Powers back on.

“Joel?” You call out quietly.

You’re upset to not see him here. Even more upset that you fell asleep so easily on top of him, crumpled into his chest. There's an uneasy feeling trickling over your shoulders and settling at the top of your stomach like reality just hit you. Your lips still feel swollen from last night. You didn’t tell him last night.You actually made it so much worse for the both of you. The only difference is that Joel is blissfully unaware of it right now.

All you can smell is him. Rainwater and Joel soaked into your clothing. You need to get it off or else there's no way you’ll be able to do anything productive today. You trudge back up the stairs and into the bathroom, quickly shedding your clothing and turning the water on. Once warm you hop in and draw the curtain closed. It drips down your torso and over the source muscles of your thighs. You sigh quietly at the pull in them, running your hand over your skin.

You finish washing your hair and body. Strawberry scented body wash. No longer smelling like Joel. It makes you frown.

Hours later you sat at your desk, scrolling through your email at your computer monitor. Your eyes have been bored into this screen for what seems like hours. Responding to email threads, practically one step away from begging these companies to spare you a fucking internship. 

You express your frustrations to Ellie when she calls you on the phone after hearing about the big storm in your town last night.

“Did water get in anywhere?” She asks and you hear rustling over the phone line.

“Nope. Lost power but it came back sometime when I was asleep. Everything seems fine.” You tell her, leaving out the details of a certain visitor you had.

“Not too bad then. Hate to rub it in your face but all I’ve seen is clear skies since I got here.” She chuckles.

You roll your eyes playfully.

“It wasn’t too bad, really. Today isn’t as sticky hot now that that's over. That's a Plus.”

She tells you about Dina’s family and the farm. Tells you that she's never had a better scrambled egg in her entire life, Dina’s Mom is a pro apparently. She asks you about the internships and you tell her you’re fighting for your fucking life.

“It’s not even required hours, who cares.” She says, your name falling from her lips in a tut.

“I care. I just need something. Money and to keep my mind occupied.”

“If you need something then why not go back to Riverside?” Ellie suggests.

You groan at the thought. 

Riverside Diner was the job you scored when you first came to school in Austin. Local diner, decent size, gets a good amount of foot traffic and a ton of regular customers. When you say a ton, you mean it. During your first summer after your freshman year, you picked up more hours. Working five, sometimes six days a week when tourists would flood the city, rather than the one or two shifts a week. Everyday the same man would sit at the counter and order a coffee and a slice of pie. There was a woman who’d come in every Sunday afternoon with three younger girls. A boy around your age that you recognized from campus would come and get pancakes multiple times a week. You didn’t really notice all of the regulars when you were working part time during the school year. It felt like its own little town.

“Don’t groan at me.” Ellie sucks her teeth.

“I think I was just hell bent on getting an internship like everyone else this summer. It’s not a bad idea though.”

“It’s not at all. Frank always loved having you there anyway. He’d probably give you a shift the next day if you asked for it.” 

“You’re right. When are you coming back? This house is too quiet with just me.” You neglect the fact that it was anything but quiet last night. 

Despite the rain and the thunder, Joel had you a mess in minutes. You don’t tell her you let your dad’s friend touch you. And that it felt safe. And hot. Perfect.

“‘Bout ten days.”

You hear Dina’s voice on the other side of the line calling Ellie. With a small sigh Ellie says her goodbyes. She lets you know that she will text you later.

With that you’re sitting in silence at your desk again, mulling over the last 24 hours. You replay it like a movie, over and over again. His reassuring, coaxing words of praise. God, you could feel your panties dampen at the thought. 

Ellie set the last moving box down with a groan, leaning against the arched door frame and looking up to you.

“I guess not up to your standards, huh?” Ellie laughs breathily, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.

You frowned.

More than half of the apartment hasn’t been unpacked yet. Unopened boxes, towels in the wrong rooms, the broken lamp you told your dad you didn’t want leaning in the corner of the room.

Ellie walks further into the kitchen, grabbing a small speaker from her backpack, setting it near your feet on the counter. She whips her phone from her shorts, scrolling through it. A song bubbles quietly from the speaker. Ellie reaches over and turns it up, a smile working its way across her lips.

“Ya know what I say?” Ellie projects over the music, light on her feet as she starts bouncing to it.

You turn to look over your shoulder, both hands still on the light fixture, trying to scrub whatever the fuck is plastered to it. You don’t answer because she begins again.

“I say we throw a party so loud it scares the dust out of the ceiling.” She dances loosely over to you, standing just below you now, preening up to you.

“Full fuckin’ reset!” She shouts.

You side eye her.

“And attract our first noise complaint?” You say just loud enough over the music, dropping your arms from the light.

You turn to face her, still standing on the counter top.

Ellie turns the music down a few notches, so you’re able to have a conversation without straining over it.

“Exactly. Then we can weed out the snitch neighbors.” She says with a wide grin.

You can’t argue, Ellie knows that.

“Friday?” She raises her eyebrows.

“Better start unboxing this shit.” You say, gesturing to the boxes.

Ellie beams, nods her head and turns the music up again. She turns and picks up a box with a grunt, then tosses her head back and sings loudly to the song spilling out of the speaker.

You watched her walk off, shaking your head while smiling to yourself.

You and Ellie had moved into your new apartment just off campus almost a week ago, at the end of your finals week of your junior year. Now, the both of you finally got everything squared away, finals done, furniture put together, clothes put away, artwork hung up and all the plants you two could fit in here. You even built up the courage to finally toss the broken lamp your dad gave you.

It’s 10pm, Friday.

The music is loud.

You could feel the cool material of the counter through your thin top. It was cropped just below your navel, a frilly finish on the hem around your waist, neck and the end of the capped sleeves. Your dark jeans hugged your thighs and flared around your ankles.

You’re leaning against the kitchen island you were standing on a few days ago, watching Ellie grab Dina in the living room, pulling her close and dancing. They were in their own little world. You smiled while watching them.

Your friends, classmates and some people you didn’t recognize crowded around them, around you. It no longer feels like your place. It barely felt like your place before all these people packed themselves in. You and Ellie had barely been here a week. You haven’t been here long enough to call this place home. But you’re trying.

Your attempt at trying, was seeing how many drinks you could down tonight. You’re doing a damn good job so far.

The way your shoes were sticking to the floor made you cringe. You were close enough to the speaker that it vibrated your diaphragm. You didn’t know if it was the bass making your eyes blur, or the drinks. Or maybe it was the copious amounts of fucking fruit flavored vapor hanging low in the air, stagnant and hot. The cracked windows are not doing anything. The air outside was stagnant and hot, too. You scrunch your face up and coughed as a fresh cloud curled around your head. God, this mango flavored whatever-the-fuck made your eyes feel heavy.

You must have had a scowl on your face, Ellies hand on your shoulder rips you from spacing out into the living room.

“You okay?” She leans in and also shouts directly in your ear.

You swallow thickly and nod your head. There's a lag between your brain and your body right now.

“You need a shot.” She states, working at some bottles beside you.

Your ankle is wet. What the fuck. You furrow your eyebrows and peer down to the slosh of vodka by your foot, it splashed up and wet your sock. You frowned deeply. Was Ellie the one soaking the ground all night making your shoes stick to it? You groaned her name and tossed your head back. She didn’t pay your reaction any mind as she nudged your shoulder, holding out the plastic shot cup, clear liquid spilling over the rim.

“Full fuckin’ reset.” She says loudly and nods her head for you to take it.

“Full fuckin’ reset.” You repeat, taking the cup in your fingers and touching it with Ellies before tossing it back.

You both grimaced as you swallowed. You hissed through your teeth as it burned your throat. Ellie shuddered and shook her head rapidly. Ellie took the cups and tossed them away, coming in close to your ear, hand on your shoulder again. You had no idea what she was saying. You only knew she was speaking because of her hot breath on your skin. Your eyes felt like they were going to fall out of your head, that's how close you were to the speaker.

All you could think about was that this didn’t feel like a full fuckin’ reset. Feels like you’re changing your environment with the same old bullshit. You imagine this is how your childhood hamster felt when you’d rearrange his cage. Same bullshit, different colorful tunnel to get stuck in.

She pulled away and looked at you knowingly, raised eyebrows and nodded her head.

You blinked.

Ellie didn’t move. Her face was blurry in front of you.

Oh, she was waiting for a response.

You press your lips together in a tight smile and nod your head lazily, the movement making you feel airy. She smiled and patted your shoulder, giving you a squeeze before disappearing back into the group of people in the living room.

You didn’t know if it was the burning liquid at the back of your throat making you gag, or the way Owen stared you down from just a few feet away. He got under your skin badly. You shared several classes with him over the past three years and he's managed to piss you off at almost every interaction. He isn’t rude, or an outward asshole. He just can’t take a hint. You are not interested.

“This is a nice spot, hm?” Owen slurs, leaning in close.

There it is. The culprit of that fucking mango scented shit. God, it was heavy on his lips.

You held back a grimace to be polite.

“Yeah.” You say, deadpan.

“Y’know what I like about you?” He says, leaning closer

Here we go.

You tilt your head up and look at him. Fuck, you were drunk and he was still unappealing to you. Your body swayed. Heavy lids hanging low over your eyes. You crossed your arms over your chest to give you some sort of grounding. You didn’t feel unsafe with him standing so close. You just wish he wasn’t.

You didn’t answer him, maybe he feels the vibe. But then he opened his dumb mouth again.

“You always look like you’re thinking ‘bout something like.. Waaaay cooler than whatever's happening like- right now.”

Okay. You were drunk. But what the fuck did he just say? You were going to ask him to clarify. But maybe you are that drunk and what he said really made sense. You wore your confusion on your face, clearly. Because he followed up with-

“You know?”

No, I don’t fucking know. You shrugged your shoulders, brows knitting together.

“Probably ‘cause I am.” You finally settle on that answer.

Don’t know if it makes sense. You don’t think it needs to make sense to him. Owen smiles, wide and nods his head.

“Hell yeah.” He says and moves to put his arm around you and lean against the counter with you.

You shudder.

Hell no.

You don’t mean to be cold. You’re tired. You also haven’t been touched in months. You didn’t want just anyone to be the one to break that silence. Maybe you were a little picky, you’d admit that.

You push yourself off the counter on wobbly legs. You were so focused on what he was trying saying you forgot about the spinning room behind him. You twist behind you and grab the remaining bottle of vodka on the counter and a red solo cup.

You watch Owens face twist up in confusion as you walk away, slipping past other bodies in hopes to lose him. You don’t feel like babysitting dumb boy feelings anymore. You want to be drunk on the couch and- oh! There's Jesse.

His face lights up when he sees you stumble over. You stop in front of him and smile lazily.

“‘Sup.” He says, holding up his cup to you.

“Hey.” You respond, reaching your cup to cheer with him before taking a swig of straight vodka and grimacing.

You collapse on the couch beside him.

“Hey- are you drinking? Aren’t you supposed to be driving people?” You say, locking in and trying to concentrate, concern writing over your face.

He chuckled at your expression and nodded his head.

“Just water, don’t worry.” He said.

You nodded your head and pursed your lips, sinking into the couch

Jesse was good people. Dina brought him around maybe two years ago and he's kind of just been around since then. He's like a big brother, kind of. He's always just there, brooding with a pouty face on. He is a safe space.

Your arms were cold. Body felt like it was swaying side to side, though the last time you checked you were still slumped into the couch with Jesse. Your eyes were heavy.

You think Ellie and Dina were standing before you. You smiled sleepily, head buzzing loudly. The music is pulsing in your ears, but you can no longer make out the words of the song. The colorful lights Ellie had set up really made it feel like a club setting, you almost forgot you were sitting on your couch. Ohh, the couch. It's so comfortable. You could melt into it right now. Your body felt like jello. Hand slack around the neck of the vodka bottle. Your head bobbed when you turned it towards Jesse. He was gesturing to you, you think. Who is he talking to? Oh right. The two blobs in front of you, shaped like Ellie and Dina. Except there's like three of them right now, and your eyes won’t focus on the real ones. Then all three of them are looking at you. It sounds like your head is submerged in water. All of the sounds are slow and billowing. You open your eyes as wide as you can, they are so damn heavy. Dina is snapping her hand very close to your face, the outline of her hand clear compared to the blurred background. You screw your eyes shut and shake your head. You open them again and- fuck. Still blurry. All of the sound comes rushing back in, like pulling your head from out of the water and it's ten times louder and clear again. It was overwhelming and it made you anxious. You frown and look at the three of them.

“I need to go to bed.” You slur.

It wasn’t a demand, or a request. A statement. Everything feels like it's tilted, like one of those fair houses that makes you feel like Dorothy from Wizard of Oz. Hands are grabbing you, wrapping around your arms. You don’t fight them, because they feel familiar. They stand you up. You comply because you are too wobbly to protest. Bed. You think. Strong hands, take me to bed.

Dina and Ellie take a step back. Ellie can barely contain her amusement as she watches Jesse manhandle you off the couch.

“If you get her up there I’ll babysit.” Dina tells him.

Ellie shakes her head, a sympathetic smile on her face.

Strong hands listened. You recognize the smell of your sheets. You can still feel the speaker through the mattress.

“She’s all yours.” Jesse pretends to wipe his hands clean.

“Thanks.” Dina murmurs while sitting on the edge of your bed.

You’re mumbling nonsense and Dina coo's, understandingly while pushing your hair away from your face.

“Just- go to bed.”

You do.

Your head weighs about 500 pounds.

“C’mon.”

Your eyelids are just as heavy.

“I gotta go. Need you to get up.”

There's a sick taste in the back of your throat. You swallow thickly.

Your name is shouted loudly, way too close to your face, you felt the heat of their breath against your clammy skin.

Your eyes shot open, bringing both of your hands to quickly cover your face from the blinding light.

“I was about a minute away from tossing whatever the fuck is in this cup at you y’know.”

“Okay- okay.” You mumble, voice raspy.

You rubbed the back of your hands against your eyes, letting them adjust. Ellie stood in front of you, eyebrows lifted in amusement as she watched you struggle.

“Oh, this is great.” She muses.

“Please- I feel disgusting.” You say with a lump in your throat, glancing at your alarm clock. “It’s 5 in the morning. I feel like I just went to bed. What is going on?”

“You don’t remember what I told you last night?”

You prop yourself onto your elbows, sinking them into your mattress. You blink your eyes at your roommate. She has a jacket on, backpack over one shoulder and her sneakers in hand. You do not remember what she told you. You shake your head ‘no’ and immediately wince at the throb radiating between your ears.

“You’re a mess.” Ellie chuckles and sucks her teeth at you.

You frown at her and sigh, hanging your head back between your shoulders.

“It’s not funny, Ellie. Are you goin’ somewhere?” You ask as you use all of the energy in your body to lift your head back up.

“Dina? I’m going to visit her family.” Ellie stands, her one hand turning palm up towards you, attitude and all.

“Oh shit.” You frown and pull yourself to fully sit up, slouching heavily, resting your elbows on your bare thighs.

“Yeah. She's picking me up soon. I got up a bit ago and cleaned what I could, but not going to lie it still looks like a shit show.”

“Mhm.” You hum, trying to remember last night.

It was a great time, maybe. This morning is not so great. You drank entirely too much. Enough to forget that Ellie was leaving for almost a month. Dina has had this trip planned for almost six months. She has been begging Ellie to come back to her hometown and spend time with her family. They agreed once finals were done, they’d spend time there, leaving today.

Fuck, you feel like you got hit by a truck. Few too many vodka sodas and whatever else ended up in your cup after that, you can’t remember. This feeling is something you can't forget though, it is god awful.

“How bad is it?” You mumble, trying to fix your hair to look somewhat normal.

“Well, think I got the worst of it done. Scrubbed the motherfucking puke from the sink.” She says, scrunching her face at the thought while digging through your desk, shoving some acne patches in her jacket pocket. You’re in too much discomfort to chastise her theft, she knows it too.

“Thinking of that makes me wanna puke.”

Ellie looks over her shoulder and smiles at you.

“Yeah, you don’t look good. But should just be some trash. Nothing insane. Ushered out two stragglers this morning. Remember that kid from our study hall freshman year? He was behind the fucking couch!” She tosses her head back to laugh.

“Oh- that's for you by the way.” She gestures to your side table.

You force a smile while pulling yourself out of bed, feet planting on the ground heavily. Your eyes widened at the sight of a fresh water bottle at your bedside. You moaned as you practically ripped the cap off and chugged half of it.

“Easy, killer.” Ellie jokes.

You swallow and release a loud breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“God, you’re the best.” You tell her.

It took longer than you’d like to admit to get downstairs. You made it, nonetheless. Big enough t-shirt to hide that fact that you did have shorts on. Mismatched socks adorning your feet. No idea how you ended up in this. You faintly recall Dina shushing you to sleep at some point. Maybe she helped you change into more comfy clothes. You’ve finally tamed your hair to look somewhat presentable. It was good enough to throw trash into bags and die on the couch afterwards.

Ellie helped you pick up some of the cups around before perking up at the sound of Dina’s car horn outside the house.

“Try not to die while I’m gone. The maintenance guy is coming by soon. Just let him in the basement, yeah?” Ellie calls out with one hand on the front doorknob.

You tie off the second full trash bag and nod your head, waving Ellie off.

“Just what I need. Some guy poking around while I feel like shit.” You sigh.

“Be safe! Love you!” You call out after her.

“Yeah, try not to die while I’m gone.. Love you, too. Text me!” She says, closing the door behind her.

It's only just past 10 AM and this has to be the tenth trash bag you have tied. You don't even know where half of this trash came from, there is no way this many beers were consumed, or this many cups were used. Dragging the bag behind you, you unlocked the back door and swung the bag out into the pile of the rest of them, mumbling to yourself that you'll deal with that another day. You lock the door behind you and rush to the sink to wash your hands, sticky residue on them making your stomach churn.

You sigh as you dry them and turn to the living room, eyes settling on the couch. It looks too good right now. A few minutes won’t hurt, right? You shuffle over and fall face first into the cushion, groaning at the contact.

Three sharp knocks startle you. Your eyes dart around the living room, body still as you come to. Fuck, did you fall asleep? There's still some red solo cups scattered on the floor, and you didn’t toss out the pizza box on the counter and-

Three more knocks, a little louder.

Oh, right.

You cuss under your breath and walk in long strides to the door, opening it slowly. The sunlight spilling over your face made you squint your eyes and hold a hand in front of your face to block it. The sudden bright light made you queasy.

The figure in front of you thankfully shifts and blocks the light for you, allowing you to see who it is. A man? The tool box rattling in his hand reminds you that you're waiting for the maintenance man.

Your eyes flicker across his body. Mid to late 40’s, tanned skin, salt and pepper beard. His dark eyes peered over your head into the house behind you. He's tall, wide chest clad in a dark t-shirt with some logo over the pocket. He’s got a tool belt hanging low on his hips, blue jeans that hug his thighs and an old pair of work boots.

You blink while taking him in, eyes trailing back up his body to his face and you’re taken back a bit when you meet his gaze. He’s handsome. The grey specks in his beard matching the ones at his hairline, the rest of his hair dark, some unruly curls behind his ears and at the nape of his neck. Soft crinkles by the corners of his brown eyes. He smells nice too. He smells like clean laundry, cedar and-

He clears his throat.

You don't know how long you were staring.

“I’m Joel. Maintenance. Here for the dryer request?” His voice was thick with a velvet southern draw, calm and polite.

Joel.

You stare just a moment too long.

“Uh- yeah. Sorry. Come in.” You say and step aside, holding the door for him.

He gives a tight-lipped smile with a curt nod and slips past you into the house. You close the door behind him with your shoulder, leaning on it for a moment to collect yourself. You still barely feel like a person and the hot handyman really caught you off guard.

“I’ll show you the basement.” You speak up, ushering in front of him and kicking an empty plastic cup out of the way.

You grimace in embarrassment as the plastic rattles.

“I’m sorry-” You barely get out an apology before he's shaking his head, low chuckle leaving his lips.

“No need to apologize. Looks like you had a fun time.” He muses, looking around.

Joel followed behind you as you led him to the basement. He looked around the apartment, all the art hanging on the walls, lots of plants. A decent amount of party remnants lay around the place. He saw these things almost daily, they didn’t bother him. He has never seen you though. He thinks you must be new to the block. He didn't know what to expect when you opened the door, he hasn't had a maintenance call for this house in some time. He definitely didn’t expect a girl who looked to be pantless to answer the door. Your bare legs being warmed by the sun as you opened the door for him. Your face was flushed, he assumed you had done a decent amount of drinking the night before, which would account for the prolonged staring and seeming confusion when he knocked.

“Down here.” You mumble and start down the basement steps.

The lighting is awful; the stairs are steep and make an ugly noise as the both of you trudge down them. You’re still so hungover you’re reminding yourself to breathe, the noticeably cooler air down here making it a bit more bearable. You walk to the back wall, washer and dryer set next to each other. The stale scent of basement is unpleasant, but honestly better than the smell upstairs right now. You stand on your tiptoes to reach the short string that hangs from a single lightbulb and yank it. It flickers, lighting up the basement right before fizzling out.

“Shit.” You mumble, standing on your tiptoes again to yank it a few more times, nothing happening.

“I’m sorry. It was working yesterday.” You apologize.

Joel sighs softly, shrugging his shoulders before setting his toolbox down.

“S’alright. I can replace it.” He says smoothly.

“I got a flashlight.” He says over his shoulder while digging through his tool belt.

“Would ya hold this for me, darlin’?” He says, handing you a compact flashlight from his toolbelt.

Your chest tightens. It shouldn’t. You’re vulnerable right now. Hungover, tired and now flustered? The way that sweet name rolled effortlessly off his lips made your face flush. You were grateful that it was so dark.

Joel wiggled the flashlight in front of you, clearing his throat.

You nod and take it, clicking it on and holding the light on the dryer, hands trembling from your hangover. Not because you thought about him calling you that sweet name daily. That would be ridiculous. Joel mumbles a thank you.

Joel groans quietly as he kneels in front of the dryer, starting to unscrew the panel. You widen your eyes and quickly push out the thoughts that come flooding after he groans. You stand to the side and hold the light. You can't help but watch his hands.

Big. Skilled. Calm.

Every movement he made was calculated. Your eyes flicker to his forearms, watching how his muscles flex under his tanned skin. Then your eyes fall to his broad shoulders. His shirt stretched tight enough over his back to highlight the muscles there. They’re not protruding, bodybuilder muscles. But the kind of muscles you get from doing work like this for what you can assume is a long time.

The grey hairs you noticed earlier are more focused at his temples, fading into the dark brown beautifully. He's breathing quietly as he works, ribs expanding against the fabric of his shirt. You became very aware of how quiet it is, a cold basement filled with his breathing and quiet clinks of his tools. You’re speaking quietly before you even know what words are leaving your lips.

“So.. Do you need anything else from me? Other than manning the flashlight?”

“Do you have coffee?” Joel answers without looking away from his work.

You smile to yourself.

“I’ve got some. It's probably terrible, though.”

Joel turns his head, glancing at you over his shoulder.

“I appreciate the warning.”

You handed him the flashlight and watched him hold it between his teeth, brows furrowing as he worked. The sight made you freeze for a second before making your way into the kitchen, fumbling with the coffee maker, then the coffee grounds and the mug. You were nervous. That suggestion of a smile when he looked over his shoulder did you in.

He is a beautiful man.

And your sick, touch-starved, hungover brain is taking in every inch of him.

The coffee maker gurgles, spitting dark liquid into the mug. You closed your eyes, leaning against the counter, the cool granite pressing into your lower stomach. You breathe in deeply through your nose, the smell was comforting. You opened your eyes and breathed out, creaking basement steps causing you to turn your attention there.

“Hey.” Joel speaks up.

He’s standing at the top of the steps, setting his tool box on the ground to pull a rag from his back pocket, wiping his hands on it and then stuffing it back in his pocket. His shoulder pressed into the door frame as he leaned there.

You watch him closely, watch how his thick fingers flex and curl while wiping the grease off of the other, and then they switch. You swallow thickly. Is it getting hot in here?

“How do you like it?” You blurt out awkwardly, peeling your eyes from his hands to look at him.

Fuck.

“Huh?” Joel furrows his eyebrows.

You look to the coffee maker, then to him. You gesture to it as it spurts out the last of the brewed liquid.

“Coffee.” You say, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Oh. Black.” He responds and you grimace at the thought.

He chuckles at your reaction, taking the mug as you offered it. You ignored the shiver up your spine as your fingers brushed his. Warm.

“Thank you, darlin’.” He muttered.

Oh fuck, there it is again.

You nod your head and pull yourself up to sit on the counter, swaying your feet as they dangle. Joel takes a long sip, sighing softly after he swallows. You watch the muscles in his neck and his adams apple bob as he swallows. You think you want to kiss him there.

What the fuck.

Why would you think that?

Your inner monologue is running a mile a minute. The angel and devil on your shoulders shouting back and forth.

he looks good. he’s just a man performing a paid service. but he's standing here in your kitchen, drinking from your mug. performing a service for you. you offered that coffee to him. he accepted it, he wants more. he wants to finish the coffee and leave your apartment that still has party trash almost everywhere. look at the way his lips wrap around the ceramic rim of the mug and imagine it's your-

“Dryer’s fine.” He draws after the long sip of coffee.

His voice pulls you from your daydream, sitting up straighter as you listen to him. Your face is hot and your stomach turns. Not from the disgusting amount of liquor you consumed, but from the thought of him using those lips for-

“Belt was loose. I tightened it. But I’ll have t’come back to swap out that bulb down there.”

Damn. He got you again.

You nod your head, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Think I’ll survive the darkness until then.” You smile.

Joel shakes his head after taking another sip of coffee.

“Shouldn’t take long.Submit a new ticket n’ mark it urgent f’ya need to. Shouldn’t be down there in the dark anyways.” He says cooly, swirling around the coffee that's left in the mug.

“Should I pretend it's urgent?” You ask, tilting your head, trying to read his body language.

Joel sucks his teeth. A quiet breathy laugh passing his lips, so faint you’re second guessing if you actually heard it.

“I didn’t say that.” He speaks a little softer.

He looks up from his coffee to you. You look back at his big, brown eyes. They narrowed slightly, as if he was trying to read your body language.

He gave you a look. Part warning. Part amused.

You want him to talk. He’s hotter when he's talking. Which is saying a lot because he's standing silent in front of you and you swear he's glowing.

What the fuck is wrong with you.

His gaze makes you feel self-conscious. It's not invasive. Just calm. Present.

You’re nervous and antsy as he looks. You push yourself off of the counter, ‘hmph’ing quietly as you land on the ground. You turn and fill another mug with coffee, reaching for sugar and stirring some in.

Joel watches, you can feel his eyes. You pretend not to notice though.

“You always make offers like this to the maintenance guy?” He speaks up after a moment, finishing what's in his mug and resting it on the counter, not far from you.

You smile and look over to him briefly before going back to your mug.

“Only if he looks like he kills spiders without flinching. Only been here a week and I’ve seen about nine of them.”

“What a weird standard.” He chuckles.

“High standards keep me single.” You stifle a laugh, looking at him again.

Your face drops almost immediately. His brows were knit together. Why did you say that? God, you’re nervous and sweaty and hungover and embarrassing yourself in front of hot maintenance guy Joel.

“I was kidding.” You blurt out quickly.

“I wasn’t really- But I was. Kidding.” You say through short breaths, eyes frantically searching his face.

Fuck, he’s been here less than an hour and you’re already freaking him out. You want the floor to open up and swallow you whole right now.

“You’re funny.” He says, face softening.

He leans down to pick up his toolbox.

“Thanks for the coffee...” He trails off, searching.

Your brain is working for the first time today. You realize you never told him your name. You chirp up, telling him your name. He nods once and repeats it, smiling.

“Submit the bulb request f’ya want it fixed.” He says smoothly.

You swallow and nod, following behind him like a puppy as he walks towards the front door again.

“Okay.” You say.

“See ya ‘round, darlin’.” He draws, offering another polite smile before closing the door behind him.

Then he’s gone.

The place is quiet again. You lean back against the door, tossing your head back against it, exhaling so hard your ribcage deflates.

Your coffee has gone cold. You can’t bring yourself to care.

Your face is warm, your mind is racing, and your body is very aware of how long it's been since you liked someone. What the hell was that? Like him? You just saw him for the first time, literally an hour ago. Why did he smile like that? He thinks I’m funny? The third ‘darlin’ from his sweet velvet draw felt like the nail in the coffin.

Are you losing it?

Your phone vibrated, silencing your rambling mind for a moment.

A text from Ellie.

E: just got a text that the maintenance appointment was complete. is the dryer working?

You sigh.

You: yup, he came and went. the lightbulb blew down there. can you send me the portal info so i can make another request?

You restrain yourself from adding that he was drop dead gorgeous and had arms you wanted wrapped around your head.

Another text.

E: you don’t know how to change a fucking lightbulb?

God dammit Ellie. You want the really hot man to come back and do another task for you. Do you have to spell it out for her?

You: i can, just he said he’d come back and do it. just need to place a request

E: whatever you say princess. i’ll send it over.

You rolled your eyes.

You: thx :)

You settled on that response instead of begging for her to send it right now because you need to guarantee you’ll see Joel again in the near future.

Your phone vibrated again. The portal information from Ellie. You clutched your phone close to your chest, screwed your eyes shut and tilted your head up to the ceiling.

“Thank you.” You mumble, fully settling into the fact that you’re being boy crazy.

Man crazy.

You correct yourself and download the portal to your phone.

You need a nap.

You need to knock some sense into yourself and take a nap.

You’re blaming your hangover for the umpteenth time today. That's what has you feeling so caught up, you’re sure of it.

You don’t know if you could blame your hangover when you found your hand shoved in your panties not long later. The way his forearms moved, strong, steady and confident, ingrained in your brain.

God, you even found his name spilling from your lips more than once.

You’re fucked.

You practically flew up the steps and into the shower. You closed your eyes, warm water spilling over your skin. It made you shudder. 

Your mind wandered while you lathered shampoo in your hair.

What would Joel be wearing today? How long can you keep him here just to change a lightbulb? Should you have a black coffee ready for him at the door? 

Do you sound crazy?

Yes.

Especially since you didn’t even know if it was going to be Joel coming to fix the bulb. There could be a rotation of men. But you’d bet that they don’t look like him.

You rinse your hair and reach for your body wash. Strawberry. 

What scent does Joel use?

Okay, that's enough brain. Stop it. 

You stepped out of the shower into a steam filled bathroom and immediately checked the time. You took your time, skin routine, combing your hair so it lays nice. Whole nine yards. 

It’s not a date. It’s not even coffee. It’s a man replacing a light bulb. 

But no harm in looking like you’re not still hungover from three days ago.

You tried on three different shirts and maybe five pairs of bottoms. You’re overthinking this in the worst way. Jeans didn’t show enough skin, and it was hot. Tank top had too much skin. You want to dress nice, but not so nice that it's obvious you’re ready to throw yourself at him when he says the words.

How can you say ‘I think you’re hot’ with an outfit?

You settled on a pair of grey sweat shorts, and a too tight black shirt. One that hugged your skin and dipped nicely at the collar. Shows off the smallest amount of skin between the hem and the band of your shorts. This should be okay.

You even found the time for some mascara. No harm in that, right?

You were downstairs moments before you heard three strong knocks at the door. Firm, same rhythm as before. You couldn’t help but smile as you made your way to the door. 

Sounds like the knocks you heard the other day.

Frantically, your fingers wrap around the knob and twist. You take a deep breath and open it.

There he is in all his glory, sun shining behind him, spilling over his tanned features.

“Mornin’ darlin.” He said smoothly

Gut punch.

“Mornin’ Joel.” You beam up to him, ignoring the sick way your stomach twisted with his words. 

He had a different shirt on. This one looked to be a stiffer material, collared and long sleeves.

Small patch above the pocket reading; J. Miller.

You were happy he opted to push the sleeves up his arms, bunching them at his elbows to expose his fucking beautiful arms.

Tanned and strong with dark hair adorning them. A thick banded watch on his left wrist. Small, thin scars littered here and there, evidence of scrapes from years of working with his hands. Beautiful nonetheless. 

Invite him in.

“Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. C’mon in.” You say and step to the side, opening the door wider.

He nods politely and slips past you. You pretend not to notice your skin on fire when the outside of his arm brushes your chest. You can’t ignore the way he smells though, that clean laundry smell again, with sawdust and him. You close the door behind him and walk into the living room. You think you want a body wash that smells like him. Suddenly your strawberry scented one was no longer appealing, especially when the latter was being wrapped up in his smell.

“Disappointed?” He asks and raises an eyebrow, the smile on his lips making you swoon.

His playfulness caught you off guard. He was polite and calm last time, a comment or two that could’ve been playful. But there was no mistaking this one. God, could he even be flirting?

He was flirting. Innocent enough.

“Not the word I’d use.” You were proud of how quick you came back.

It’s his turn to be caught off guard. Joel notes how confident you are in your words. He also notes how young you are- or maybe not young. Just younger than him. 

He shook his head and sucked his teeth.

“S’a few of us. But told ya I’d fix it. I picked this one up.” He doesn’t elaborate. 

He doesn’t need to. But you want him to. You want to listen to him talk for hours. You want to know how he sounds when speaking something soft and filthy or the lewd noises that fall from his lips.

“No crazy party last night?” He changed the subject, keeping it light hearted. 

You laugh and shake your head.

“No! No more of them for a while, I hope. Just got to the point where my shoes don’t stick to the floor anymore.” You shudder at the thought and he chuckles.

He nods his head and looks around, a little slowly you think. He's taking in everything, the plants, the art, the dumb little decor pillow wedged into the corner of the couch. He checked it out the other day, but this time he really took it in. This place already feels lived-in. Comfortable. It feels different. You look different. Not awfully hungover, he thinks. 

Pretty. 

Joel thought you looked pretty the other day, too. You start doing the same, over analyzing every inch of your living space. He takes a moment to glance you over, his dark eyes tracing up the exposed skin of your legs and pausing when he sees the sliver of skin between your top and shorts. He doesn’t let his gaze linger long but he does get caught by you. The narrowing of your eyes should be enough to tell him you’re trouble. 

You’re just here for a lightbulb. He reminds himself.

He takes the initiative to turn towards the basement door. You don’t get the chance to overthink his lingering stare, following quickly behind him to catch up. He pulls a big flashlight from his tool belt, clicks it on while making his way down the steps. You’re behind him this time, watching the way he ducks to avoid the ceiling. His brooding shoulders are tight in his shirt. You want to sink your nails into his shoulders, maybe even your teeth.

Damn.

Joel stops under the blown light bulb. The way his back moved beneath his shirt had you in a trance- you almost walked right into his broad frame. For the second time this week you’re both standing in the dark, cool basement. 

He gestures the flashlight to you. 

“You mind holdin’ that steady? Were shakin’ like a leaf last time.” He looks at you.

You hoped he didn’t see the blush creeping up your face, but he did. He liked it, too. You were so dehydrated and nauseous your hands were absolutely shaking when you held the flashlight for him last time. It makes your belly twist that he even remembered that. 

“Think I can. As long as you don’t electrocute yourself. I’m not CPR-certified.” You shake your head and shrug your shoulders.

“That's comforting.” He says dryly, laced with sarcasm.

You take it and hold it tight. He's digging around in his tool box. This is a different one than what you saw a few days ago. This ones bigger. He pulls a smaller box out of it, a picture of a lightbulb on the side of it. You stop looking at the dumb box and direct your attention to his face. His brows are drawn together in concentration as he turns the box over a few times. His jaw. His hands. He moves deliberately. He looks fucking good.

“You always this serious while you work?” 

You watch his brows knit together, the flashlight casting heavy shadows across his face.

He sucks his teeth. “Well, darlin’.” He says smoothly, glancing at you for a second, squinting his eyes. “You’re holdin’ that bright light inches from my face. Not so serious as much as I’m tryna’ save what's left’a my eyesight.”

“Shit- Sorry.” You mumble and move the flashlight so it's no longer blinding him. 

The light was barely on his hands before that, you were too concerned with illuminating his face to get a better look at it. You need to get your shit together. 

You both stand there in silence for a minute as he tinkers with the box. He’s stalling. Joel has changed thousands of lightbulbs. You’re looking at him. Looking at him like you’re thinking something you shouldn’t. He’s thinking about it too. He shouldn’t be. He can’t help himself. 

Joel would be lying if he said he didn’t think about you after he left the other day. It was hard to ignore how beautiful you are. Regardless of your hungover appearance. It was vulnerable and real. You were witty and quick on your feet. A few sly comments that he thought about for the rest of the day. It made him feel wanted, made him feel good. 

He reaches into his tool box for his pocket knife, his forearm brushes against your shin and he retrieves it. Your body tenses up, the wobbling light of the flashlight makes that clear to the both of you and you curse yourself for reacting like that. Joel doesn’t stop to think about it. He’s shifting his weight onto his other foot, putting some distance between the two of you. You were standing too close to him before, he couldn’t think straight. Close, but not close enough to suggest something. He slices the tape that sealed the box, closed the knife and sheathed it in his pocket. 

You purse your lips in thought, rocking from the balls of your feet to your heels. 

“So.. Have you lived ‘round here for some time?” You break the silence as Joel unscrews the lightbulb. 

“Live about a half an hour away. Been there a long time. Worked a lotta jobs ‘fore settlin’ in this one.” He doesn’t look at you. 

“Like what?”

“Always stuff with my hands. Construction. Tile work. Wood work.” He still doesn’t look at you. 

“So you like this kinda work?” You ask, wiggling the flashlight around.

“It’s gratifying.” He says simply, screwing the light bulb in.

“To work with your hands?” You ask, clarifying. 

Your eyes linger on said hands.

“Mhm.” He hums and tries to ignore the possible underlying second meaning, his heart kicking up a bit.

“You don’t like to expand much about yourself, huh?” You ask, popping your hip to the side.

He finally looks at you, eyes narrowed.

“Sounds like you’re fishin’ for somethin’.” He says.

Joel pulls the string and the light comes on. You click off the flashlight and hold it out for him to take.

“There. Nothin’ fancy, but it works.” He says, smiling.

Joel wipes his palms on the tops of his thighs before wrapping his hand around the flashlight.

“Kinda like you, huh?” You tease.

Joel cocks his head to the side and pauses. That pause says more than a reply would. He offers up a quick, dry laugh before packing his tools.

Aw, no. You don’t want this to be over yet. You scuttle behind him as he makes his way up the steps, into the kitchen. 

“Hey, do you want coffee? Remember how you like it. Black, right?” You offer, trying not to sound so panicked, to keep him here a few minutes longer. 

Joel wants to. His chest warms at your words. You remembered he likes black coffee? Something so little sits so comfortably in his chest. He wants you to keep asking him questions and memorize the answers like you’ve done with the coffee. He likes how curious you are. How forward you are. He offers a sympathetic smile instead.

“As good as it was last time, I’ve got a few other calls this mornin’ I gotta get to.” 

Your heart feels defeated. Is he shutting you down? No, he's just doing his job. You instinctively jut out your lower lip in a pout.

Joel doesn’t like seeing that face. He imagines what you look like when you’re really upset. Face red and tear stained, plump lips raw and glossy. Your chest heaving with sputtering, uneven breaths. It damn near breaks his heart. 

“Unless, there anything else quick ‘round here that need fixin’? Got some time.” He offers after taking a beat, looking down to his watch. 

Joel smiles warmly as your pout disappears.

“Well, there's a bunch of little stuff, really. This place really got the landlord special.” You weren’t lying.

There were missing outlet covers, loose cabinets, wobbly railings, windows painted shut and so much more. 

“But, would you actually help me move a dresser upstairs? I know it's not really anything that needs fixing but Ellie won’t be back for over two weeks and Jesse said he can’t come until tomorrow and I really just want it-“

“I gotcha darlin’.” Joel interrupts you.

He doesn’t want either of them to help you. He wants to. He wants the gratification of doing something to please you. The lightbulb and the dryer aren't enough. This is different. This is personal. He wants to see the smile on your face when he does it. 

Okay. Again with the darlin’. So he’s not shutting you out. 

“Really?” You ask.

“Yes. Where at, sweetheart?” He sets his toolbox on the ground and looks at you.

You nod your head and quickly walk to the living room, Joel follows behind you. You hope you tuned fast enough he didn’t see the visceral reaction to him calling you that.

You have been browsing the marketplace for furniture. Specifically for your room. You and Ellie had the living spaces covered. Your bedroom was lacking. You had your bed, desk, broken desk chair and a night stand. You had a small closet but this dresser was beautiful. Too good to pass up. It was also wooden and really fucking heavy. You didn’t think of that when the person dropped it off and helped you get it inside. You’re lucky they helped you get it in the house and push it a few feet. So it's been sitting in the living room, in the middle of the floor for two days. You walk over to it and gesture with your hands.

“I just-.” You sigh.

“You were tryin’ to lift this yourself? You’d throw your back out luggin’ it up these steps.” He tuts and shakes his head.

“I’ll take care f’it.” He says, walking closer, sliding his palm against the edge of the furniture.

“You offering to take care of my back?” You tilt your head, smirk playing at the corners of your lips.

Joel narrows his eyes at you, mulling over the thousands of thoughts that rush through his mind. You’re not subtle. But not crass. Not loud, not explicitly asking for anything. You’re fucking trouble, is what he thinks.

“M’offerin’ to take care of the dresser, darlin’.”

And he does.

Joel is in your bedroom, panting, sweaty and red in the face. You wish you caused that instead of him lugging the dresser up. You had begged him a few times to just leave it, his grunts and reddening face making you feel guilty and really, really turned on. And more guilty for feeling that way. But he insisted. You couldn't complain about the sight. His fingers gripping the corners of the wood. You want to kiss them better and thank him. His muscles contort and strain in his exposed forearms. For the second time today you thank whatever made him push his sleeves up. You wanted them wrapped around your head, holding you still while he had his way with you.

Fuck.

Now he's got his arms thrown over top of the dresser. You stood behind him, watching his ribcage expand and deflate in awe. Jole cranes his neck to wipe his forehead on the inside of his shirt sleeve. He stands up straight and whips his head around to look at you.

“I still got it, huh?” He laughs breathily, bringing one of his large hands to comb through his unruly curls. 

You want to do that, so badly. You want to comb your fingers through his tresses, grip and tug on them. It's like he's teasing you by doing it in front of you. 

Joel places a hand on his hip and cocks out his knee, his heaving chest finally settling back to its normal pace. He can't exactly clock the look on your face, but he knows it's not a bad one. Are you… Admiring him? You are. He doesn't know how to feel. It makes his chest flutter and he knows it's not because of the way he just exerted himself. He worries the inside of his lower lip. There's a voice in the back of his head telling him to walk right past you and down the steps. He knows this feeling and knows this is dangerous territory. Joel needs to stay away from you. You're not for him. You’re for some younger college boy to gawk at and fawn over, not him. The way you’re looking at him is too fond, it’s not just friendly.

“Don’t know if you ever lost it.” You say quietly, no longer bothering to hide your lingering stares.

So quietly, Joel has to second guess if he heard that right. He tilts his head slightly, hanging his thumb off the band of his tool belt. Joel curses to himself. You’ve got one hell of a mouth on you and he needs it on him. Fuck it.

You swore if your mouth wasn’t closed, you’d drool right onto the floor.

Joel is standing inches away from you with two long strides, his boots thudding softly. You feel his deep exhale through his nose on your face. It makes you shiver. His head is tilted down, searching your face for any sort of warning or plea for him to step back. He doesn't find one. His hand is on your cheek, thick, strong fingers splaying over your soft skin. You feel stuck. Not frozen in fear, but in anticipation. His thumb presses into your chin, palm pushing farther back so his fingers extend over your ear and the sensitive skin below it. Now you can hear your heartbeat and all the whooshing sounds of your insides tightening. Like when you put your ear up to a seashell, it’s dizzying. He is so close. With a small amount of pressure he tilts your head upwards, meeting your eyes.

“Tell me to stop.” He almost whispers.

His deep brown eyes are soft and yearning. You don’t dare say a word. You don’t want him to stop, you need him to keep going. His fingers press into your hair as he leans down.

“Please, tell me to stop.” Fuck, he’s practically begging.

You lift your hand to touch his wrist, his skin is hot. You wrap your fingers around his wrist, not to remove them but almost as an act of encouragement. You press the pads of your fingers into his skin, maybe to offer comfort. You’re not sure, but it feels right. You can't find any words to say.

Your eyebrows are just about pulled together while you look up to him. His eyes are flickering between your lips and your eyes. You can tell his mind is racing. Joel swallows thickly. He doesn't do a lot for himself. This is something he can't ignore. Beautiful girl, standing in front of him, specifically not speaking up for him to stop when he is begging her to. He can't wait any longer.

He pulls you close with his hand on your head. He leans down to slowly connect his lips to yours. You immediately melt into his touch, all of this pent up tension sliding away within a second. You kiss him back, tilting your head into the palm of his hand. You feel consumed by him. The way he cranes over you to meet your lips in a kiss, his greying curls tickle your forehead, his strong fingers adding additional pressure to your neck, drawing you closer into the kiss if it was possible. With one small step you press your torso to his. It draws a beautiful sigh from the back of his throat to your lips. He pulls back from the kiss, trying to read your face for any regret of second guessing. 

“I didn’t say stop.” You finally speak up, already missing the warmth of his lips.

You don’t know if you believe this is real or not. You gave his wrist a squeeze, letting him know you were serious. Also to ground you, feeling him under your fingers reminded you this is real, he is real and he's kissing you. To say you needed him was an understatement.

The face he makes when you speak is one you want to never forget. His glossy lips parted, almost turned in a frown. His thick, dark brows sewn together, two sharp lines indented there. The vein in his neck is prominent. Dark curls turning up behind his ears in the most beautiful way. His eyes were dark and glossy, pupils blown. You wished you got another second to take in this expression, but his lips were on yours once more. You were thankful for that.

You sighed softly into the kiss. Joel took his free hand and brought it to rest on your side, just above your hip. His pinky and thumb pressed into your bare skin between the hem of your shirt and your shorts, goosebumps pricked under your skin. Your breath hitched as he pressed the pads of his fingers into your side. Joel's lips turned up in a sly smirk against yours, drinking in your body and the way it reacted to his.

You don't know what got into you, maybe it was the way he's kissing you like you just did him a favor, but you were the one to deepen the kiss. Your tongue grazing his pouty lower lip, and gratefully he parts them for you. Both of you take turns lapping at each other's tongues. Joels hand slides across your side and presses firmly into the small of your back, holding your torso to his. His tool belt pressed firmly into your lower stomach. The cool metal of the tools reminds you who he is and what he’s doing here and that makes you shudder. His hand at your cheek cups the back of your neck now. He stabilized you while taking a long stride, backing you up. Surprised, you whine in confusion against his lips. He doesn’t do anything but kiss you hungrily, growing increasingly more impatient by the second. You stumble over your own feet while walking backwards, keeping up with the pace he's setting until the back of your thighs make contact with fabric. It's your comforter, he's got you backed up against your bed. The both of you stand there, kissing for a moment. He slides his hand from the small of your back over the curve of your ass, settling it at the back of your thigh, roughly pressing his fingertips into the flesh. You gasp against his lips, your stomach pulling deep in your core.

Your hand leaves his wrist and tangles itself into the curls at the nape of his neck, like you've wanted to do since you saw him. Your other hand pressed softly into his chest, splaying your fingers across his shirt. He takes the hint and lets up on his grip, allowing some space between your bodies while you hoist yourself onto your bed. Your knees sink into the mattress, doing your best to not break the kiss, his hand slides from your thigh to the soft spot beneath your ribs. Joel does break the kiss, though. You huff softly in confusion again. He looks down at you, his hand leaving your waist to push some hair behind your ear even though it wasn't in your face.

“Y’look so beautiful, baby.” He whispers.

Another sweet name unlocked.

Score.

Your heart throbs. Maybe it wasn’t just your heart- whatever. It throbbed, too.

“Joel-” You begin softly, your needy voice cut off by a loud, blaring alarm.

“Fuck.” Joel cusses and quickly both of his hands leave your body, you already miss them.

You sit back on your heels, furrowing your eyebrows while you watch him. The noise is loud and repetitive. Joel's cursing repeatedly under his breath. His phone, his fucking work phone. He has heard this alarm before. When a job would take too long, he’d need an extra part he didn’t think he’d need, or he’d start a job and realize there's a lot more work that had to be done than what he had thought.

After another beat, he finds his work phone from his back pocket and silences the alarm. He curses again. He's late for the next job. He screws his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“What is happening?” You speak up, reaching a hand out to rest on his forearm.

Joel just stares at the alarm notification on his phone. He can’t believe he did this. What is he, a teenage boy? He couldn't control himself around you. The alarm knocked some sense back into him, bringing him back to this reality. He clearly wasn't thinking straight when he just had his tongue down your throat for the past ten minutes. 

It felt so good. It felt so, so good to lean into what he wanted. It scared him, honestly. It made him uneasy. It felt natural and easy. You wanted it, too. That made him more scared. You wanted him? That wasn’t a question. You wanted him.

“M’late for the next job. Fuck.” He curses again, because he really can't believe it. 

He can't believe how wrapped up in that little fantasy he just got. What did he think was gonna happen? You’d fall for him? Yeah, right. A pretty little thing like you can't be so starved for attention in a college filled with drooling boys. That, too. College. You’re younger than him. A lot younger than him.

“Oh, I’m sorry Joel.” 

You tell him, voice sweet on his ears. He finally rips his attention away from the screen and looks at you. Your hair is tousled, lips plump, glistening and pouty. God, he wants to kiss you again. He can’t. He has to work, and the reality setting in has him nervous. Your kneeling on your bed, the one he was about to crawl on top of and then- he doesn't know what then. He didn't think that far.

You did, though. You slouched your shoulders slightly, rubbing his forearm. You’re kneeling before him on your bed, staring up to him. His hair was unruly in the spot your fingers were, curling and toying with it, tugging slightly to elicit a sigh from his lips. They were so beautiful, by the way. Plump and you would tell they were skillful. They were careful and conscious. They move deliberately, like his hands when you watched him work. He moved so confidently. That's the same way he kissed you. He doesn't really radiate that same confidence right now, though. He looks concerned or nervous, maybe.

“I gotta go.” He says bluntly, taking a few steps back and letting your hands fall from his arm.

Oh, shit. You don't like the flat tone in his voice.

Joel turns to the steps and starts making his way down them. You're not far behind him, feet moving quickly on the steps, hand skating down the railing.

“Hey.” You call out to him.

He turns around, pausing his frantic search for his tool box.

“I wanted that. Just so you know.” You reassure him.

Joel swallows thickly. Fuck, as good as those words sound dripping from your lips, thats not what he needs to hear right now. Those words hit him low in his belly, the familiar twist stirring his cock in his jeans. He needs to leave before he's forced to touch himself in his truck to the thought of you before he can walk into his next job. Okay, forced was a strong word. But it was the reality.

Joel nods his head. You reach the last step as he strides to the front door.

“I’m sorry, darlin’.” He draws, voice thick and syrupy. 

Like it was upstairs when he called you beautiful.

Then he was gone.

He clicked the door shut behind him, leaving you frozen on the other side. 

What the fuck just happened?

Everything happened so quickly you barely had time to process that you had Joel in your room, against your bed, his lips on yours, his hands on your body, and now he's gone. Leaving you with another low draw of that sweet name, a lot of questions and wet panties.

It was really, really hot. 

Should you feel guilty? 

No, why would you feel guilty? 

He's a grown man, you’re a grown woman. Everyone's consenting. You were actually teetering on the verge of begging. You just happen to be almost half his age. Still, two grown adults.

He’s your maintenance man.

Okay, and? 

No harm, no foul. 

Right?

You don’t know. You don’t know anything right now besides the way his lips linger on yours. You can still fucking taste him, but you can’t see his truck outside anymore. 

You can still feel his hands. 

On your face, your hip, your back, your thigh. They were so big, broad and warm. So warm. They were calloused and rough but they held you like you were porcelain. He was careful and calculated, just like the way you watched him work. There was no other word you could think of other than, experienced.

Joel gripped the steering wheel so hard the leather squeaked under his hold. The skin of his knuckles stretched thin over the bone. He could probably bite through a fucking brick right now. That's how tense his jaw is. His cock twitches in his jeans and he curses to himself. He feels bad though. No matter how hard his cock strains he feels guilty. 

It feels wrong. 

You’re so young and pretty. 

He's a grumpy old man who's supposed to be fixing whatever you need fixing. Not barging in and being seconds away from pinning you on your mattress. He feels guilty because he wants it. 

He wants you. 

The way you look at him through your thick lashes. It’s not just a friendly look. He knows he shouldn’t give in but it's hard. And you didn’t tell him to stop. 

Joel even asked twice. 

Just to rub salt in the wound, you called out to him before he left and let him know that you wanted it.

Remembering that in the haze of what just happened made him pull over on a small side street. He released the steering wheel finally, letting out a sharp groan while flexing his fingers to pump some blood back into them.

He threw the truck into park and smacked the back of his head into the headrest. 

“Fuck.” Was all he could say again.

He’s rock hard and already late to the next job. He doesn’t have enough time to think about your body while he's touching himself. 

He doesn’t have enough time to think about the way you kneeled before him on your mattress-

No. He can’t. 

Instead he screws his eyes shut and brings his head upright again, thumb and index finger pinching the bridge of his nose like that would get rid of his hard on. 

He starts rattling off football teams in his head. When you start to flood those thoughts he switches to baseball teams. He thinks of taking you to games. Do you like baseball? Joel thinks of you in one of his Rangers t-shirts. One of his hats, too. Or do you have your own gear? Do you like the Rangers?

This isn’t helping. He’s still hard.

He slams the side of his fist into the steering wheel.

It takes entirely too long for his cock to soften. When it does he peels off of the side of the road and to the next job. This was too much too fast. He needed to clear his mind.

You are doing some super sleuth shit. Thanks to the shirt Joel was wearing today you now knew his last name.

Miller. 

You search it into every social media. There's a couple of pings here and there, all for different Joel Millers, not your Joel Miller.

Stop right there. 

He's not yours. 

Yet. 

You finally find a facebook profile. It's fitting. Late 40s maybe 50 year old man. Facebook fits the bill. Joel Miller. Austin, Texas. You click on the profile picture.

Hot damn.

He's working on a construction site. He told you that earlier. Construction, tile work, wood work. Damn, he can do it all. 

Someone else took this picture. Joel has one hand gripping the edge of a sheet of plywood, his other hand wrapped around a nail gun. It was cropped from his hips up. You could see the top of that tool belt hanging on his hips. His head was turned, his broad shoulder and bicep covered the majority of his face but you knew. You know this was him. He had less grey hair and it was a little shorter. But you knew that tanned skin, the little peek you got of the slope of his nose. It’s him. 

You’re proud of yourself for finding this but is this too far? 

A knock on the door snaps you out of your spiral. 

Different from Joel's knock. 

Is he trying a new approach?

You scramble off of the couch, making sure to swipe out of his facebook profile before locking your phone. It would be too embarrassing if he found you stalking his life online after one unfinished makeout. 

You open the door quickly.

“Hey, kiddo.”

It’s not Joel.

“Dad?” 

“In the flesh.”

You straighten yourself. Not the face you expected to see. You do miss him, though. You haven’t seen him in person since spring. Lots of phone calls and texts. Running his own business makes him a busy guy.

“I didn’t think you were coming today.” You say, stepping to the side and gesturing for him to come in.

“I texted ya’ not too long ago. All that time on that phone, but you don’t answer me back. ‘Sup with that, kid?” He nudges his shoulder against yours, chuckling while making his way in, looking around. 

Your parents got a divorce when you were 10 years old. Dad got all the rights to the business, Mom got the house. Weekends were spent at Dads, and a few weeks during the summer. You had a good relationship with both of them. 

Until Mom found her boyfriend. He was younger than your Dad, had money and tried way too damn hard. Eventually they got serious, Mom moved in with him a few hours away, a brand new house with a pool in the backyard and everything. Dad took you in full time so you didn't have to change schools. You saw your Mom after that on birthdays and holidays, then every other holiday, then it turned into phone calls. Phone calls turned into texts. 

Your dad was there for you though. He made space for you in his apartment. He hung up your posters, painted the walls for you. He even put up a shelf for your stuffed animals to sit. 

“I guess I just didn’t see it.” You frowned.

You didn’t. You’re not telling him it's because you were stalking your maintenance man on Facebook. 

“Whatcha got there?”

“Well, you always drank these at home. Figured I’d bring some here in case you haven’t got any yet.” He pulls the case out from under his arm. 

You could cry. He brought you a case of Cherry Pepsi. He always kept some in his apartment. Your Mom never let you have soda.

He noticed one missing from the fridge one night. He strolled over to your room and knocked on the door. You had a guilty look on your face, and a cold can of soda under the blanket. He sat on the edge of your bed and made you fess up. You presented him the can and hung your head in shame. Your dad opened the can and handed it back to you. Since then, every time you went back to his apartment he had them stocked in the fridge. When you finally moved in from your Mom’s house, that didn’t change. Something so small made you feel so seen.

You smiled wide.

“Thanks, Dad. It means a lot.” You say while taking it from him.

He follows you to the kitchen, a low whistle leaving his lips.

“Looks good in here, baby. You n’ Ellie did a good job.” He says, leaning forward to rest on his elbows on the counter top.

You slid the case into the fridge and turned to face him.

“Speakin’ of, where's she at anyways? Figured I would’a heard her by now. She’s got quite the mouth.” He says, sucking his teeth and looking over his shoulder.

You laughed and shook your head, standing opposite of him, the kitchen island between you two. 

“She’s away for a little bit. Visiting Dina’s family.”

He raises his eyebrows and nods his head. 

“That’s good. Don’t need her yellin’ scarin’ away your neighbors the first week y’all move in.” He jokes.

You laugh and shake your head at him and neglect to tell him about the housewarming party.

Him and Ellie have a beautiful relationship. He pretty much looks at her like one of his own. All they do is get on eachothers nerves, you love it. He pushes himself off of the counter and starts walking around. His eyes are scanning the cabinets, counter tops, and the sink. He walks over to the sink and turns the water on, then the garbage disposal.

“What are you doing?” You follow shortly behind him, standing on your tippy toes, trying to see what he sees. 

“Just checkin’ it out. Makin’ sure everythings in tip top shape for ya.” He mumbles and turns off the water and garbage disposal.

You roll your eyes, here we go.

He taps the faucet. 

“It's a little loose. Could be a problem down the line, kid.” He says and walks into the living room.

You just sigh and nod your head. You know some of the flooring is uneven and  wobbly cabinet doors. He mutters something about the grout between the tiles. He's checking it out like it's one of his job sites.

“Really not bad. Little overpriced for what they’re givin’ you, but the bones are good, kid. How's maintenance? That’s what's gonna make or break the place.”

Your pulse skips. You swallow thickly.

“They’re fine. I mean, I havent had to chase anyone down to file lawsuits, so that's a win.”

“Someone already stopped by?” He's walking back into the kitchen and opening up the fridge, checking the temperature in the back.

“Uh, yeah.” You say, still trailing behind him.

“Who came by?”

You're silently cursing him for asking so many questions. It has barely been two hours since Joel peeled out of here. You don't really want to tell your Dad about him. 

He might think it’s odd, you just met him that week, already kissed him, and he’s your maintenance man. He’s also a lot older. You quickly decide you won’t tell your Dad about this, it’s too weird until serious. If you even get serious. You're trying your hardest to be normal in this situation.

“Guy named Joel. Seems like he’s been around some time. Fixed the dryer and replaced the lightbulb down there, too.” You leave out the fact that his tongue was down your throat.

“He was alright? You didn't have to wait too long after the request was put in.”

You shake your head.

“He was fine. Punctual. Kinda quiet. Knows what he's doing.” From the small snippet you got upstairs, that last sentence might be an understatement in other departments.

“Joel? Brown hair?” He’s walking around the kitchen, checking out the granite speckled counter top.

You nod.

“Hmm.. Was he tall and kinda..Dunno. Like a grumpy cowboy?”

You nod again. You dont realize youre doing it, but that metallic taste on your tongue lets you know you're chewing way too hard on the inside of your cheek.

“Miller?” You choke out.

He smiles wide, a laugh bubbling from his chest as he stands up straight.

“That's Joel!”

You reach a hand out to steady yourself on the counter. Suddenly aware of your mascara and your bare legs. Of everything.

Youve got to be fucking kidding me.

You groan and get on your knees, flinging the cabinets open and moving some cleaning supplies out of the way to get sight of the pipes. You scrunch up your face and make a noise of disgust. The pipes are dripping into the cabinet here, soaking the wood and the cleaning bottles, dish towels and refills for other cleaning products here as well. The towels are the worst. You assume this has been happening a while because they emit a kind of stale mildew smell. Like when you leave your wet clothes in the washer for too long. Yuck.

“No mother fuckin’ way.” You sigh as you sit back on your heels, knees digging into the hardwood floor beneath you.

This is a mess, it sets you off immediately. You pull everything out of underneath the sink. Wet, sticky substances covering the bottles makes your skin crawl as you throw them into the sink well above your head. You take the smelly dish towels and slop them in the sink too, turning your head so you don’t smell them directly. You feel your heart pick up. You’re overwhelmed right now. Mouth drying out. Hands losing mobility. You need to take a step away, it’s too much. You press your lips together tightly, trying to swallow away the lump in your throat, but it sits there stubbornly. 

“Keep it together.” You mumbled to yourself through a tight jaw.

You shoved the door of the upstairs bathroom open with your shoulder, hands palm up in front of you like you just scrubbed in. Tears are welling in your eyes. This is too little of a thing to cry over, don’t fucking do it. You’ve been so good lately. Don’t let this break you.

Your hearing muffles and your vision tunnels.

No, fuck. Do not let this happen.

You close your eyes, breathing in deeply through your nose, holding it and pushing it out through your mouth. Again. Again. One last time.

In.

Hold.

Out.

You open your eyes and are met with your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Vision evening out. You’re still hearing things like your head is submerged under water. Your eyes are puffy and red, but tears no longer threaten to spill. Your face is blotchy, lower lip raw- you didn’t even realize you were biting it. You turn on the faucet with the clean side of the back of your hand, turning it on the highest heat. You let the water run, continuing your breathing. In, hold, out. You put both of your hands under the hot water, wincing quietly from the scorching water. It needs to be this hot, though. It won’t be clean unless it's this hot. 

Once the majority of the residue is off, you put your hand under the soap dispenser, the other one pumping it three times. You scrub. Under your nails, between your fingers, up onto your wrist, under your nails again, the backs of your hands. You repeat it. Rinse under hot water and while under the water you move through the same motions- under nails, between fingers, wrist, nails, back of hands. Your hearing is clear. You go back to the soap, three pumps and repeat it all again. Your skin is red and raw. It feels clean. You push the handle on the faucet and the water stops. You flick the excess water beads off your hands and into the sink, waving your hands at your sides for them to air dry.

They’re damp now, you pull them close to inspect them, turning them over and over again to look for any imperfections or the suggestion of residue lingering. There is none. Your chest resumes a normal pace. You stumble back a few paces and sit on the edge of the tub, resting your palms on your knees. You sit like that in silence for sometime. Your brain is empty for the time being.

You can’t remember the first time it happened. You do remember the first time Ellie witnessed it. 

It was only a few weeks into your first semester of college. You were overwhelmed but excited. Finished with classes for the day you made your way back to your shared dorm with Ellie. You and Ellie have been close friends since highschool. In junior year of highschool you both settled on the same college. The idea of having someone you know there was comforting for the both of you. You and Ellie only grew closer.

You went to pull out your dorm key, gripping the handle and pausing slightly when it turns without the key. Huh, Ellie wasn’t supposed to be finished with class yet. You pushed it open slowly, peeking your head in, eyes flying wide when you see Ellie with two boys. You yelp and slam the door shut.

“I’m sorry! I didn’t see anything!” You shout, face frozen in fear before you bury it in your hands.

You hear laughter on the other side of the door and footsteps coming closer. You take a step back, pulling your hands from your face. Ellie is standing there with a large grin, light laughter spilling out of the room.

“Ellie, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you'd be back from class yet and I-” You’re rambling, brows saddled together.

“Stop! It’s okay. You didn’t walk in on anything crazy.” She chuckles and places both of her hands on your shoulders, pulling you in through the door.

Your face is laced with embarrassment and regret when you come through the door, looking at the two boys in there. One boy is sitting in your desk chair, he’s tall and lean. He fiddles with a pencil in his hands. His ink black hair parted in the middle came down to just the nape of his neck. His soft monolid eyes lit up as he smiled at you. 

“This is Jesse,” Ellie said, gesturing to him and smiling. 

She turns and gestures to the other boy who's sitting in your bed, snacking on a bag of chips. This one is familiar, you must have seen him around campus a few times already.

“And this is Owen.” Ellie says, pointing at him.

Owen smiled with a mouth full of chips while wiping his hand on his shirt. His hair was dark and cropped short, round green eyes squinted. He looked just smaller than Jesse and a bit more stocky. You cringed internally. It's like it happened in slow motion. He’s wiping his hands on his shirt. THe crumbs are falling from his hand, tumbling down his shirt and onto your comforter. You swallow thickly and push it out of your mind.

You feign a smile and introduce yourself to them. Owen repeats your name, pronouncing it incorrectly. You wince again. Is it that hard? You correct him and he repeats it again, better this time. You nod your head once, eyes flickering to Ellie.

“Well, nice to meet you. Owen and I were just heading out.” Jesse announces and stands up. 

You silently thank him with pleading eyes, shuffling out of the entranceway to make room for them to exit.

The three of them say their goodbyes and they head out the door, clicking it shut behind them.

“Owen is a weird one.” Ellie mumbles to you while flopping on her back into her mattress.

“Mmh, he seems to be. Why was he here?” You ask, trying not to sound so accusatory, but genuinely curious if she thought that why would she bring him back to your dorm?

“He fuckin’ followed me and Jesse. Kept butting into our conversations the whole walk. We just didn’t kick him out. He is a real odd ball though.” She groans and rolls onto her belly, tilting her head to look at you

You sling your bag off of your shoulder and set it on your desk chair. You sigh quietly and lean against the bedpost, looking at Ellie.

“Thought I walked in on something crazy.” You said with a soft smile. 

Ellie opened her mouth and stuck her pointed finger just past the threshold of her lips, gagging and rolling her eyes back.

“Yeah, no fucking way.” Ellie shudders and pulls herself to sit at the edge of her bed, feet swinging.

“Wanna go to the dining hall?” She says, hopping off the bed.

You nod your head and the both of you make your way down. The two of you pick through the offerings and sit shoulder to shoulder while you eat. Ellie makes you laugh hard. Her goofy demeanor and the way she tells stories so expressively. She makes you giggle until you’re red in the face, tears welling in your eyes. You wipe them as you calm down, gasping for breaths between bites of food. 

Once you both finish you head back up to your dorm, telling her about your classes, your shoulders brushing and bumping the other. The rest of the evening goes by smoothly, watching movies on Ellies laptop in her twin bed. Both of you sandwiched in there but neither of you mind. 

With a sigh Ellie lets you know she’s heading to the showers before bed. Once she leaves you take the time to dress into pajamas and jump in your bed. That's when it started. 

You froze, completely forgetting about Owen in your bed earlier, eating fucking chips. You swallow thickly, small pin pricks push into your legs in the bed, the crumbs sticking to your skin. There's so many. Your breathing hitches, heartbeat quickens. 

Your jaw falls slack, a strained whiney breath forces itself from the back of your throat. It’s all over your bed. It’s dirty. That's all you could think of. Dirty. Your bed is supposed to be a safe space. Warm and smells like home still. It’s contaminated now. 

Dirty.

You slip off of the bed quickly, your body so rigid that pain shoots up your back from your feet when they make contact with the floor. The cold of the tile makes you twitch. You look down and let out a broken sob. Your bare feet are not on the little area rug, they’re on the tile.

Dirty.

Your hearing is the first to go, always. It feels like you put on a pair of headphones, the ones that have the padding that covers your whole ear. Everything is muffled except the high pitched whine. It sounds mechanical. Like a machine whirring inside your brain. It has no source other than in your brain. There's no way to turn it off.

Filthy. 

Then your hands. Fingers grow numb and they tremble. You fumble your comforter, like all motor function is lost. You can’t close your fingers to make a fist, it's hard to rip the comforter off of your bed. 

Disgusting.

The tears are next. Your dry eyes now drowning as they well and spill over your lower lips, staining your blotchy face. Your broken sobs sound like they’re miles away. Your mouth is dry. It’s hard to swallow. The lump in your throat doesn’t budge. 

Stained.

Your vision tunnels and blurs. You can’t think about anything else. You feel dirty. You wipe your hands desperately at your skin to rid of any of the crumbs sticking into you. Your sobbing grows erratic. You reach out a hand to your bedpost to stabilize yourself. Only for a second. You draw your hand back like it's white hot. A broken cry leaves your lips.

It’s all fucking greasy. Owen used it to get himself off of the bed, he put his dirty hands on it. Your hands touched it. 

Dirty. 

Filthy. 

Disgusting.

You can’t breathe. Lungs feel constructed in your tight chest. You’re breathing rapidly, salty tears roll down your cheeks continuously, slipping into the corners of your lips. You hold your hands out in front of your face, flipping them palm up, palm down, palm up, palm down. The greasy sheen highlighting every crevice in your palms made your stomach churn, nausea sitting high in the back of your throat. 

Your skin is crawling. The walls are closing in, the room is tilting. Uncontrollable sobs rip from the back of your throat between gasps of breath. You hear a voice shouting your name from rooms away. Repeatedly. You quickly turn your head and find Ellie, eyes blown wide with concern. Her mouth is moving, you can’t hear her. Can’t read her lips because your sight is fractured- similar to looking at something on the other side of a glass filled with water. Distorted and fuzzy. 

Pressure on your shoulders. Warmth. Ellie’s hands are at your shoulders, gripping you tightly. She’s yelling your name over and over, trying to break down the wall you’ve built. You won’t even look her in her eyes. Your head stops shaking, pressure on your cheeks. Warmth. Her hands are pressed to your face. Your eyes dart around frantically before locking on hers, pupils wide and the whites of your eyes threaded red in irritation. Glassy with tears.

“Breathe with me.” Ellie’s voice sounds like she's screaming at you underwater, waves crashing repeatedly over your head. 

Drown out and not pronounced.

“Look at me.” There's a break in the waves and your hearing bobs in and out of clarity.

Her soft voice echoes between your ears before the water breaks again. Your name. This time up close and you’re able to make it out. Ellie’s nodding her head at you, she can tell the wall is cracking, you’re almost here. Not quite present. 

Ellie’s shoulders rise with her puffed out chest, she pauses and pushes air through her pursed lips. Her warm breath fanning over your sweat and tear soaked face. It’s cold. It’s refreshing. It’s grounding.

Ellie repeats and nods her head when you follow along. Sucking in staggered breaths that are interrupted by choking on the tightness in your throat. You hold it, then push the air out forcefully with a cry while collapsing into Ellie. She stumbles back one step, wrapping her arms around you and keeping you close. You’re still copying Ellies breathing, she hasn’t stopped yet. In, hold, out. She doesn’t stop until you’re doing it without hiccups. Until she can’t feel your heartbeat against her chest. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t move right away. The both of you cling to each other for some time. 

She cradles you through it and pulls back when you do. She wipes your tears and pushes your hair away from your face. Ellie walks you to the showers and sits outside of them while you wash up.

Hot water, the kind that fogs up the mirrors in a second. The kind that makes your skin turn pink on contact. And you scrub. You scrub every inch. You do it again. And once more. Your skin is sore. It’s raw and tight. The hot water is beating into you.

Ellie wraps a towel around you and walks you back into the dorm space. She rifled through your drawers and laid out clothing on her side of the dorm. Ellie tells you to dress yourself and sit at her desk. You do. Knees drawn up to your chest, sock clad heels pressed into the seat of the desk chair. Your chin rests on your knees, arms linked around your shins. Your tired eyes are boring into the woodgrain of Ellie’s desk. 

A gentle hand at your shoulder startles you. It’s just Ellie.

“Stripped the sheets. You have new, clean ones. They’re mine. I promise they’re clean.” She speaks slowly and quietly. 

Tears well in your eyes again. This time, for a good reason. You’ve never been seen like this. She just- knew. Her face dropped.

“Oh- is that not what-“ She frowns.

She gasps in surprise when you hug her. You hug her tight. 

“Thank you.” You mumble into her hair. 

The two of you spend some time talking about it. You tell her some of the things that have triggered you before, what it feels like when the spiral begins. You make sure to thank her several more times. 

“I don’t understand it, Ellie. I really don’t. Some days it’s one thing, today it’s fucking chip crumbs and Owen’s greasy hands.” You shudder and Ellie tuts her tongue. “But you asked about my therapist. I was going to one for some time, just for stuff with my Mom, really. Then at our last session, she diagnosed me with OCD. But I got scared. I stopped making appointments after that.” You say flatly.

“I’m gay.” Ellie blurts out.

Your eyes dart over to her, then you turn your head.

“What?” You say, face pinched up.

“I like girls. You shared something vulnerable with me. You deserve to know something vulnerable about me. Haven’t really told anyone.” She whispers, eyes boring into the panels on the ceiling before lazily turning her head to look at you. 

You blink slowly at her.

“You don't think I’d think any different of you, right? Still love you the same. God forbid someone says shit to you about it, I think I’d kill ‘em.” You turn your entire body to face her. 

The both of you are laying in your own beds. On your sides, hands folded under your head. Two girls that are very vulnerable in this world, for two very different reasons.

“I know. I think it’s still difficult for me to say out loud. We don’t really live in a super accepting place.”

All you can do is nod your head, she smiles warmly. Your heart swells with the trust she has in you. You’d protect her with your life. 

“Tell me more about you.” She speaks up again.

You do.

You told her about how the floor set you off as well, a week later she had collected a handful of small throw rugs, making sure the tile floor of the shitty dorm was covered. She even wiped off the bed post once you told her about the oily sheen on it from Owen’s hands. She apologizes for even letting him sit in your bed and promises it will never happen again.  She keeps her promise and so much more. It was not the last time she pulled you out of one of your “episodes”.

You’re in the fog of the aftermath of a spiral. Feeling floaty and distant. Head is heavy. You can breathe normally again, though. 

You need to get out of the house. Breathe fresh air. Your thoughts wander to your conversation with Ellie last night. 

Riverside. 

You decide you’ll take a walk over there and try your luck. You didn’t have many doubts. They were constantly looking for help, but the twinge of self doubt was enough to be present. 

You showered and pulled clothes on slowly. When you stepped outside, warm wind whipped your hair into your face. You signed and pushed it away, starting the walk to the diner. You take your time, making sure to stop and look at the trees, some of the smaller branches still littering the sidewalk- damage left over from the storm. You kick some of the larger ones out of the way of the sidewalk and keep on. 

It only takes about twenty minutes to reach the diner, the jingle of a bell ringing when you open the door makes you smile. 

“Oh my, I haven’t seen that pretty smile in some time.” You hear from behind the counter.

Your smile only grows when you spot him there. Tall and lean with broad shoulders. He’s in great shape and you’re jealous of it honestly. His hair is mostly grey, his beard still clings to some of the darker hair he once had. He has soft blue eyes that disappear when he smiles. 

“Hi Frank.” You walk with a pep in your step to the bar stool closest to him.

“Well honey, to what do I owe this honor?” He says, working at shining a glass.

“I was curious if you guys are looking for some more help-“

“Yes.” His hands stop shining the glass. 

You look up to him, smiling so wide your cheeks hurt.

“Really?”

“Really, kid.” He nods his head to you.

“Thank you so, so much.”

He gives you a wink and turns around. You hop on the barstool across from him. He was so enthusiastic about taking you back it made your heart flutter. You guess you weren’t as bad as you remember. 

Frank takes the time to go over the menu with you, a few things have been added, some taken away. He leans over the counter, slender fingers pointing at the laminated menu. His kind eyes flickered between yours and the paper. Toothy smile is wide, the suggestion of dimples hidden under his facial hair. Frank was as kind as they come. You don’t know how he keeps up such a soft exterior while in front of house at a diner. 

Bill, his husband, on the other hand- is a piece of work. He runs expo in the kitchen after years of being a chef. You better believe he runs that shit like that navy. He was never rude to you, but was always short. Only talks when necessary. Bill was a bit shorter than Frank and stocky. He was strong, walked around with heavy feet and a permanent scowl. The creases between his brows were evidence of it. His brown hair was shoulder length and greying at his temples. His beard is long and well groomed.

You weren’t planning on staying for as long as you did but Frank needed to tell Bill that you were coming back. He practically drags him out of the kitchen. He gives you a tight lipped smile and a nod before dipping back through the swinging doors.

Frank rolls his eyes when he gets back to the counter. 

“Men.” He waves him off and turns back to you.

Eventually Frank lets you go with a few shirts and aprons. You fold them nicely and hold them to your chest as you start your trek back home.

Your phone rings in the pocket of your jeans and you stop walking. It’s the third time it’s rang this morning. You almost let it go again until your conscience gets the better of you.You grunt while maneuvering the clothes in your hands to free one of them up to get the phone.

Dad.

You clicked the green circle and sandwiched your phone between your ear and shoulder, taking slow steps. 

“Hey.” You said casually. 

He said your name once. His voice carried that signature low tone of concern that makes your stomach twist, even more so now. You visibly cringe. 

“You alright? I called the other night n’ yesterday. There was a hell of a storm. Didn’t knock out your power, did it?”

There was a pause. Guilt flooded your chest and made your feet feel heavy.

“No. I mean- it did for a little.” You admitted, walking slower to keep your already haggard breath calm. “It came back overnight. I lit a few candles. Nothing dramatic.”

You could almost see your dad’s slow nod on the other end.

“You sure? Kid, you didn’t sound great the last time we talked. And if you’re stuck over there with no heat or anythin’ you can-“

“I’m fine, Dad. Really.” Your voice got soft. “It was actually kinda nice.”

Nice.

What a word to choose. It has been a lot of things: soaked, intense, silent then messy. And warm- too warm with Joel’s hand splayed across your lower stomach, his breath at your ear. You swallowed, guilt rising again like tidewater. 

Your dad exhaled. “Alright. I just worry. That place isn’t exactly Fort Knox, y’know.”

“I’m good,” You say again, hoping repetition would make it more true. “I’m actually walking back from Riverside right now. Got my old job back. Starting next week.”

“Well look at you-“ He perks up a little. “Money’s tight?”

You laugh, thinly. “Money’s always tight.”

What you didn’t say: And I’ve been spending too much time and somehow not enough time with someone you know. Someone who was in my apartment. In the dark. 

“Alright,” Your dad’s voice was gentle. “Sounds like you had a good day. Next time don’t wait a whole day to call me back, kiddo.”

“I won’t.”

“Love ya, baby.”

“Love you, too.”

You hung up and  continued walking. Your dads voice no longer in your ear made it easier to swallow the guilt for now. The worst part is, you don’t want to stop. Not yet. 

You hug the shirts and apron in a tight arm to free your other, allowing it to dig in your jeans pocket for the house key. Your eyes are trained at the ground, sucking your teeth in annoyance when you don’t feel it right away. You pat down your other pockets, head lifting and looking around as you get closer to your house. The pick up truck parked in front of your place makes you stop in your tracks.

“What the fuck.” You mumble and walk with a purpose to your door. 

As you round the pillar you see that familiar head of hair.

“Joel?” You ask, brows furrowed.

Joel looks to the side to find the source of your voice before turning on his heels to face you. He didn’t expect to see you out here.

“What’re you doing here?” You ask but maybe it comes out too harsh.

You’re overthinking and begin to stutter. He silenced you with a lift of his hand and a sweet smile.

“What’s wrong with the sink?” He asks.

“How do you know about the sink?”

His face falls a little. “The work order.. You placed it this morning.” He says flatly. 

When the fuck did you do that? 

Clearly in the after-fog of your downward spiral you placed the fucking maintenance request. Joel even pulled out his work phone to double check, flipping the screen to show you. For a split second, he got nervous and wondered if he let his feet walk him here with no excuse. You’re grateful because it will be fixed. Extra grateful because Joel will be the one to do it. You’re embarrassed that you don’t remember doing it. In such a vulnerable moment, your exhausted brain thought of Joel. 

“O-oh. Yeah. Right. It’s not gushing or anything. Dripping. But.. Y’know. Slow drip, thought I’d catch it early.”

‘And it soaked everything under nearly and nearly sent me into a panic attack.’

You leave that part out. 

“Smart girl.” He says, smiling. 

Your body reacts to that immediately, smiles so wide your cheeks burn. You’re flustered and Joel loves it. Your smile is too quick. He takes a step back and watches you fumble nervously. You find the key and hold it up. He chuckles as you unlock the door and usher him in. 

“Kitchen’s still standing. I expected worse.” He teases. 

“You haven’t seen the inside of my brain.” You mumble, laughing thinly. 

It was meant as a joke but there was too much truth laced into that. He read that tone from a mile away. Cute as hell when you’re nervous, he thinks.

Joel rounds the kitchen island and stands there, looking at the cleaning supplies and everything cleaned out of the cabinet.

“Well thanks for makin’ space for me.”

‘Yeah, just for you. No problem. It’s not like my brain was short circuiting while doing it.’ You shake your head not wanting to dwell in that. Joel is here and you want to soak him in while you can.

You nod your head and let him get to work, leaning against the counter top. He crouches down with a grunt and positions himself on his back under the pipes. 

Soft clinks of metal on metal fill the room. Your eyes linger on his hips and trail down the line of his thighs. He came so quickly. The last time you put in a request it took him a few days to show up, this was mere hours. It makes your stomach flip. 

You slowly lower yourself to the floor, crossing your leg over the other and leaving your back against the kitchen island just across from where Joel's working. You lean to the side, peering past the kitchen cabinet to watch him work, strong arms flexing as he tightens the pipes.

He senses your stare and lifts his head to peer down at you. You freeze. 

“You ever gon’ invite me over instead of jus’ findin’ excuses for maintenance requests?” He murmurs, holding your gaze before dropping his head back and getting back to work.

“I like watching you work.” You say simply, smiling sweetly. 

You’re killing him. He’s told himself not to get soft, not to get stupid. But then you smile like that. Joel would rip the whole plumbing system apart just to have an excuse to see you again if he needed one. He shakes his head and grabs some plumbing tape from his pocket, bringing it up to the pipes and wrapping it around the threads before tightening the connections. When he raises his arms to the pipes again the hem of his shirt hikes up. You bite back a moan. The golden skin of his hips on display, the hair trailing over the curve of his belly and disappearing under his jeans is thick and dark, no greying strand to be found there.

Wait, he wants you to invite him over? Have you been blind to any hints he's dropping?

Joel shimmies out from under the sink and sits up, bending his knee and resting his arm over it. 

“Fixed. You’re safe from water damage.” Joel smiles, wrench dangling in his fingers. 

You fein a sigh and toss your head back, pressing the back of your palm to your forehead while the other fans you.

“Oh- whatever would I do without you?” You really exaggerate your southern drawl.

Joel chuckles and shakes his head. He adores how goofy you can be. 

“Call someone else.” He chuckles and places his wrench in his toolbox to the side of him.

Your hands fall in your lap and you lean into the cabinets in the island behind you with a sigh.

“Don’t wanna call anyone else.” 

Joel pauses. Stiffens slightly, he doesn’t look at you for a moment. Say something. Don’t say something. Hell.

“This isn’t part of the job description.” He gives a half hearted laugh, trying to read you.

“Neither is knocking on my door during a storm and making me cum in your lap, but you did that too.”

He freezes. His muscles tighten up and he swallows hard.

“You’ve got a smart mouth.” Is all he can say.

He can’t stop looking at your lips. He remembers how soft they were, how warm and wet. He closes his eyes and sighs, trying to shake the image from his head. The voice in the back of his head reminding him that he’s here to perform a service for you. That no matter how good it feels, how much he wants it, he's crossing a line. He brings himself to his knees and stands with a grunt.

You don’t move. His knees are at your eye line, you’re still sitting on the floor against the island. This is intoxicating. The way his tall frame leers over you, shadowing you from any sun coming in through the window. His boots smell like leather, it stings your nose beautifully. The way he’s peering down to you sends a shiver down your spine that makes you sit up straight. Neither of you say anything.

Words get caught in Joels throat when you slowly lift yourself to rest on your knees, then settle back onto your heels. Your palms are spread over your jean clad thighs. He feels his heart in the base of his throat. He remembers how you looked on your bed the first time he kissed you. This is amplified. Lewd. Your eyes are soft and dreamy but blown black. He watches you carefully, his fingers twitching like he's holding back. His chest expands and falls when he sighs through his nose.

Joel is the first one to move. A slow hand comes out and rests his thick fingers at your chin, tilting your head up to him. You follow his hand, sitting up off of your heels, eyes now level with his belt. You can see the bulge of his hardening cock straining beneath the denim. Your hands make tight fists on your thighs. His dark eyes are scanning your face, his pink tongue slowly wets his lips.

“What’s goin’ on in there?” He gruffs, pressing his index finger against your temple, tapping it twice before sprawling his palm over your cheek.

You lean into his touch immediately, not caring how desperate it seems. Joel doesn’t think it’s desperate at all, though. 

“Thinking.” You mutter.

You can’t bring yourself to rip your eyes away from his.

“Tell me what you’re thinkin’ ‘bout, baby.”

Your belly curls in excitement.

“You.” It comes out as a whisper.

“Me?”

“Yes,” Your eyes flicker to only what you can imagine to be an extremely uncomfortable restrained bulge. “You.”

“This?” He raises an eyebrow, his free hand gripping his length over his pants.

You salivate at the girth of him in his own hand and nod your head.

“Say it.” He notices the way your eyes glaze over and it lights something filthy within him.

“Thinking about your cock.” 

Joel lets out a low groan, squeezing himself through the taught denim. Your eyes are trained on the outline.

“Look at me,” You obey immediately and he strokes his thumb over your cheek. “Want me to use that smart mouth ‘a yours?”

You feel a gush of arousal settle at the fabric of your panties while you nod, lifting both of your hands off of your thighs and sliding them up his. Joel lets his hand drop from his cock with a sigh, keeping his hand on your cheek and cupping it while he watches you intently. Your shaky fingers fumble with his belt buckle. Quickly both of his hands are enveloping yours, halting any movement. You flinch, not expecting the quick movement. Confusion settles in your expression while you look at him.

“I need to hear you say it. Want me to use your mouth?” He asks again.

“Yes, Joel. I want you to use my mouth.” You say, voice breaking at the end.

He squeezes your hands before batting them away and making quick work of his belt buckle, sheathing it from the denim loops and letting it clatter on the floor behind him.

“Good girl. Listen real well.” He praises and you bite back a whine.

You focus on his hips in front of you, working your hands at the button and tugging the zipper, the metallic rasp thrilled you. You wasted no time pushing his jeans down to his thighs. He sighs with relief, only the thin material of his briefs between your mouth and him. You shuffle closer on your knees, skating your hand over his cock, palming in softly. 

Joel grits his teeth and breathes sharply through them. One of his hands reached out to grip the counter top, the other gently resting at the top of your head. You looked up to him, he nodded his head slowly in approval. Your fingers trace over the band of his briefs, curling under the elastic while you press wet, open mouth kisses to his coothed cock.

A low, gravely moan rumbles deep in Joels chest. A sound you want to hear over, and over, and over again. He threads his strong fingers through your hair, not pushing or pulling you, but cradling the back of your head in encouragement. He looks down at you through heavy lids. Your eyes are closed, lips pink and glossy and you pepper kisses, then lick a thick stripe over the outline of his cock.

His chest tightens. “Look so fuckin’ pretty teasin’ me.” He rasps.

It sends butterflies tumbling around your belly. He’s fucking praising you while you’re on your knees in front of him. You open your eyes and look at him through thick lashes. He feels his heart skip a beat. It’s so vulnerable, he wants more. You give him more, tugging the elastic down his thighs. The noise that leaves your lips is fucking filthy. Breathy and broken at the sight of him. You can hear the upwards turn of Joel’s lips in his staggering breaths. Dark, wiry hair curls at the base of his cock. Tip slick with his precum and a pretty shade of a darker pink. You felt your cheeks well, drool pooling behind your lips. You needed to feel the weight of him on your tongue. 

One of your hands rests on his thigh, pressing your nails gently into his fleshy skin. Slender, dainty fingers of your opposite hand wrap around the base of his thick cock and pump him slowly. Joel tilts his head back, sighing deeply and letting his shoulders relax. Your hand works slowly, twisting your wrist as you near the tip of his cock. Leaning forward, you press your lips to his thigh, peppering wet kisses across his skin. He grunts and you fight the smile at the corners of your lips. 

Finally, you position your mouth at the tip of his cock, rolling your tongue against it. You can see the muscles in his stomach tighten. It strokes your ego, knowing you have that effect on him. You can’t wait any longer. Teasing him is turning you on, clamped thighs rubbing together. You wrap your slick lips around the head of his cock, closing your eyes to savor him. Warm and heavy with a salty tang. You moan around him and he grits his teeth. His hand tightens in your hair and you pull back to look up to him, a thin string of saliva connecting the tip of his throbbing cock to your slick lower lip.

“Alright. Y’had your fun. Lemme work at that pretty lil’ mouth. Okay baby?” He hums, his hand that was gripping the counter hooks a thumb into your lower jaw, slipping the pad of his digit against your tongue.

You close your eyes, wrapping your lips around his thumb and hollowing your cheeks, humming ‘Mhmm’ in response. You feel him shift. You open your eyes to see him pumping his hand up and down his cock, his lips parted and glossy. 

“S’a good girl.” He mutters, pressing his thumb into the flat of your tongue.

“Open up.” He coaxes, tapping your cheek twice with his index finger. 

You obey and part your lips, letting your tongue rest just past your lower lip. You can feel the heat off of his length while he slowly strokes himself mere inches from you. He drags his thumb down the tip of your tongue before pushing his palm along the side of your face, lacing his fingers through your hair again, dragging his wet thumb across your face. The weight of his hand at your head makes you dizzy. It's enthralling and grounding you at the same time. You squish your thighs together, waiting there with your mouth open and tongue out, clit aching for friction.

He pushes his hips forward, the throbbing head of his cock making contact with your tongue again. You wriggle the muscle beneath him, his vulgar groans encourage you. You slack your jaw as he pushes inches of himself in. He halts as you gag, thick saliva pooling in your mouth. You screw your eyes shut, stomach tightening before it relaxes, adjusting to the thickness of him.

Joel sinks his teeth into the inside of his cheek, feeling the muscles in your mouth contract and shift around his cock. Warm and slick. He isn’t going to last long. He’s thought about this several times over the past week, rutting his hips into his fist in bed, imagining you just like this. In his lewd daydreams it's not his fist, it's your warm, welcoming mouth. It’s your eyes wide and dark, looking up at him with tears brimming your lower lids, your thick eyelashes clump together from the ones that have already spilled. He has a front row seat to it right now and he wants to savor it. As badly as he wants to toss his head back and revel in the feeling, he can’t look away from you. His eyes stay trained on your flushed face while he pulls his hips, then slowly pushes them forward again. Drawing his cock in and out of your mouth, wet squelches sounding at every pull. He watches the way your cheeks fill and deflate, the mass of his cock molding them.

Your panties are slick against your cunt. It was almost painful how badly you needed to be touched. But you didn’t want to take any attention from him. You wanted to feel this, feel him.

Both of Joel's hands are loosely fisted in your hair, bouncing your head to meet the controlled, quick thrusts of his hips. Your hands are clawing at the tops of your thighs and you swear you’ll have ripped holes in your jeans by the end of this.

“Takin’ me so good, sweet girl.” He pants out.

His voice is low, sweet and practically dripping. You’d do awful things to hear it more often.

Like lie to your-

Shut the fuck up.

Not now.

You push every thought from your head that isn’t Joel. To encourage this you take matters into your own hands on one particularly slow push in of his hips, you push your head in further until your nose is nestled at the soft skin above his cock. Your eyes just about roll into the back of your head and so do Joels. His jaw is slack, profanities laced with your name ripping from his chest. 

All you can feel is Joel.

All you can smell is Joel. 

All you can taste is Joel. 

With your eyes rolled back, the mental image of his fucked face burned into the back of your lids- all you can see is Joel.

He feels you sputter around him, a thick tear slips through your closed eyelids and rolls down the swell of your cheek. He pulls your mouth from his cock with a tug of your hair. You pant rapidly, a thick string of spit dropping over your lower lip. Your chest rises and falls while you try to catch your breath, bringing the back of your hand up to your mouth to wipe the spit off. Before you’re able to, Joel swats your hand away and your eyes open quickly.

“Nuh-uh.” He rasped breathily. “Look real pretty like that. Mouth all slick with spit from suckin’ me off.”

Your body writhed beneath him. You should’ve known he talks filthy. 

“You’re doin’ real good, baby.” He says while slowly releasing your wrist and sliding his hand back through your hair.

He gives a gentle tug, forcing you to look up at him. His cock twitches as you stick your tongue out, leaning forward with the guide of his hands to take him in your mouth again. He must be getting close, the pace he sets this time around is quicker and sloppier. He’s rutting his hips and keeping your head still.

Ragged grunts and profanities are ripping from Joel’s chest as he works his hips. His stomach is tight, his skin feels white hot. He can feel your throat flex around him, and vibrate slightly when you moan around him. It's driving him crazy how well you’re taking him. The lewd sound of slick suction fills the room. Your spit is dribbling from the corners of your lips, slipping down your chin and a thick ring of it around the base of his cock drips some down the curve of his balls. 

He doesn’t know how long he’ll last like this. He leans back slightly, eyes not leaving your face, gawking as he watches himself disappear in your mouth. He had no plans of taking his eyes off of you, until he saw your hand scrambling. He didn’t stop thrusting his hips but he did crane his head to the side and fuck-

You’re touching yourself through your jeans.

Joel moans through a tight jaw.

“Sucking me off getting you all riled up?” He grits, dragging his hips.

You hum a muffled ‘Mmhmph’ around his cock as an answer.

“Couldn’t help yourself, hm? Poor thing.” He taunts quietly through strangled breaths.

He’s trying to hold himself together for a bit longer, wanting to drag this moment out to relish in it fully, not knowing when this will ever happen again. A whine is strangled in the back of your throat, his cock not giving it room to escape. Your body is rigid, fingers rubbing at your throbbing clit through your jeans, hips rocking into your fingers needily. 

Joel deep, breathy chuckles above you and it sends a shiver down your spine, walls clamping around nothing. He loves seeing you like this, bucking hips and drooling, tear stained cheeks, his cock down your throat. It’s dirty, kneeling on your kitchen floor and letting Joel use your mouth, getting so worked up you couldn’t stop yourself from touching. 

“Fuck-“ Joal gruffs, hips keeping their pace. “Gonna cum, pretty girl.” His voice is softer, almost a whisper.

“Where y’want it?” He reluctantly slows his thrusts so you’re able to answer.

He draws his cock from your mouth, pumping himself slowly to keep himself close. You sputter when he removes himself, whimpering at the loss of him. You stop touching yourself, more desperate for him to put his cock back in your mouth, your hands paw at his thighs, pressing your fingers into the sides and pulling him closer. 

“My mouth, p-please.” You stutter, throat raw.

“Fuckin’- So good f’me. Want me to cum all down your throat?” He almost chokes on his words, your ‘please’ causing his body to seize up.

You nod your head quickly, whimpering his name.

“That's my girl. Wanna have a belly full’a me, huh?” 

If you could force out a broken sob right now, you would. His words muddled in your brain, mushing it around. All that is left is Joel.

Joel. Joel. Joel.

“Been so good.” He whispers, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head before standing straight up, his hand still working at his cock. “Go on n’ make me cum.” 

You gladly replace his hand with yours, bringing your mouth to him immediately. His hands don’t grip your hair anymore, they warm the side and top of your head, just barely guiding you along. The weight of him in your mouth is one you don’t want to forget. He’s warm, thick and pulsing. You want to memorize every vein and the way he twitches when you do that thing with your tongue.

You hollow your cheeks, swirling your tongue against the underside of his cock while pulling back, then taking him in once again. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He moans, pushing your hair out of your face. 

You moan around his cock, muffled and broken. You want to feel his sticky warmth pool in the back of your throat. You’re pumping the portion of his length that you can’t fit in your mouth, hand slick in your spit.

Joel's belly is wound tight, sweat pearling at his temples. His breathing is ragged, getting caught in his throat when you rip a vulgar moan from it. 

“I’m gonna cum- fuck.” He warns.

You push as much of him down your throat as you can stand, your nose nestled into that spot again. You don’t stop moving your tongue. One hand is splayed on his belly, feeling his muscles contort under his soft skin. The other reaches for his balls, cradling them gently and giving the softest squeeze.

That was it for Joel.

The coil deep in his stomach snapped, sending a shock from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. His legs weaken for just a moment, one of his hands gripping your shoulder for stability. His groans are more like growls through strangled breaths. He cums hard, thick, hot ropes of it spilling into your throat. He tastes good. Salty, heady and him. You keep him there, tucked into the back of your throat for a beat, sucking him softly through his high. You swallow all of him and he hisses through his teeth, feeling your throat contract around his sensitive cock.

“Fuck-“ He pants as you suck him slowly.

He winces when you focus on the tip of his cock before fully pulling off of him. You blink your eyes a few times, clearing up the image of him standing over you. His face is red, curls sticking to his forehead from his light sweat. His chest is heaving, stretching his shirt across his broad shoulders perfectly. You still want to bite them. He looks beautiful. You wipe your mouth off on the back of your hand, resting both of them in your lap while sitting back on your heels. It’s silent for a moment, it lets self doubt crawl in. Insecurity teasing you, his eyes burning holes in your skin.

“Did I do-“

“Stand up.” He interrupts you and doesn’t ask you to finish your sentence, tucking himself back into his briefs, and pulling up his jeans, belt still somewhere on the floor. 

You feel a muscle twinge in your belly. Not in a bad way. Maybe in a sort of anticipation. You shakily pull yourself onto your feet, legs wobbly. You’re very aware of the cool air settling against the damp spot between your legs. You’re not standing but a second before Joel grabs you from under your arms and sits you on the counter. You gasp, sprawling your hands on the counter behind you.

“Joel- what’re you-“ 

“Gonna take care’a you.” He interrupts you again and you have half the mind to tell him that, but the way his hands are making quick work of your jeans makes you forget. 

You swallow hard, the tang of him lingering in the back of your throat. You lift your hips off the counter when he coaxes you to do so. You hiss through a tight jaw and sit up straight when your burning skin makes contact with the cold counter. The girth of Joel's hips force your thighs apart when he stands between them, your jeans forgotten on the floor alongside his belt. 

His hips are flush against the counter, hand finding itself at the back of your head, guiding your lips to his. You pause for a moment. You don’t know if he’s thinking clearly. You had just swallowed everything he gave to you, he wouldn’t want to taste that. You stiffen and turn your head to the side. Joel furrows his eyebrows and loosens his grip.

“What's goin’ on?” He asks quietly.

“Just had you in my mouth.” You say obviously.

“Yeah, I remember.” He muses, his brows still saddled together.

“Gonna taste like you.” 

He blinks at you a few times, trying to read your face of any hesitation other than the fact that you don't want him to taste himself on your lips.

“That all?” 

He grabs your chin and guides you to face him again. You can feel his breath on your lips. The proximity sucks any words from your throat. All you can do is nod slowly.

“Don’t bother me a bit.” He rasps, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips and back.

Your belly twists at the admission.

“No boy ever kissed you after you get him off like that?”

You shake your head ‘no’. He makes you feel small. Not in a bad way. In a way that steals the words from your lips.

“Seems like there's lotsa things these boys don’t do for you, huh?” He angles his head, pressing his forehead against yours.

You nod your head, movements restrained by how close he is. His hand keeps a strong but gentle grip on your chin, the opposite running fingertips over the side of your bare thigh. The shiver down your spine makes you straighten. 

“S’a damn shame.” He says before crashing his lips into yours.

You sigh heavily through your nose at the contact, leaning into him right away. You kiss him hungrily when he brings both hands to your thighs. You whimper immediately, the pit in your belly has been throbbing since he finished down your throat. You were so intertwined in him, you had nearly forgotten about it. Your thighs ache the same way they did when he pulled you into his lap the other night. Joel's tongue swipes over your lower lip and you gladly part them for him. He rolls his tongue against your once before pulling away. You groan at the loss of his lips, shooting him a confused, needy look. He chuckles as you frown.

“Quit it. Told you I was gonna take care’a you.” He says simply, his hands push up your thighs and settle at your hips, drawing small circles there with his thumbs. “Man of my word.”

You relax, face softening while you squirm on the counter top. He smirks at the sight of you, bare legs, damp panties clinging to your core, hem of your shirt bunched at your hips. Joel massages his fingers into the flesh of your thighs as he leans down, connecting his lips to your neck. You sigh, even the small contact providing some relief. He works his way down your neck, placing sweet kisses. He steps at the collar of your shirt to pull you closer to the edge of the counter. You suck in a sharp breath, pushing your hips closer to him, silently begging for more contact. You can hear the sly curl of his lips through his breaths.

“Settle down, sweetheart.” He tells you while lowering his head between your knees.  

You want to bite back at him and tell him its a little hard to do with his face that fucking close to you, but the scratch of his beard at the inside of your knee makes you whimper instead. You lean back, resting your weight on one of your elbows, digging it into the counter. You look down to watch him place wet kisses at the inside of your knee, moving closer at a painfully slow pace. You squirm beneath him, impatient and needy. He pays it no mind, his eyes closed as he sucks a small hickey into your thigh. You whine his name thinly, grabbing his attention. His eyes flutter open, he keeps his head low. He doesn’t move right away, but he knows what you need.

He pulls a hand from your thigh to cup your sex. The moan that rips from your chest is embarrassing. He’s barely touching you. You lift your hips into the palm of his hand, walls spasming around nothing, the throb becoming painful. He pushes the heel of his palm into you, watching your thighs twitch and go rigid beside him.

“You’re soaked, darlin’. What got you so worked up?” He muses, sprawling his fingers along your panties. 

Your stomach tightens. His mouth will be the end of you one way or the other. After this is all said and done you want to remind him that he has a smart mouth. Knows just what to say to make your knees buckle. Knows the words that will rattle around your brain for days. The words that keep you up at night in a cold sweat. 

“Stuffing my cock down your throat got you this wet?” He tuts and shakes his head slowly. 

He removes his palm and you gasp, reaching out for his hand but he swats it away.

“Told you to settle down, didn’t I?”

“J-Joel, please.” You roll your hips upwards, whining quietly. 

“Please what?” 

He’s a sick motherfucker to make you beg like this. You can’t refuse. You want him- No. You need him right now.

“Just touch me.” You say quickly.

“I will. Told you I’m a man of my word. Wouldn’t lie to ya, sweet girl.”

His words hit you low in your stomach, not because they’re dripping with sex and taunt in a way that makes your head spin- but. He wouldn’t lie to you. Why would he? He has no reason to. Why would you lie to him? He has no reason to think that you would. But you did. You are right now. Not letting him know about your father is lying no matter how you flip it to yourself. 

You gasp, mind going blank when his fingers trace up your slit and curl around the crotch of your panties, pulling them to the side. The cool air against your bare cunt sends a shock up your spine and you arch away from the countertop.

“Joel.” You moan, chest heaving.

“I know, I know. You’re hurtin’ for it. I know, baby.”

A broken whimper leaves your lips. He presses his middle finger into your slit and drags it upwards, pausing when he brushes your swollen clit. Your mouth opens with lewd, strangled moans passing. His opposite hand lays at your thigh, holding your leg open for him. He doesn’t look at you. His eyes are glued between your legs. Watching your slick arousal cling to his finger, the sheen when he smears some over your folds. He curses to himself, completely enamored at what's before him.

He spreads his hand over your pelvis, keeping your hips still, his thumb dipping between your folds to tap your clit lightly. You jerk against his hand and he adds more pressure, winding tight circles at the hood of your clit. You’re not going to last long, being pent up for so long while sucking him off. Craving his touch again for the past two days. You can't put anymore energy into propping yourself up and you let yourself lay flat against the counter. 

Joel replaces his hand at your pelvis with his other, taking his dominant hand and pressing two fingers between your folds, prodding at your entrance.

“P-Please, Joel. I can’t-“ You start to sputter, rutting underneath his hand. 

He doesn’t respond, only silencing you by pushing his index and middle finger into your cunt. You gasp, hand scrambling for something to hold onto, finding his tostled head of hair to grip onto. He grunts, pressing hot kisses into your thigh while drawing his fingers out. You whine and tug at his hair. He pushes his thick fingers back in and pumps them slowly.

“God- squeezin’ my fingers.” He mutters against the skin of your thigh. 

His hand at your hip presses firmly.

“Can’t do this if you’re squirmin’ ‘round on me.”

He can’t lie, he loves it. Loves watching you writhe and squirm, knowing it's him that's causing it. He also knows you like him telling you what to do. Even reprimanding you in the slightest. The squeeze around his fingers and your broken moan tells him more than your words ever could.

“I-I’m gonna cum Joel.” You pant, thighs twitching under him.

His fingers don’t change their pace, they keep their steady thrusting. 

“Yeah? Gonna cum on my fingers, pretty girl?”

He angles them upwards towards your belly button. You nod quickly, moans caught in your throat. 

“That's it, darlin’. Want you to cum f’me.” He rasps.

His thumb from his opposite hand slipping to add pressure onto your clit. Your vision blurs, your hips press up into his hand, walls clamping down on his digits. Your climax comes hard and fast. Your hand trembling at his hair, fingertips pressed into his scalp, your other gripping the fabric of your shirt for some stability.

“Fuck, Joel!” You cry out, voice hoarse.

“Give it to me, squeeze my finger real nice.” He doesn’t stop, he works his fingers through your high until you grab at his wrist to slow his fingers, the stimulation becoming too much.

“Alright, alright. S’a good girl. Sound so pretty when you cum.” He coo’s against your warm skin, rubbing his palm against your lower stomach.

Your breathing is still erratic, as he stands. His lazy smile makes your heart beat harder.

“Gonna give you a second to catch your breath. But you’re gonna give me ‘nother, okay?” He nods his head.

Your eyes are wide, words caught behind your tongue. He’s still standing between your thighs, your heels are pressed into the edge of the counter, his arms wrapped around your knees, still sprawling his hands over your belly. 

“Okay?” He repeats when you don’t answer.

“Joel, you don’t have to do that.”

“Want to.” 

“I-..” Your voice falls flat as you look at him.

What have you done to deserve this? This man is standing here, between your thighs, telling you that he will make you cum again. He came over to fix your sink, by the way. But the way he's looming over you, his fingers slick in your cum, hair sticking every which way from your hand stuck in it not long ago.

Joel gave you a puzzled look, tilting his head slightly.

“Think you can give me ‘nother?” He says slowly, his hand inching back to your core. 

You couldn’t believe it, but that knot in your belly pulls again. Muscles tightening. You nod your head.

“Atta girl.” He muses, pushing your thighs farther apart.

You hiss through a tight jaw, still sensitive when the cool air hits your core. His lips make contact with you almost instantly, you swear you pull a muscle from how abrasively your body reacts. His lips are wet, soft and warm while pursed against your clit. He leaves a soft kiss there, then another. 

“Fuck- Joel.” You say quickly through your breaths.

You feel his lips curl into that cocky grin against you and it makes your head spin. He licks slowly into you with the flat of his tongue, rolling the tip against your clit as he nears it. His arms wrap underneath your thighs, hands coming up and around, one settling at your lower stomach- holding your panties to the side, the other grips the top of your thigh tightly. 

You can no longer restrain any noises. Loud, drawn out moans leave your lips. He laps at you slowly and skillfully, moving his head with the circle of your hips under his hold. He angles his head downwards, pushing his tongue past your entrance, his crooked nose nudging your clit. You shot up quickly, hands finding his hair. Thighs are twitching, attempting to clamp them down around his head, the stimulation making your body shake. He pushes your thighs apart and holds them into the counter.

“Oh god. Joel, fuck. Please- I’m close.” Your voice breaks at the end, all the air rushing from your lungs.

He doesn’t stop, he doesn’t speed up or slow down. He keeps the consistent, agonizing pace. Licking deep and curling his tongue inside of you. Joel recognizes the pattern in your moans, shorter, drawn together and breathy. He keeps working his tongue, shaking his head slightly, nose rubbing against your clit.

The familiar white hot pool in the pit of your belly is present, bubbling and spilling over. Your second orgasm comes harder than the first. Joel keeps his mouth at your cunt, lapping, swallowing and sucking everything you offer up to him. His low groans vibrate into your core. You're reminded of his hands pinning you as you squirm beneath him and it makes your belly turn again, carrying out your orgasm.

Joel slows his tongue, giving long licks up your slit and letting up on the grip he has you. You let his hair be, releasing your grip and squabbling for his hands, your smaller ones pressing harshly into his flesh.

“J-Joel-“ You choke out, practically a sob.

You felt exhausted, body drained in a very different way from earlier. In a good way. This was lighter. Warmer.

“Y’took it real nice, darlin’.” Joel whispers, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh, peppering them up your knee. 

His lips glistened, beard and mustache too. You sighed quietly, the sight of him with your arousal on his face made your heart jump. 

“Thank you.” You say softly, your chest no longer rising and falling rapidly.

He stands and shakes his head, pulling the hem of his shirt up to wipe off his mouth. Your mouth dries out at the sight of his lower stomach, soft with those dark hairs you saw when he was under the sink. You look back up to him, slowly bringing yourself to sit up.

“Don’t thank me for that. I liked doin’ it.” He tells you, holding out his hands to you.

You smile, feeling a bit shy at his admission even after all that just happened.

“Well, then thank you for fixing the sink.” You take his hands and he helps you off the counter. 

You wobble once on your feet again and he holds you until you steady yourself. Only then does he reach down to grab your jeans and his belt. He hands them to you with a sheepish grin before threading his worn leather belt between the loops on his jeans.

“I can’t stay long.” He speaks up after some time.

You pulled your jeans on, leaving them unbuttoned while nodding your head.

“I know. Got other jobs for today?” You fold your arms over your chest and look up to him.

The smile he offers is sympathetic. 

Joel wants to stay. 

He wants to stay and clean you up, make sure you’re comfortable. 

But he can’t. 

He does have other jobs and there's still a small voice in the back of his head reminding him that this is not an everyday encounter. You’re not some woman he met at a bar, or a friend of a friend. He’s here to fix up your house when you need it. He needs to remind himself of that. And he does every time he finds himself on your doorstep. The second he lays eyes on you and you flash him that toothy grin- it's gone. All common sense is out the door. You don’t even have to try. Joel knows it’s dangerous and he can’t help but be selfish, wanting to experience you in more ways than one. He finds his mind wandering during other jobs, thinking about what you could be doing. Hell, the day after the storm he split three pieces of wood because his mind was all wrapped up in you. How you let him in, gave him clothes who he was relieved to find out did not belong to a boyfriend. Let him, your maintenance man, sit on your couch. Let him kiss you, touch you and pull you into his lap. The way you curled into him after grinding into his lap, thanking him and slowly lulling to sleep in his arms. He thinks about the pace of your breathing, slow and controlled, calm. When the rain slowed he scooped you up without a second thought and brought you into your room. Made sure to blow out all of the candles and leave them on the coffee table. He even locked the door handle before slipping out. Maybe Joel thinks he could be more than your maintenance man.

Just maybe.

“I got quite a few more, darlin’.” He says, taking a few steps towards you, placing his hand at your cheek.

You tilt your head against his palm.

“You really mean that earlier? Want me to invite you over?” You swallow thickly, a little nervous to meet his eyes after you speak, so  you let your gaze hang around his collar and the few stray strands of his chest hair that peek over it.

“If you asked me to, I would.” Joel means that in more ways than just being invited over to your house.

He thinks he’d do almost anything you asked of him if your puppy eyes have anything to do with it.

“How should I do that?” You ask, finally meeting his gaze.

“Here ya go.” He reaches his free hand into his pocket, handing you his phone.

Not his work phone, this one looks different. You don’t know why but it makes you smile.

“Put yourself in.” He says simply, and you do.

“Here.” You say, grabbing yours and handing it to him. 

He nods with a smile, typing away before handing it back.

“If it starts to leak again, you know how to reach me. Don’t matter if it’s a slow drip or not. Slow drips’ll still cause serious damage. Ignorin’ the little stuff like that is bad habit to have.” He says, raising his eyebrows.

You swallow thickly and nod, trying not to let your mind overthink his words. He’s just talking about your sink. Don’t be a weirdo. You shake the thought from your head, not wanting to stain this moment.

“I’ll hear from you soon? Won’t come knockin’ on my door in the pouring rain anymore without a courtesy text anymore?” You narrow your eyes at him, laughing playfully while slipping your phone into the back pocket of your jeans.

“Hey, I didn’t hear you complainin’ now, did I?” He gives your cheek a squeeze before taking a step back and slowly making his way to the front door.

You follow closely behind him, belly tumbling over itself as you smile widely. It feels good. It feels normal, getting giddy over the sweet teasing.

“You’ll hear from me soon.” He reassures you with a single nod.

Then he’s gone, the door clicking quietly behind him. You stand there, listening for the roar of his engine to kick up. Part of you hoped he’d come running back in to kiss you, but the muffled noise of the ignition bursts your bubble. You sigh softly, running your hands up and down your arms while you make your way back into the kitchen, eyes taking in all of the cleaning supplies still in the sink and on the floor. You quickly close your eyes.

In.

Hold.

Out.

You pushed through the swinging doors of the kitchen to look for Frank in the dining room. You locked eyes with him immediately and knew something was wrong. His eyebrows were all pinched up, eyes wide enough to see the whites clear as day and that forced a little too wide smile of his. Frank is moving quickly between the aisles of booths and nodding frantically at the new tables. Your shoulders dropped, the lead weight in your chest pulling them down. You have a feeling you won’t be able to leave right now.

“Hey, sugar.” Frank says with pleading eyes and a sickeningly sweet tone.

You inhale deeply and nod your head, knowing exactly what he’s asking for.

“Need me to stay a little longer?” Deep down you hope he says no.

He nods his head.

“Overheard a few of the tables talking about the arena on campus. I guess there's a band playing- I don’t know. But I need hands, hun. I cut Michelle ten minutes ago. It’s just us.” He wears a pained expression on his face while admitting that last part.

You can’t leave him. You exhale while scanning the dining room, the bell on the door indicating that new customers are filing in is relentless. Slowly but surely table after table filled up, then it was the bar stools and no one was able to flip tables quick enough to keep the line out the door under control. Double sat, triple sat and before you know it there's six tables that don’t have drinks yet. You can’t even think about the bar yet.

“Excuse me!”

You can’t even tell which table it’s from.

Your forced smile is fading and tunnel vision sets in. Frank checks in with you here and there by patting his hand on your back while passing by. He’s running around you, weaving through customers trying to lessen the load. Trays of drinks going out quickly. You’re sure you forgot to put syrup on one of the tables but you can’t remember which. Tightness in your chest reminds you to breathe.

“Come on.. Not now.” You mutter to yourself while repeatedly jamming your finger into the service computer.

It locks up and freezes every now and then but you didn’t have the time for it right now. You’re only halfway through putting the damn order in when it seizes up. You close your eyes and bite back a groan. You can hear the kitchen scrambling, Bill barking out dishes, ticket numbers and tables that he’s still waiting for one more thing. Your throat feels tight. You’re wasting time standing here and just waiting for the stupid fucking computer to pick back up. You slam your guest check down onto the counter and make a round of the tables.

“Can I have a refill?”

You have to double back to grab the cup which wasn’t even empty. It sloshed as you gripped it up and spilled onto your forearm. You cursed under your breath and quickly turned away. Before you dropped that drink off another table stopped you.

“Hi, how much longer for our food?”

Words to the tune of: ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ are bubbling at the back of your throat. You bite them back and force a toothy grin.

“I’ll check.” You feign kindness.

Quickly you drop off the refill and practically run into the kitchen and past the swinging doors. The first thing you notice is the constant mechanical whirr of the ticket printer spitting out the papers non stop. Bill keeps this a well oiled machine but even now there's tickets hanging from the printer that haven’t been looked at yet, bodies darting from station to station- plating, wiping, topping and serving it through the pass. Bill whistles to you and gestures to the plates he set on a large serving tray.

“Booth ten.” He says, scrapping the ticket and piercing it on the pin.

You grab the large tray mindlessly and head back out into the dining room.

Ten. Ten. Booth ten. Ten.

You’re bobbing through people standing in the walkways, your ‘excuse me’s falling on deaf ears.

“Can I have another straw?” “I think I ordered…” “Are there more napkins?” “…An extra side of bacon.”

You don’t even know which direction the voices are coming from at this point. Somehow you make it there in one piece and don’t even remember setting the food down.

“Can we have syrup?” “And some more napkins.” “If you have any hot sauce, we’d love it if you could bring some out!”

Fuck, you knew you forgot the syrup. By the time you grab the bottle you forget what table even asked for it. You chewed nervously on your lower lip while almost jogging up and down the rows of tables before finally- no syrup in this booth. You set it down, apologize and scurry back to the kitchen before they have the chance to get a word in.

The computer. Holy shit you forgot about the fucking computer. You still didn’t finish putting that order in. You try to now show your pure panic on your face while making your way back to the system. You whine quietly, bouncing on your feet impatiently as you wait for the screen to wake up. It takes a few seconds longer than usual but it’s up. All the air leaves your lungs in a long exhale. Quickly, you enter the order that was forgotten about. Double check it and send it.

You’re running on fumes. Your hands are sticky from syrup and drinks splashed up your arms and your apron is covered in crumbs and smeared whipped cream. Your sweat is sticking to your temples and you’re sure you’ve sweat off half your makeup. There's an ache in the soles of your feet and your lower back and your palms and your bladder- you really need to fucking pee.

The bar. How could you forget about the bar? You quickly make your way behind it and check in with each and every customer sitting there. You turn around and refill, turn again and set it back down. You’re grabbing ketchup, cream, sugars, tabasco, syrup, butter squares, silverware and anything else you could think of- they’re asking for it. The sweat is visible running down your temples, beading under your eyes and the top of your lip.

It goes on for so long. So, so long. Frank trying to keep up with tables, Bill trying to keep up with the kitchen and you trying to keep up with survival right now. But there is a turning point. A light at the end of the tunnel where you’re printing more checks than you’re creating. The bell on the front door no longer signals patrons coming in, but going out. You’re actually able to clean a table off here and there.

It ends. Eventually. You don’t know how it ends but it fucking ends. Hours later. Hours after you were supposed to be home and in bed. When the last customer exits Frank quickly locks the door behind them and takes a moment to lean against the door.

“Holy shit.” Is all he says.

You finally get to pee before starting the break down. Your head is buzzing while clearing tables, thoughts on loop of how exhausted you are and how gross all of these tables are.

“Don’t do any silverware. Just.. We just need to get this place looking like a bomb didn’t go off, hun.” He speaks slowly, clearly exhausted while beginning to sweep the floors. You just finished cleaning the last table when Frank lets you go. He shushes you when you tell him you can still help but he thanks you and pulls you into a hug before sending you on your way.

You made it to your car twenty minutes ago but you just couldn’t muster up the courage to start it. The center of your steering wheel is at the focus of your stare the entire time. Grateful doesn’t even begin to explain your feelings towards sleeping in a little more earlier today. You didn’t have enough time to walk, so you took your car. If you had to walk home after all of that you might have lost it.

Empty. Drained. Fatigued.

All accurate words to describe you right now.

In time you manage to start the car then slowly pull out of the spot and start heading home. You turned into the street and stopped at the red light once you reached it. Sighing, you peered over to your phone that's sitting in the passenger seat. There's a few texts from Ellie. That’s it. You’ll see her soon so you don’t need to answer her right now. There's a soft pull in your chest. You were hoping to see a text from Joel, if you were honest with yourself. Something to pick you up after the shit show you encountered.

The light turns green.

You slowly turn the wheel to the right and let up off of the brake and-

POP! Pfffffffffft.

You jump at the loud noise and slam your foot into the break just as your car slowly begins to tilt. You look around frantically with wide eyes.

“Fuck.” You whispered, peeking out into the street.

You gently pushed your foot into the gas, trying to pull to the side and you heard the crunch of glass under your flattened tire.

“Fuck.” You say again but sharper this time.

You quickly throw the car into park and fling the door open, legs moving quickly while rounding the hood of the car and-

There it is.

The flaccid rubber of the passenger side tire.

You refuse to believe it. Theres absolutely no fucking way you popped a tire after the day you just had. The universe has to be playing some sort of sick joke.

Your mouth hangs open. Flat. Throat is dry. Buzzing fills your ears and tears sting your eyes and your fingers start to numb and your chest is tight and the dizziness starts to creep in and now your face is wet from tears you don’t even have to push out. A broken sob leaves your lips. You pat your hands down your jeans and your pockets are empty. There’s fucking syrup everywhere and the sweet smell on your hands is starting to turn your stomach.

Nauseous. Dirty.

You throw open the passenger door and scramble for your phone with trembling fingers. Everything is blurry through the stinging in your eyes but you find your phone and swipe through it maniacally. You don’t even know what you’re doing all you can feel is lead in your chest and in your stomach and pins and needles in your arms and running down your fingertips and-

“Another late night call?”

The sound of his voice makes you cry harder.

“Woah- What's wrong?” His voice is taught and frantic, that slow sultry drawl now thrown out the window.

You choke out his name.

“Where are you?”

You’re babbling and making no sense. Sore. Your eyes are sore and your throat is sore and your nose starts to run.

“Baby, please tell me where you are?”

You hear keys over the line. You’re rubbing your eyes to regain some sight through tears and running makeup while choking out the closest street sign you can make out and that you think there's a coffee shop behind you. You’re stuttering, every word that passes your lips pulls any lasting energy in your body. Hands are so numb you can’t hold the weight of your phone anymore and it bounces back onto the passenger seat while you sob uncontrollably. Raw and broken and loud.

Crumbling onto the curb, you try to soothe yourself by wrapping your arms around your knees. But you’re sticky. And dirty. Your chest is heaving with breaths ripping through your esophagus. There’s nowhere you can go to wash off and you’re all alone with the walls closing in despite being outside, crying too fucking hard to see your hands right in front of your face.

You don’t know how long you’ve been here. It could be seconds, minutes, or even closer to hours. It’s all melting into one. Continuous sobs while your hands paw at your face in a useless attempt to dry it from tears.

You hear his voice in the distance all muffled and broken up between your sobs. The usual roar of his truck engine is just barely there. A sharp pain in your lungs prevents you from taking a full breath. All the muscles are constricting around your chest. You can’t take a deep breath and your eyes are fluttering while the ringing in your ears takes over everything, deaf to any other sound.

If you thought your throat was raw before, you were sorely mistaken. Every breath hurts. Ripping in and out of your esophagus that's heating up from all the irritation to the point where you’d believe it if you coughed up blood.

Two strong hands settling at your shoulders drags you to a somewhat conscious state. Your face is hot, head throbbing from all of the blood whooshing around. You’re hunched over and shaking. The hands. Strong hands. You feel them gently on your cheeks, tilting your head up. You hear your name over the all familiar crashing waves.

Joel is on the verge of panicking himself. His large hands are enveloping the side of your head that's slick with tears and sweat and who knows what else. His calloused thumbs are swiping at the tears but it’s no use. They keep rolling. Joel catches a glimpse of what should be the whites of your eyes- all red and irritated now with puffy lids. Your lips are swollen and red. He can’t tell what is tears, spit, snot or sweat but he doesn’t care. He just needs to make sure you’re okay.

He’s feverishly scanning your body over and over and over again. No wounds. No injuries. That he can see at least. His stomach turns, nursing his own bout of anxiety but anger bubbles over that as the worst comes to his mind.

Did someone hurt you? Did someone fucking hurt you and leave you here?

He can’t spend time seething over the possibility while you’re hysterical in front of him. He needs to reel you in. He starts by whispering your name but it’s overshadowed by your cries and gasps for breath. He repeats it but can see the disconnect. You’re looking through him right now. Not at him. He’s talking but you’re not hearing.

He does the only thing he thinks he could and pulls you into his chest there on the curb with his knees digging into the asphalt. Joel soothes a hand down your back repeatedly and whispers into your ear. He’s talking aimlessly about anything that comes to mind. But it starts to cut through.

He pulls you from his chest after some time and takes another look at you. This time you’re looking at him. Really looking. Pupils dilated. His heart throbs heavily. Seeing you like this makes him sick but he doesn’t dwell on it. He knows he needs to be a rock for you right now and he wouldn’t want to do anything else. All caution is out the window. Joel doesn’t care if anyone sees him consoling a ‘client’ at this time of night. The word leaves a bad taste in his mouth. You’re no damn client to him, no matter how badly he tries to convince himself.

He thinks about you a lot. He tries to control himself, he swears he really does but it’s to no avail. He tries not to contact you the second he opens his eyes and it’s getting painful. He doesn’t have an easy time trying to process these emotions. Forget explaining them. He’s not good with words despite how well he can talk you through it. Joel likes to think his actions speak for themselves.

They do.

The waves begin to settle and the gravel of his voice takes over.

“Shhh, s’okay sweetheart.”

“Gonna need to try and calm down f’me, now.”

“I’ve gotcha, darlin’.”

Your voice is frail and cracking.

“M-My tire.. I’m dirty.” You sputter out through a coughing fit and quieting sobs.

He can just barely make out what you’re saying through your gasps for breath and coughing.

“Are you hurt? Did somebody hurt you?” His voice is soft and unwavering with fear in his eyes.

“No!” You choke out and sob into his hands that linger at your face.

You don’t mean to raise your voice at him but he doesn’t mind. You bring your hands to cover your face but instead they clamp over his hands that cradle your face. He pulls you closer into him, feeling the sticky syrup grab onto his shirt and frowns. It doesn’t bother him really but he knows it's upsetting you.

“C’mon baby, look at me.” Joel tries to coax you through your heavy breathing but you don’t listen.

Slowly he pulls his hands from your face and finds your eyes again. Joel takes both of your hands in one of his and presses it to his chest. He takes slow, calculated breaths that force his chest to expand and collapse.

“Breathe with me darlin’.” He whispers

You tried to focus on the steady rise and fall of his chest but it was hard. Joel reeled you back in with a squeeze of your hands. You can feel the soft thud behind his chest. Steady and strong. You flatten your one palm there and try to focus. Rise and fall and thud. He’s here and he’s real and you can feel him.

You suck in a slower breath through a tight jaw, attempting to match him. It’s broken and shaking but it’s slower. Joel nods his head encouragingly and continues to exaggerate his slow, deep breaths.

You’re almost matching his pace now, your own heart no longer thumping in the base of your throat. Tears are slowing to a drip down your cheeks.

“Are you hurt?” Joel speaks up eventually.

“No.” Your voice is hoarse.

“Why are you out here all alone, sweetheart?”

“Tire.”

He looks over his shoulder at it and then back to you.

“Did something happen before that?”

“Work.” You have no energy to give anything more than that flat, one worded answer.

You can’t force anymore and Joel knows that, so he doesn’t push. He lets you sit quietly against him for some time.

Eventually Joel taps you and pulls you up with him while holding you steady.

“C’mon with me.” He whispers and walks you over to his truck that's pulled in front of your car.

He keeps his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you walk next to him. Joel lowers the tailgate of his truck and turns to you then picks you up like it’s nothing and sets you onto the edge with your legs dangling off. He stands between your knees with hands at your shoulders, steadying you.

“I’ll be right back.” He mutters and leaves you to dig in the cabin of his truck.

You’re slouched over with the weight of the world on your back and your arms collapsed into your lap. You sniff and rub your wet nose with the back of your arm and let it collapse again. Joel returns shortly with a bottle of water with the cap already removed.

“I always got some in the back seat.” He says casually while gesturing it towards you.

You blink at it a few times then look at Joel before slowly taking the water bottle into your shaky hand and bringing it to your lips. He leans forward to press a kiss to your forehead while you take small sips. Then another. And another. And the last one lingers for a long time. The water hurts going down your throat, still swollen and raw from your cries but it will help.

“You tell me if you need somethin’. M’gonna fix that up for you.” He says while giving your thigh a gentle pat and a squeeze.

You don’t respond or react but look at him with wet and irritated dyes. You watch him walk over to your car and ponder for a moment with his hands at his hips and one knee cocked out. He rifles through your trunk before coming out with the car jack. He slips it under the car and starts cranking it up.

Joel works quietly and doesn’t say anything to you while he’s working but he does look at you maybe every ten seconds just to make sure you’re still there and breathing. Maybe to make sure you’re not going off the deep end again. Joel has noticed small comments over the past few weeks but he has never pressed you on anything you haven’t come outright and told him about. But he makes a note in his head to press you about this. Not right now. Or any time tonight. But he will. Joel doesn’t know if he’s helping you and it makes him feel uneasy. Could he be making this worse for you? His only saving grace is that you’re no longer screaming and crying. He replaces your flat tire with the spare in your trunk in record time.

“Still got it, huh?” He jokes lightly.

It’s exactly what he said after moving your dresser into your room and it makes your heart heavy. You remember how you responded all those weeks ago but you do not have the energy to do it now. It doesn’t look like he minds. Without another word he helps you off of the tailgate and sets you back on your wobbling feet. Joel walks with you around his truck to the passenger side and opens the door for you. You grab onto his shoulder while climbing in.

“Stay here.” He says.

You listen, no desire to move in the slightest. The rumble of your car's engine startles you and you whip your head to the side. Joel slowly rolls your car against the side of the road, lining it up before shutting it off again. Guilt pangs in your stomach. Moments later he returns with your phone, bag and keys. He reaches over you to set them all on the center console and lets his hand rest on your knee.

“I’m sorry.” You choke out.

He tuts quietly and shakes his head. He’s pressed into the side of the car, knees pressed into the running board and arm slung over your thighs. His other hand brushes some hair from your face while he whispers to you.

“Nothin’ to be sorry for, baby. When I told you to call me next time you needed me, I meant that. M’proud of you for rememberin’.”

You open your mouth to blubber out another apology but he cuts you off with a simple kiss. It’s sweet. Gentle and warm against your face that feels like an open wound. You barely return the kiss but not because you don’t want to, you simply don’t have the energy to. He pulls back from the kiss and just stays close. Your eyes bore into his, almost ready to cry again from how sweet and gentle he’s being despite not knowing what the fuck is going on.

“Moved your car into an actual spot so you won’t get a ticket. I’ll take you back here tomorrow morning, alright sweetheart?” He hums.

You slowly nod.

“Can I take you home?”

You nod again before Joel buckles you into the seat and gently closes the door. He rounds the hood of the truck and hops in the driver's seat. His hand makes immediate contact with your knee, heavy and comforting as he drives away. The ride is silent other than Joel triple checking if you’re okay. And to remind you to drink water. A few more squeezes of your knee and you’re sitting outside of your house.

Ellie’s room light is on. Fuck.

“She home?” Joel questions while lowering his head to look at what you’re looking at.

“She is,” You say quietly with eyes lingering on the window. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Joel turns the key and the engine rumbles before stopping. He didn’t question your request.

“Can you wait here? I can sneak you in.” You say while unbuckling your belt.

“Sneak? Why do you have to sneak me in?” He asks with saddled brows.

“You want Ellie to see you bringing me home this late? You didn’t even want the neighbors to see you coming over without a toolbox in your hand.” It sounds more harsh than you mean it.

It makes Joel’s chest tighten but he doesn’t comment because it’s true. He did say something to that effect. He regrets it. But he’d be silly to deny the excitement he gets from sneaking around like a teenage boy again.

“Stay here?” You look over your shoulder at Joel.

“You sure you’re okay to go in by yourself?”

“Just for a second. I’ll be okay.” Your voice keeps its soft, hushed tone.

Joel nods and watches you exit the truck, walk to the front door and disappear.

You sigh the second you enter your house, a comforting and familiar space feels better than the sidewalk at midnight. You hang your bag on the hook and slowly wall up the stairs to Ellie’s room.

“Ellie?” You call out quietly with a hand on her door knob.

Slowly, you push the cracked door open while the door squeaks and you silently curse yourself. No answer. She’s laying on her belly, game controller in hand, slipping off the bed. Face smushed into the comforter she’d sprawled on top of. You blink a few times and shake your head. She had to have fallen asleep in the middle of a game, the monitor still had a game lobby up with quiet music playing on a loop. You sigh quietly and back out of the room, quietly clicking the door shut.

You turn and make your way down the steps again and open the front door. Joel is still sitting in his truck across the street from your house. You wave for him to come in and wait for him to get up to the doorway. You lock the door behind him and gesture him up the steps while ‘shhhhsh’ing him when he takes a step that creaks too loud.

“She’s asleep,” You whisper once the two of you make it into your room. “and I really need to shower. But feel free to make yourself comfortable here.”

You look around your room with Joel in it. It’s surreal.

“Let me come in with you.” He says softly while taking a few steps closer to you.

You don’t speak for a moment, surprised at his comment.

“Come in with me?” You repeat his words back to him.

He chuckles quietly and nods his head.

“Yeah, come in with you.” He repeats again in a lighthearted tone.

So, you shower together. The water was warm enough to create steam that fogged the mirror as it billowed out from behind the curtain. Joel steps in first and makes sure the water feels right before taking your hand and guiding you under the stream. It feels normal. You don’t stop to think about being fully nude in front of him for the first time because he doesn’t make it feel like you should. He’s soft and gentle, no lingering stares anywhere but your face and his hands massaging shampoo into your hair. Joel cradles your head and tilts it under the water to let it wash away the suds then brings you out of the stream to press a soft kiss to your forehead. He’s doing all of the work for you, sudsing the soap between his hands and the washcloth and softly scrubbing it over your arms to get rid of any sticky syrupy patches. You want to stay like this forever.

With his hand, Joel pushes his hair away from his face, now shades darker from the water and slicked back. Brown eyes blinking the water away under heavy lids. A pang of guilt hits you low in your stomach for the second time. You don’t even know what time it was when you called him. He has to be exhausted but here he is in the shower, washing your strawberry scented soap off of your skin.

“Feelin’ alright?” He says just loud enough over the patter of water.

“I’m alright.” You nod your head slowly.

He turns you around a few times in the water making sure there's no more suds latched onto your skin before reaching around and turning the water off. You wrap your arms around your chest and stand there with water rolling down your legs while Joel reaches for one of the towels hanging up. He helps you out and wraps the warm towel around your shoulders. You pull it tighter around yourself while Joel reaches for a second towel and wraps it around his waist. He reaches out and settles a hand on the door knob.

“Wait-” You blurt out and he turns his head back to you, not moving a muscle.

“Let me check and make sure she’s still asleep.” You whisper.

Joel nods and stands to the side. You slowly turn the knob and push the door open, peeking out to confirm that the coast is clear. You open it and gesture Joel out, his arms filled with the clothing the two of you were previously in.

“I’ll be in there in a minute.”

He nods his head and presses a soft kiss to your lips before you watch him disappear into your bedroom. You take a deep breath and sigh while turning to face the mirror hanging on the wall. There's still some stubborn mascara under your eye. You fasten the towel under your arms and start to spot clean with a cotton pad. Moments later you’ve got a clean face, brushed teeth and you’re about to finish detangling your hair when a soft knock rasps at the door. You pause and turn towards it, cracking it open.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you’re greeting with Ellie’s drowsy face. You’re grateful her eyes are barely open because she can’t question the pure shock on your face when you see her.

“Y’got home so late.” She mumbles while rubbing her eyes.

“I know. I promise I’ll fill you in tomorrow but go back to bed. Your eyes aren’t even open, Ellie.”

“Gotta pee.” She says with eyes still squinted.

“Shit, sorry.” You cringe and slip out of the bathroom.

“Goodnight.” Ellie grumbles.

“Night, Ellie.” You whisper while slipping into your bedroom.

You slowly click the door closed and turn around, pressing your back into the door and sighing heavily.

“Looks like you seen a ghost, darlin’.” His low voice breaks the anxiety building in your stomach.

You force a breathy laugh and lift your head to look at him. God, it takes all of the air out of your lungs. His hair is no longer soaked, it’s damp and starting to curl at the ends like it normally does. His tanned torso is exposed with hair littering his chest with a fine line down his soft stomach while it disappears under the band of his boxers. His sweatpants hung so low on his hips you could see said band before the elastic of his pants just under it. That was it. Joel Miller, damp in your bedroom. You couldn’t ask for anything more.

It reminds you of the night of the storm. When he surprised you at your front door, soaked to the bone. The only difference is, this Joel just helped you through a panicked episode without a shred of knowledge of them, washed you off and showered you clean and this Joel helps you get dressed, too. He helps you pull on a shirt over your head and he makes sure none of your hair is caught in the collar of it. He holds out his arm to balance you while you’re slipping on a pair of your shorts. This Joel lays in bed next to you under your comforters with your back pressed firmly into his chest and his strong arm draped over your waist.

“Words, baby.” He raised his eyebrows waiting for your response, his tongue darting to wet his lips quickly.

The sight made you squeeze your thighs together, searching for any sort of friction to relieve the growing pit in your stomach. Just that short lived glimpse of his tongue was enough to fill your mind with gut churning flashbacks of his head between your thighs, his salt and pepper curls tickling your skin while that tongue lapped at you endlessly. His eyes were dark under heavy lids as he studied your face. His thumb lifted from your jaw and hovered over your lower lip, instinctively you parted them. Your eyes stayed locked on his, though his were now centered at your mouth. Slowly he pressed the pad of his thick thumb into the swell of your lower lip, then dragging it to the side, smearing the bright red lipstick over to the corner of your mouth.

What the fuck.

Your knees wobble. If he wasn’t holding you so closely they’d buckle and you’d fall right to them in front of him, beg him to let you take him in your mouth right there, in your kitchen, with the entire street just a wall away.

Tommy just a wall away.

Your dad, just a wall away.

“Lemme hear ya’.” His voice snapped you out of your daze. Thick and syrupy against your buzzing ear drums.

“Y-Yeah. I understand.” You finally choke out, embarrassed at how pathetic you must sound.

He smirked, a low chuckle leaving his lips as he stood himself up straight, his hand behind your back steadying your wobbling frame- so used to his weight being held against it already. He signed softly, hand leaving your jaw to slap his three, thick, middle fingers against your cheek. It wasn’t hard, just a love tap. But enough to leave your skin burning, to match the feeling between your thighs.