pink glitter gel pen posting

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀* index:

part one.

part two.

part three.

part four (coming soon.)

also available on archiveofourown.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀* extras:

moodboard.

fic tag.

It’s a Tuesday in Spring, the sun due to set in the coming hour. The temperatures outside have begun to warm up, melting some of the snow high in the mountains. You’d already completed your shifts for the day in the community kitchen, assisting with making breakfast and preparing for lunch and dinner, which a majority of Jackson ate in the mess hall—you didn’t, instead opting to enjoy your food in the comfort of your apartment. With your evening meal finished and your dishes washed, you’re sitting on the couch in your living room listening to the soft tune of Nirvana playing on your record player—a new addition to your collection, their MTV Unplugged in New York album from ‘94—while darning the holes in all of your socks. There are two piles on the coffee table in front of you, one for the hole-y and the other for the now holeless. 

A knock on your front door has you pausing, your eyebrows furrowing. You’re not expecting anyone tonight, as indicated by the oversized David Bowie concert t-shirt, lack of bra, and black leggings you’re wearing. “Coming!” you announce, leaning forward to set the sock and yarn on the tabletop before getting up and walking the short distance to the door. Turning the doorknob, you crack it open enough to see who’s there. To your surprise, it’s that handsome older gentleman who arrived in town a couple of months ago, whom you haven’t had the opportunity to introduce yourself to, but have definitely ogled. How could you not with how his flannels always hugged his broad shoulders and how good his jeans made his ass look. You take in what he’s wearing today—a red flannel shirt with dark denim on his bottom half. Your eyes meet his. “Can I help you?” you ask. 

He gives you a sheepish smile that’s honestly adorable on such a rugged face. “I’m sorry for botherin’ you, ma’am. My name is Joel. Joel Miller, Tommy’s brother? I’ve been in Jackson a little while now, and I was told you’re the person to talk to if I’m in need of a cake.” 

“Oh!” You open your door wider. “Yes, that’s me!” Quickly, you give him your name and offer your hand for him to shake, noticing immediately how much bigger his is when it practically engulfs your smaller one. It has your mind wandering, wondering what it’d feel like on other parts of your body. That thought heats your skin, and you feel a little disappointed when he lets go. “What kind of cake are you needing?” 

“A birthday cake.” 

“For your wife, or girlfriend?” 

“No.” He shakes his head. “For my dau—kid,” he catches himself. 

You lean against the doorframe, crossing your arms over your chest, and you see his split-second glance at your breasts. You smile. “For your kid, who’s not your daughter.” 

He sighs, his hands going to his hips. “It’s… complicated.” 

“You adopt her?” 

“Yeah.” 

It was pretty common for people to take in orphaned children, especially here in town. As sad as it was, there have been instances of kids losing their parents or guardians on their way to Jackson who still managed to make it to the town’s walls, or who were found by patrols and brought in. Luckily, there was an abundance of couples and families willing to foster or adopt the children. 

“How old is she turning?” 

“Fifteen.” 

“Got yourself a teen. How long has she been in your care?” 

“Seven, eight months.” 

“Ah, I understand the not-daughter thing now.” His kid is older, and their relationship is still relatively new. They’ve probably bonded but aren’t comfortable using father-daughter labels yet. “Just you and her?” 

“Yeah.” 

He’s single. That’s good to know. 

“It’s sweet that you want her to have a cake for her birthday.” 

He smiles fondly. “It’s her first.” 

Handsome, polite, and loves his adopted child as if she were his own? He’s perfect, and it’s surprising no one has taken him off the market yet. Maybe you should shoot your shot. There aren’t a lot of guys like him in Jackson, and it wouldn’t hurt to try. 

“That’s even sweeter,” you reply. “What’s her name?” 

“Ellie.” 

“A great name—simple and lovely. The last cake I made was for this woman’s husband, named Reginald. Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to spell out, ‘Happy Birthday, Reginald,’ on a cake the size of a small dinner plate?” 

He looks amused. “Pretty hard?” 

“Pretty fucking hard, Joel. I made it work, though, squishing the letters together. Do you have a preference if it’s chocolate or vanilla?” 

“Uh, chocolate, I guess?” 

“Okay, and when do you need it done by?” 

“The day after tomorrow.” 

“Short notice and chocolate—that’s gonna cost you extra.” 

“That won’t be a problem. I used to be a smuggler. I can find somethin’ you’d want.” That’s how you’re paid, by bartering, goods, or favors. 

“A smuggler, huh? If you don’t mind me asking, where are you from? Aside from Texas, I know Tommy’s a Texan.” 

“Boston. The QZ out there.”

“Doing your smuggling, I assume?” 

“Yes.” 

“You’re not a chatty guy, are you?” 

He huffs out a breath, looking down at his boots. “No, ma’am. I don’t have much to chat about.” His eyes land on yours again.  

“That’s not true. You came all the way here from fucking Boston. You could tell me about your travels, Ellie, or hell, we could reminisce about the days before the world ended.” 

He smiles, his weight shifting to one side. “Were you even alive back then?” 

“I was.” 

“You had to be young. A kid.” 

“Yeah. Doesn’t mean I don’t remember the comic strips in the Sunday newspaper and how good fresh McDonald’s fries were.” 

His eyebrows rise almost to his hairline. “Wow, I haven’t thought about McDonald’s in years.” 

“What I’d give for some McNuggets and an apple pie.” 

“Did you get some of the apple pie at dinner tonight?” 

You smile. “I made the apple pie at dinner tonight.” 

He matches your expression. “Did you? That tells me the cake is gonna be really fuckin’ good, then.” 

The compliment makes you preen. “Thank you. My mom taught me how to bake before, you know.” The outbreak. “We had this old family recipe for peach pie that always won first place at the county fair.” 

“If it was anythin’ like the pie tonight, I can see why.” 

“Stop that,” you tease, waving away his words. “Flattery will get you everywhere.” 

His eyes dart away, clearing his throat. It must have been a while since he was last flirted with. He focuses on you again, changing the subject. “So, what kind of stuff do you want?” 

“Ummm, let’s see. It’s her first cake, you’re a sweetheart, and I have all of the ingredients. How about records, movies, and booze?” Easy stuff for him to get. It’s basically the equivalent of a half-off discount. “Oh, and socks!” Yours have seen better days. 

“Any records or movies? You’re not lookin’ for anythin’ specific?”

“Nope.” Any duplicates you receive, you’ll trade.

“What about alcohol?”  

“I’m not picky. Whatever you have will do.” All that matters is that it’s safe to consume. Liquor is a hot commodity and a valuable bargaining tool. 

“Okay.” He nods. “That’s not too bad. I appreciate you for bein’ so kind to me. I’ll have it all to you tomorrow.” 

“Great! But there’s something else I want, too.”

His eyes narrow slightly, and he frowns. He thinks you’re trying to pull one over on him. “What else?” 

“I’d like to have a drink with you.”

When every day could possibly be your last, there’s no point in playing coy. You’re going to go after what you want, unashamed. 

Surprise shows on his face, clearly taken aback. “You want to have a drink with me…?” he says the words slowly, like he almost doesn’t believe them. 

“Yes, I want to have a drink with you, Joel.” 

“Why?” 

“I don’t know. Why would a woman want to have a drink with you?” 

He frowns. “It can’t be for the reason I’m thinkin’.”

“If you thought it’s to get to know you better because I’m interested in you, that is correct.” 

That just makes him look confused. “Me? You know I’m old, right? Shit, I’m probably older than your parents.” 

Your eyebrow lifts. “And? You’re an adult. I’m an adult. What does your age have to do with anything?” 

His arms cross over his chest. “A lot, sweetheart. I don’t think you know what you’re askin’ for. I’m not a young buck anymore. I don’t have the energy of a boy your age. I’m old and broken. My fuckin’ ear doesn’t even work.” He points at the right one.

“So, you’ve got some wear and tear. I don’t care. I still want to have a drink with you. But hey, if you’re uncomfortable with that, then don’t worry about it. I’ll, of course, still make Ellie her cake for the stuff we agreed on.” 

“It’s not that I’m uncomfortable. I’m flattered, really. I’m just havin’ a hard time understandin’ why you’re interested in someone as old as me. There’s gotta be guys closer to your age around here that’d love to have a drink with you. What I mean is you’re beautiful, and I know you can do a lot better than me.”  

You smile. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Yes.” He nods. “But that’s beside the point.” 

“Have you thought that maybe I like that you’re so much older than me?”

He stands up straighter, his interest piqued. “You got a thing for older men?” 

“Now you’re getting it. I do have standards, so it depends on the man in question. In your case, you check all my boxes.” 

His expression shows his curiosity. “What are you lookin’ for?” 

“Someone caring, pleasant to talk to, not creepy, easy on the eyes, can hold their own, and fifties preferred; I’m willing to dip into the late forties if I have to.” 

“Why is fifties preferred?” 

“You really wanna know?” 

“Yeah, I do.” 

“Okay. Men your age are great in bed, it’s as simple as that.”

“What makes them great?” 

“You wanna know for later?” 

You’re rewarded with a flirty little smirk. “Maybe.” 

His answer thrills you. “Maybe, huh? I’ve found them to be very generous, and they seem to care that I’m having a good time, too, which is fantastic. They’re also the only ones who’ve ever gone down on me. The guys my age are always in a rush and generally care more about themselves than me. It sucks. So, men in their fifties are my preference.” 

The explanation has his dark eyes getting even darker. Now that he’s aware of the extent of your interest in him, there’s a palpable shift between you, and it becomes clear that the attraction is mutual. 

“And you’re not seein’ anyone currently…?”

“No. I’m single and very available, especially to you. Now do you wanna come in for a drink?” you ask, the door squealing as you push it open even more. 

There’s no hiding that he’s contemplating your offer; it’s there on his face, probably warring with himself over the morality of the situation, and you get it. Given the significant age difference, there are many things he could be worrying about, which he needs to weigh the pros and cons of. At least it’s reassuring that he seems to have a conscience. You’re just hoping he chooses to give in to his desires. 

It’s seconds later that he’s made his decision. 

“No use in fightin’ it,” he says under his breath. 

Joel sends the butterflies in your stomach into a frenzy when he takes a step toward you, his hand going up onto the doorframe above your head. He leans in close, your faces only an inch apart, and you gulp at the proximity. “Only a drink?” he rasps. “Is that really all you want, sweetheart?” His eyes keep jumping from your eyeline to your mouth like it’s taking a lot for him not to kiss you. 

“No,” you breathe. 

“No, it’s not. Tell the truth. What do you want?”

“You.” 

Excitement burns low in your belly. You can’t believe this is actually happening. You figured he might be okay with having a drink with you, but this? This is definitely better.

“Then ask me for what you really want.” 

“You wanna come in and fuck me?” 

“Only if you’ll let me take you out on a date tomorrow. I don’t do that casual, fuck buddy shit. You’re either mine, or nothin’ at all.”

A shiver moves down your spine, your heart pounding so hard you think it might beat right out of your chest. From that declaration, and his confidence, you know he’s got a big dick. Better yet, you’re almost positive he knows how to use it, too. 

“Yes, I’ll go out with you, but I’m not yours until you show me why I should be.”

He smirks. “Is that right?” 

“Yep,” you answer. Your palm presses to the front of his jeans, over his hardening cock, which you’re happy to find is rather sizeable. 

It delights you how his eyes close, and he groans, “Fuck.” When they open again, there’s only the tiniest sliver of brown circling his blown pupils. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.” 

“Not up for the challenge?” 

Joel growls, his lips suddenly on yours, kissing you hard. A surprised sound leaves your throat, but you’re quick to kiss him back, matching his fervor as you grab fistfuls of his shirt, tugging him into your house. His large hand is on your ass, the other shoving your front door closed before its cupping your cheek. Neither of you wants the kiss to end, your mouths staying fused as you walk backward until you bump into the arm of your couch. This is when you spin him, getting him around to the front of the sofa. You break apart as you push him, Joel falling back onto the cushions with a heavy, breathless thump. 

Dust floats in a patch of evening light behind him as you stand there, your pulse hammering in your rib cage, your lips tingling. This man with lines etched into his face, carving out the years of grit, survival, and untold grief—no one is lucky enough to make it as far as he has without losses—he’s looking up at you like you’re the first beautiful thing he’s seen in a long, long time. 

It’s electric and heavy all at once, like standing on the edge of something dangerous and good. What are you to do but jump headfirst into the abyss that has the potential to ruin you for anyone else?

“You’re gorgeous,” he says, ending the silence. “C’mere, baby.” He holds out his arms to you, and you’re like a moth to a flame—drawn to him, crawling into his lap without another word. Straddling his thighs, you take his stubbled cheeks into your palms and kiss him once more. He moans into your mouth, his big hands grabbing onto your ass, encouraging you to grind against the straining length in his jeans, the friction to your clit stoking the arousal in your center. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise that he’s not in a hurry to get you naked. He’s more interested in kissing you, delving his tongue between your lips to tangle with your own. It makes you assume he hasn’t been with a woman in quite a while, and he’s taking his time, luxuriating in your affections. 

It goes on and on, until you hit a point where you need to come up for air, your mouth coming off of his to draw in a deep breath. He pants, kissing your chin and the underside of your jaw. 

His hands go still. “Can I take your shirt off?” he asks, pulling back to look at your face. His lips are reddened and shiny from spit, his cheeks tinted in a pink flush.

You smile, your fingertips sliding through the hair above his ears. “Only if you take off yours, too.” 

“Okay.” 

He doesn’t waste time. Joel grips the hem of your t-shirt, tugging it up and off your raised arms, letting it fall onto the floor. Your fingers start unbuttoning his flannel, while his attention is on your bared breasts that he caresses, his thumbs sweeping across the soft skin, your nipples tightening.

The last button is undone. “Off,” you order, pushing open his shirt. He sighs at being interrupted, but he does as you say, sitting up in his seat, jostling you as he shrugs off his flannel, the garment meeting the same fate as your t-shirt. 

There’s no time for you to admire the newly revealed skin; he’s zeroed in on your tits again, his hands squeezing them gently, weighing them in his palms. It’s hard not to laugh when he shoves his prickly face into the pillowy mounds and happily sighs. You’re not sure if he’s enjoying your softness again or if he’s a boob guy. Maybe it’s both. You are, however, pretty sure he’s in heaven, and good for him. He can have this moment. Your arms are around his neck, with your fingers pressed into the brown waves on his head.

He kisses along the side of your breast, and you’re gasping at him sucking your pebbled nipple into the warmth of his mouth. It sends a shock of pleasure straight to your clit, making you squirm in his lap. “Yes,” you moan as he swirls his tongue around the hard bud. He moves to give your other breast the same treatment, a shiver rolling through you when cold air hits the saliva left behind on your skin. 

Wetness pools between your thighs, your cunt aching, pulsing with need. Joel pulls off your stiff nipple with an audible pop, lifting his head to meet your eyes, his gaze heavy, pupils blown. His voice dips into something rough and hungry. “If I’m not mistaken, you like your pussy eaten?” 

“I love it.”

“Thank Christ, ‘cause I fuckin’ love eatin’ it, and it’s been too damn long since I’ve gotten a taste.”

His eagerness has heat sizzling in your veins. “Well, how about we change that?” You get up to stand in front of him. “Lose the boots.” 

He smiles. “Yes, ma’am.” He grunts as he leans forward, quickly untying and taking off the worn leather boots that he puts neatly paired on the floor next to him. His socks look a lot better than yours—one of the perks of being a smuggler and knowing where to find things. 

You stick out your hand to him. “Let’s go, handsome. We’re taking this to the bedroom.” 

“I like the sound of that.” He accepts your palm, and you pull as he rises up onto his feet with a pained groan. “Will be better for my back.”

With Joel hot on your heels, you lead him out of the living room and through the kitchen to the hallway, down to the end where your bedroom is. Crawling onto your queen-size bed, he follows and has you squeaking in surprise when he roughly tugs your leggings off your lower half, causing you to fall onto your stomach. He easily manhandles you onto your back, giving you a glimpse of his strength. You find yourself lying there with your head cushioned on a pillow, Joel kneeling between your legs. 

It catches you off guard how he looks down at you, as if he’s seeing something sacred. There’s awe there that he barely hides. Reverence. It takes your breath away that, once again, it’s written on his face that he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a very, very long time. 

His hands smooth up your thighs. “Today is my lucky day,” he murmurs, voice thick with want. “Just look at you.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down and off, tossing them to the floor. “Fuckin’ perfection laid out for me. Look at that pretty little pussy.” With two fingers, he spreads open your slick folds, his hot gaze locked on your cunt. “You’re gonna taste so fuckin’ good.” His tongue wets his lips like he’s imagining it. “I wanna fuckin’ drown in it.”

A sharp jolt of excitement shoots through your core, clenching hard with anticipation. You’re expecting him to dive in, tongue first. What you are not anticipating is Joel leaning up, wrapping an arm around your waist, and rolling you on top of him to have you straddle his stomach. 

Your eyebrows pull together, blinking down at him with your hands on his chest. “I thought you were eating me out…?” 

He smiles. “I am. Maybe not the way you’re expectin’, though. You ever ride someone’s face?” 

Your stomach flips. “No?” 

“Well, looks like today is your lucky day, too.” His biceps flex as he guides your hips up toward his head. “Get up here, baby.”

You grab the wooden headboard to steady yourself, your heart racing, nerves twisting in your gut. You want it—you want it so fucking bad, but your brain won’t stop worrying about the logistics. Or the potential body count of one extremely hot older man. 

He gets you to settle over his face, your thighs bracketing his ears. “How do I do this without, you know, killing you?” you ask. 

His voice is muffled beneath you. “Just sit on my face. All of your weight. I wanna feel it.”

He wants you to smother him with your pussy?

“Joel, babe, I like you, and I want to see where this goes, but that can’t happen if I suffocate you.”

“Suffocatin’ between your thighs would be the best way to leave this world.” 

Considering the alternatives of getting bitten by infected or murdered by fellow humans, he isn’t wrong that dying while doing something you love is the best way to go out.

“That doesn’t reassure me.” 

“It’d take more than your pussy to kill me. I can move you off if I have to, or I’ll tap your thigh twice.” He demonstrates. “So, quit your worryin’ and sit.” 

“Bossy.” 

He smacks your ass, the sharp sting making your cunt clench. He loses patience, gripping your thighs, yanking you down against his face. That worry you had about accidentally murdering Joel? It flies out the window, your brain short-circuiting at the heat of his mouth and the wet messy sound of his tongue plunging into your pussy. It’s instant, the pleasure cutting through you sharp as a knife, your head falling back, your knees buckling. 

“Oh, fuck,” you moan, already starting to tremble.

It’s filthy and almost too much, but not enough all at once. His stubble scrapes your inner thighs, adding a bite to every glide of his wicked tongue, his groans vibrating against your sensitive skin. You’re floating, your heartbeat thumping in your ears. He licks up every drop you’re dripping like a man possessed, his nose bumping your swollen clit. 

He’s going to make you come—arousal burns hot at the base of your spine, the knot in your belly winding tighter and tighter. You’re so lost in how fucking good it feels you don’t even realize you’re grinding down until Joel’s fingers grab your ass and rock you against his mouth, helping you move. 

“That’s it,” he groans into your cunt. “Use me. Fuck my face, baby.” 

And you do, your hips moving greedily now, chasing every lick of his tongue, unashamed. Your whole body burns, your pussy soaked, every nerve in your body lit up like the Fourth of July. Sweat drips down your spine and between your breasts. 

You thought Joel was in heaven earlier with his face buried in your tits, but from the way he’s eating you out like it’s his last meal on earth and how he can’t seem to stop groaning against your cunt, this is his real heaven. He drags the flat of his tongue through your folds to wrap his lips around your throbbing clit, and when he sucks, he has to hold you still as you writhe, chanting his name over and over again, spiraling out of your mind in pleasure. 

God, he really is going to ruin you for anyone else, isn’t he? It’s not like this is the first time you’ve been eaten out, either. But no one’s devoured you like this. He’s truly hungry for it—relentless. Slurping at your pussy like it’s his favorite meal.

“Don’t stop,” you whimper. “Don’t fucking stop. Your mouth—fuck—I love your mouth. It’s so good.” You don’t even know if he can hear you with your thighs clamped over his only good ear. 

Maybe it was a mistake challenging him to show you why you should be his. He’s pulling out all the stops to convince you. You’re already unraveling, and this man has the audacity to snake his hand up to your breast and tweak your nipple. It forces a choked sound from your throat, and your vision blurs for a second. 

He works you up, higher and higher, until you’re trembling over him, your thighs quaking, belly tight, heart hammering like it's trying to break free. You’re drenched, dripping onto his face, as he feasts on you like he’s starving. 

“Fuck, Joel—” you gasp, but can’t even finish the thought. 

You reach for his hand on your thigh, desperate for something to hold onto. He squeezes it, grounding you. 

Joel moans into your cunt as if it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, dragging his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes that push you right to the edge. Then he sucks your clit deep into his mouth, and the world drops out from under you. 

You scream. There’s no other word for it. You cry out like you’re shattering, hips jerking, cunt clenching so hard around nothing it aches. Your orgasm rips through you, hot and brutal, pleasure crashing over you in waves that leave you gasping and twitching. 

Joel doesn’t stop; he doubles down.

He groans like he’s getting off on it, rutting his tongue against your pulsing clit and shoving it inside you to lick up your release. His stubble scratches your swollen lips, his fingers digging into your ass to keep you right where he wants you.

“That’s it,” he growls into your pussy between licks. “Give it to me. Fuckin’ soak my face, baby. I want it all.” 

Sounds are spilling from you of their own accord—moans, cries, possible declarations of love for this guy you’ve known for less than two hours. You don’t know what you’re saying, you just know he’s wrecking you, and you never want it to end. 

“Joel, Joel—oh fuck—I can’t—” He has you coming again. It builds until it spills over, dizzying and all-consuming. Your body goes taut for a heartbeat, and then you’re melting, euphoria searing through your veins, your thighs shaking uncontrollably around his head. This one isn’t as explosive as the last, but it’s deep, stealing your breath and making you feel like your soul just drifts out of you.   

“Good girl,” his voice half-muffled by your cunt.

His tongue continues lapping lazily at your oversensitive clit until you’re flinching, overstimulated. Finally, he eases up, making a satisfied hum. 

“You did so fuckin’ good for me,” he murmurs.

You’re numb with pleasure—boneless, floating. Joel’s strong hands slide up to your waist, carefully lifting you off his face. He settles you onto his chest for barely a moment before your legs give out, collapsing onto your back beside him in a spent, panting heap. Your arms and legs feel heavy, your body buzzing like a live wire. 

Well, it still rings true that guys his age know what they’re doing in the bedroom. You have a theory on why that is, and it has to do with them being in their thirties before everything went to hell. They remember what it’s like to fuck in a time void of the uncertainty and fear of today. They remember what it’s like to be carefree and able to take their time in bed, unlike these days, where it’s hard to find somewhere safe enough to feel that relaxed. 

Luckily, Jackson is one of those places. So here, in the safety of the town, they get to relive those years, and you’re more than happy to go down memory lane with them. 

And somehow, with hardly any effort, Joel wants you to be his. 

It’s embarrassing how giddy that makes you. 

He can’t know he’s already sold you on a relationship with him. You want him to work for it, so you don’t come off as too easy. 

The old springs in the mattress squeak as Joel shifts onto his side. His rough, calloused fingers stroke along your cheek. “You okay, sweetheart?” he softly asks. “Need a second?” 

You nod slowly. “My arms are noodles, and my legs aren’t any better. I’m pretty sure I couldn’t walk if I tried. 

“Yeah?” You can hear the smile in his voice. “It’s a good thing you don’t have anywhere to be.” There’s a pause. Without looking at him, you know he’s frowning now. “You don’t have plans, right? Tonight?” 

Your eyes blink open, your head turning his way, smiling. The bottom half of his face is shiny with your juices, and he looks adorably worried with a crinkle between his eyebrows that you reach up to smooth with your thumb. “No plans. I was going to fix all the holes in my socks. Maybe patch up some other clothes. I’d much rather spend my evening with you, though.” 

He smiles, grabbing your hand, kissing your knuckles. “Good. I’ve got nothin’ goin’ on, either. I just need to be home by midnight.” 

“Because you, what? Turn back into a pumpkin after midnight?” 

He gives you a flat look. “No, I don’t turn into a damn pumpkin. I’ve got a kid. I need to be home for her.” 

“You have no idea how much it turns me on that you’re a good dad.”

Joel huffs in amusement, his eyes leaving yours. “I don’t know about bein’ a good dad, but she doesn’t seem to hate me, so I must be doin’ somethin’ right.” 

“I mean, you’re getting her a birthday cake—her first birthday cake, might I add—and you were willing to pay whatever price it’d cost. Sounds very ‘good dad’ to me. That actually reminds me. Don’t worry about the shit we agreed on. We’re good. I’ll make the cake tomorrow. You could even come over and help me, if you wanted to.” That’d be such a cute date. 

His gaze comes back to yours, his lips downturned. “I don’t want you doin’ it for free. I know that ingredients aren’t easy to come by, and you’re takin’ time out of your busy day.” 

“Who said anything about free? Just so we’re clear, I normally do not make cakes in exchange for sexual favors, but this will be the only exception because you were that good—don’t let it go to your head.” 

It’s too late, the smugness is already showing on his face, his dark eyes sparkling with a crooked grin. “I was that good, huh?” His head dips to place a soft kiss on your naked shoulder. “You gonna be mine now?”

“I don’t know. I think I need some more convincing.”

“More convincin’?” He lets go of your hand to rest his palm, warm and firm, on your thigh. “What will it take?”

“You know what I want.” 

“Be a good girl and ask me for it.” 

You suck in a breath, your cunt throbbing in beat with your heart. Oh, you like that. 

Quickly, you compose yourself. “Ask for it? Or do you want me to beg for it?” Your tone shifts to something sultry. “Please, Joel. I need your cock. I’m aching for it. Fuck me. Fill me up. Ruin me—whatever you want. Just please, will you fuck me now?” 

His fingers tighten on your leg, his voice deepening. “How do you want it?” 

You smile. “How do you want me?”

“Flip over.” 

“Take off your pants.” You glance down at the denim to see the impressive bulge at the front. “I’m not going to be the only one who’s naked.” Your gaze returns to his. “Go on. Get up and strip.”

He’s frowning. “And you were callin’ me bossy…” he mumbles. 

“You got a problem with that, big guy?”

“No, ma’am.” 

He moves to get off the bed and walks around to the end of it. You sit up on your elbows to watch with interest as he undoes his belt and unbuttons his jeans. He doesn’t drag it out, shoving both his pants and boxer briefs down his legs and peeling off his socks, before standing to his full height for you to take him in, his hands on his hips. 

The first thing that catches your attention is his dick bobbing between his legs. He’s mouth-wateringly thick, with a decent length that, at the thought of how it’d feel inside you, has you rubbing your thighs together to quell the sudden ache. The tip is flushed an angry red, with beads of precum smeared to make it shine in the light of your bedside lamp. 

“Keep starin’ at it like that, and you’re gonna start droolin’.” 

Your eyes rise to his amused ones. “Who says I’m not already?” 

He’s smirking. “That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble.” 

You smile. “Is that a threat, handsome?” 

“It’s a fact.” 

“I love this foreplay. You’re cute.” 

His eyebrow lifts. “I’m cute?” 

“Yes, you’re cute, and so fucking hot.” Your attention returns to his body. Naked, the broadness of his shoulders and the tininess of his waist are more pronounced. “You’re in amazing shape.”

“You think so?”

“I’d fuck you, even with the wear and tear.” You wink at him. 

Speaking of wear and tear, his body is littered with scars, some old, having silvered long ago, and others newer. There’s one low on his abdomen that catches your eye, and you need to get a closer look at it, scrambling onto your hands and knees, crawling over on shaky limbs to kneel in front of him. It’s relatively big, jagged—a quick patch job by someone inexperienced or in a hurry—and red, which means he’s only had it a handful of months. The injury must’ve happened on his trek to Jackson from Boston. 

What’s fascinating about it is that a wound of its caliber should’ve killed him while traveling across the country. If it weren’t the blood loss that got him, the risk for infection in those conditions would’ve been insane. Your hand moves of its own volition, pressing your fingertips to the warm, raised skin—you gasp when he abruptly snatches your palm, your chin lifting to meet his eyes. 

“Sorry,” you apologize immediately. 

“Shit.” He lets go, looking startled by what he’d done out of instinct. “No, I’m sorry.” His eyes dart away, sighing. “I haven’t been touched like this in a long fuckin’ time.” 

“Let’s change that.” 

He meets your gaze as you grab his waist for support and lean in to kiss the scar softly. He swears under his breath, his thighs tensing. “Jesus,” he rasps. You keep your eyes on his, kissing down through his happy trail to your destination between his legs. “You’re gonna fuckin’ ruin me.” 

He must’ve showered earlier after working his assigned job for the day. The scent of crushed thyme clings to his skin, sharp and earthy with just a hint of mint that’s grounding and fresh.

When your fingers wrap around his cock, Joel’s head falls back as he groans loudly. He’s hot in your palm, his shaft hard as steel and velvety smooth as you slowly pump him. 

“God, you have a pretty dick,” you tell him. 

He stares down at you again, and you love how he looks at you, as if you’re a reward and not just a good time, how he looks at you like you mean something. “Yeah?” he says the word in question. His big hand caresses your face, stroking his thumb over the apple of your cheek. “You want it to ruin that perfect little pussy?” 

“Yes, after this—” Dipping your head, you take his cock into your mouth, engulfing as much as you can until he’s hitting the back of your throat. There’s only a second for you to enjoy the heaviness of him on your tongue before he’s pulling you off of him. 

“No,” he hisses. “None of that, sweetheart.” He grips the base of his shaft, giving it a squeeze to calm himself. 

Frowning, you look up at him. “Why not?” 

“Because if you keep goin’, I’m gonna blow before I even get inside you. I told you, it’s been a long fuckin’ time since I’ve been with someone.” 

His reason makes you smile. “And you want to fuck me instead of coming down my throat.” 

“And I want to fuck you instead of comin’ down your throat.”

Why is that romantic to you? Maybe because there aren’t a lot of guys who’d turn down a blow job so you can get off together. 

“Hands and knees?” you ask, “Or on my stomach?” 

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips. “That’s my girl. Hands and knees, baby.” 

You don’t have to be told twice—turning in place, you shuffle up the mattress, settling on your hands and knees in the center of the bed. It’s instinctive how you arch your back, your ass lifted, and thighs parted. It’s a pose that feels both vulnerable and powerful, knowing exactly what kind of view you’re giving him. 

You glance back over your shoulder. “You coming, big guy?” It makes you grin, finding him distracted by the display you’re putting on. You wiggle your ass to get his attention. “You gonna get up here?” 

That snaps him from his reverie. His tone lowers, rough with desire, “Yes.” The mattress dips behind you as he climbs on, getting close enough that you can feel the heat of his body. Your head falls forward as his large, calloused palm slides up your spine, heavy and possessive, to squeeze the back of your neck. “Look at you,” he says, sounding awed. “My good girl with her ass up and her needy little pussy drippin’ for me. I’ve never felt so fuckin’ lucky.” His hands move to smooth over the curves of your backside before he grabs handfuls of the meaty globes hard enough that it borders on painful. “You’re perfect—you’re so fuckin’ perfect. But you know what else you are?” 

You hear him spit onto his fingers, slicking up his cock before he slides it through your wet folds to get it even wetter. Then he’s pressing the fat tip against your aching entrance, teasing it, your breath catching in your throat.

“What?” you whisper. 

“Mine.” 

He drives into you, sheathing himself in one hard thrust that knocks the air from your lungs, your body jerking forward from the impact. 

A guttural groan rumbles from Joel’s chest, his hands gripping your hips even tighter, holding you in place. He’s stretching you to your limit, filling you so completely that it’s hard to think, your fingers curling into the blankets. 

You’ve never been more thankful for foreplay, that he took the time to get you ready to take him. He feels massive inside you, and so fucking good, pressing against all of the right spots. At the thought of how it’s going to feel when he’s pounding into you, your cunt clenches around him. 

“Don’t,” he says through gritted teeth. “Don’t move.”  

It’s clear he wasn’t lying when he said he hadn’t been with anyone in quite some time. With his breaths turning ragged and his hips twitching from holding himself back, the man is fighting for his life not to come. Enough time passes that you’ve grown used to his dick, or as used to it as you can get with how big it is. What matters is that it’s not as overwhelming as it initially seemed.

You look back at Joel, catching him with his eyes squeezed shut, jaw tight, and sweat glistening on his brow. 

“Need a minute?” you ask.  

He cracks his eyes open. “You’re so fuckin’ tight and warm.” 

“You’re just big.”

“Am I?” He smirks.

You roll your eyes. “I’ve stroked your ego enough today. And hey, if you finish early, no shame. My pussy has that effect on some men.” 

From your previous dalliances with older men, if they hadn’t fucked in a while, the first round usually went fast, something they expected so they’d get you off beforehand. After that, they could go for as long as you wanted. 

His eyes narrow. “Are you callin’ me old?” 

You grin. “All I’m saying is you might not have the stamina you once had, and that’s totally cool.”

He moves faster than you expect, gasping when he shoves your shoulders down, forcing your chest to the mattress, with your spine arched and ass up. In the blink of an eye, he’s got your arms pinned behind your back, his large hand easily wrapped around both of your wrists, holding them there in one rough fist. 

“I told you that mouth of yours was gonna get you in trouble,” he mutters, angling his hips.  

He pulls out of you halfway and slams back in, the force stuttering your breath. 

One thing you’ve learned about Joel is you shouldn’t challenge him unless you want to be fucked within an inch of your life, as was happening right now. There’s no teasing, no slow buildup—he sets up a punishing pace from the start, the new angle absolutely devastating with his cock hitting something so divine inside you you’re seeing stars. 

“Joel, fuck—” you cry out. “Oh, fuck.” 

It feels like he’s taking you apart piece by piece, coming undone by how he’s filling and fucking you, how he owns you. He wasn’t wrong when he said you were his. He could have you any way he wants, and right now, he’s proving why he gets that honor. 

“You’re gonna feel me tomorrow,” he grits out between thrusts. “Every time you move, you’ll remember who this pussy belongs to.” 

His grip tightens on your wrists, using your arms as leverage, dragging you back onto his cock with every thrust. Each stroke is deeper than the last, your cunt greedy for every inch of him. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, you’re completely at his mercy as another orgasm starts to take shape in your core. 

Finding out that not only is he handsome, polite, and a good father but that he also fucks, has made you determined to lock him down and make him yours. 

He has you gasping now, your knees shaking hard enough you’re worried they’ll give out. Joel’s rhythm is brutal and unforgiving, his cock hitting so deep you swear you can feel him in your guts. Every push and pull of his hips is working you higher and higher. You’re so fucked out of your mind that all you can focus on are the sensations: his thick cock hammering into you, the burn in your thighs, the strain in your arms, the sweat coating your face and back, your heartbeat pounding in your ears. 

The pressure in your belly builds, your body trembling.

He says something above you that you don’t make out, smacking your ass to get your attention. The sting has you sucking in a breath, your pussy clamping down on him. 

“Answer me,” he orders. “Is this what you wanted? You wanted to be fucked like this?”

“Y-yes,” you choke out. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop.” 

“I’m not stoppin’ until you beg me to, and you say you’re mine.” 

Noise echoes off your bedroom walls. The old bedframe creaks under you, the worn bedsprings squealing with each thrust, skin slapping skin, the wet suck of your used cunt, moans, and ragged breaths—a symphony of debauchery. 

All you can do is take it, your back bowed, arms pinned, getting shoved forward into the sheets every time he fucks into you. He’s worked you up to the point that the coil in your belly is close to snapping, you just need—

Joel gives you another taste of his strength, pulling you up against his chest with little effort. His pace doesn’t wane, his cock working in and out of you, holding you close with an arm over your chest and another across your stomach. 

His lips press to the shell of your ear, feeling his hot, panting breath. “I know you’re close,” he rasps. “Can feel you squeezin’ me. Say it. Tell me you’re mine and I’ll let you come.” 

You grab onto his arm that’s locked against your breasts, nodding your head frantically. “I’m yours, Joel,” you gasp. “I’m fucking yours. I’ll always be yours. Please, let me come. Please.”

His hand on your stomach goes to the apex of your thighs, pinching your clit. You mewl, jerking in his hold. 

“This pussy is mine, too, isn’t it?” he asks. 

“Yes, it’s yours. Your pussy, your girl, I’m all yours, only yours. Please, Joel. Please, let me come.” 

“Good girl.” He kisses behind your ear. “Come for me. Let me have it.” 

A cry rips from your throat as he circles your clit, his other hand on your breast rolling your nipple between his fingers, his cock still pounding into you. It’s everything you need, setting you off and over the edge. The coil snaps, pleasure crashing through your body, sobbing his name over and over again, your nails digging into the skin of his forearm to tether you to earth. Your cunt spasms around him, clenching down on him hard enough it slows him to a stop. 

He groans in your ear. “That’s it.” His grip tightens around you. “That’s my fuckin’ girl. Come for me, baby.” 

You collapse against him, boneless. It’s Joel’s arm wrapped around your middle that holds you steady through the aftershocks when all you want to do is fall forward onto the mattress and rest your eyes. Your breaths are coming out ragged, your heart hammering so hard it feels like you’ve outrun a horde of infected. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, then another to the side of your neck. His free hand rubbing comforting circles on your hip. 

You don’t speak. You’re not even sure you could if you wanted to. 

You’re still clutching his arm, and he doesn’t pull out; he stays nestled inside you, keeping you full after ruining you in the best way. Having him so close and surrounding you is the only thing that grounds you, the room quieting as you catch your breath. 

He waits a beat for you to come down before he asks, “Still with me, sweetheart?” 

You reach up behind you to thread your fingers into his sweat-damp hair, letting out a shaky exhale. “Yes.”

He nuzzles the crook of your neck. “I didn’t go too hard?” 

The softness is wholly unexpected. He’s holding you like you’re something precious, pressing reverent kisses to your skin and quietly checking in. It makes you like him even more and evokes a certain feeling that tightens your chest with emotion. Is it tenderness? Or is it that he’s treating you like more than a warm body to fuck? Maybe it’s both. Whatever it is, the ache you feel behind your ribs is almost as overwhelming as the orgasms he’s coaxed from you. 

“No. I can take it,” you answer. 

He hums in agreement and kisses a spot below your ear. “You took it really fuckin’ well.”

You smile. “You dished it out really fuckin’ well.”

“You got anythin’ to say about my stamina?” 

The question makes you snort. “I apologize for doubting your stamina. To be honest, I’m a little shocked that you haven’t come yet.” 

“Almost did, when you came. Took a whole helluva lot not to.” 

“Well, color me impressed, old man.” 

He pinches your hip, and you giggle. “Call me that again, and I’ll make sure you can’t walk for a week.” 

“Is that a promise?” 

“That fuckin’ mouth of yours.”

“You love it.”

He sighs. “Do you wanna stop or keep goin’?”

His arm is wrapped around your middle. He’s still hot and hard inside you, keeping you deliciously stretched. Obviously, you want to keep going, but there’s something you want to do for him. 

“Oh, I’m gonna get you off.” 

You untangle his arms from your body and crawl forward, his cock slipping out of you with an obscene wet sound that has you sucking in a breath and Joel groaning. You get up onto your knees and shuffle in place to look at him. 

“Sit down,” you order, and point at the spot beside you on the bed. He raises an eyebrow, and you roll your eyes. “Do you want to come with my tits in your face or not?”

That gets his cute little ass moving up the bed. He pauses when he’s next to you, his hands framing your face as he gives you a kiss that leaves you a little dizzy when he breaks away. He snags your four pillows, using them to cushion his back against the headboard, his legs sprawled out, arms folded behind his head, watching you with hungry eyes. 

He looks at home in your bed as if he’s been here hundreds of times and not only once.

And god, is he a sight to behold. A rosy pink flush rising from his chest to his cheeks, his hair tousled, skin gleaming from perspiration, and between his legs, his thick cock slick with your come and still rock hard. 

You straddle his hips. “Boob guy?”

The second they’re within reach, he’s cupping them in his large palms. 

He huffs, amused, crookedly smiling. “What makes you think that?” 

“Hmmm, let’s see. You checked them out at the door, buried your face in them on the couch, and you couldn’t keep your hands off them while you were literally being smothered by my pussy, and fucking me six ways to Sunday.” 

Joel’s chuckle turns into a choked ‘fuck’ when you guide his cock back inside you, slowly sinking down his shaft inch by inch. He shuts his eyes for a moment, his jaw flexing. You loop your arms around his neck, bottoming out, and fuck, he feels even deeper like this.

“You got me,” his voice sounds strained. “Fuckin’ love them.” His head dips to flick your nipple with his tongue, then kisses the curve, giving the other the same treatment. He sits back to meet your gaze. “Fuckin’ love how pretty you look sittin’ on my dick, too. You gonna ride me, baby?” 

Leaning forward, you kiss the line of his stubbled jaw to whisper in his left ear. “I’m gonna ride you into the sunset, handsome—and you get free rein of my tits.”

He grabs your chin, moving your face in front of his to crush his lips against yours, kissing you needily. His tongue plunders your mouth as you start moving on his lap, slow circles at first, savoring how his cock drags along your walls. Joel lets out the tiniest whimper, his palms skimming down to grip your ass. He kisses the underside of your jaw and down your neck, sucking hard on your pulse point—you gasp, your fingers pushing into the mess of waves at the back of his head. 

“You’re too fuckin’ good to me,” he says with his lips on your throat. 

“You deserve it,” you breathe. 

He isn’t going to last very long with how he’s throbbing inside you, so thick and desperate. You’re pretty sure that if you bounce on his dick with your breasts in his face and talk dirty to him, you can get him off in under two minutes. Hell, maybe you could do it in one. You decide to make it a challenge for yourself. 

Planting your knees into the mattress, you grip his shoulders for leverage and start moving with purpose. You rise until only the tip of him remains, then slam back down, in quick succession, again and again and again. It’s hard and fast, clenching around him on the upstroke to make it even better. 

He groans under you, fingers clawing into your ass like he’s hanging on for dear life. You pry them off as you continue working yourself up and down, putting his big hands on your tits.

“Fuck, baby,” his words come out ragged, his eyes glued to your chest. 

“You like that?” you pant. “Your cock buried so fucking deep inside me while you play with my tits?”

“Yes.”

He teases your stiff nipples with calloused thumbs, and he can’t help himself, leaning in to seal his mouth over one pebbled peak. He greedily sucks, the pleasure sparking through you, stuttering your rhythm for a moment. You keep going and are ready for it when he moves to your other breast, his tongue swirling around the hard bud.

You sound breathless. “You’re close, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t want to let your nipple go, so he hums his affirmative that vibrates against your skin. 

It’s slippery between your legs, his dick sliding easily in and out of your pussy. You speed up, becoming just as ruthless as he was, using him like he used you, fucking him at the same punishing pace. Your thighs collide with his in a sharp, wet smack that echoes off the walls, the bed creaking loudly. Your nipple pops out of his mouth, and he grabs your ass again for something to hold onto. “Gonna fuckin’ kill me,” he groans. He looks up at you, his eyes wild and glazed over. There’s no mistaking he’s absolutely wrecked and barely holding it together. 

It makes you smile seeing him so undone. “Can’t take it, baby?”

“I can—fuck,” he gasps, his eyes squeezing closed for a split second. He swallows hard. “Fuckin’ ruin me.”  

“With pleasure.” You ignore how your thighs burn and the bedframe squeaks. He’s your focus, he’s all that matters. You watch his face as you ride him, how it contorts when you bear down on him. You memorize every detail, every sound, every little thing that makes him tick and fall apart. His attention is back on your heaving breasts. “I want you to come inside me,” you tell him through panted breaths. “I want you to fill me up, make me drip. I wanna feel every last drop inside me. Can you do that for me, handsome? Can I have your come? Please, Joel?”

His glassy eyes snap to yours, and that’s all it takes. 

It’s game over. 

He surprises you when he sits up just enough to grab you with one arm around your back, the other cradling your head, dragging you down into a kiss as he comes. It’s desperate and messy, his lips crashing into yours, a groan rumbling from his chest, swallowing the whimper you make as you feel his cock thicken and jerk, the pulsing heat flooding your depths. Each spurt makes your cunt clamp down around him on reflex. He holds you there, locked in the kiss as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go, his whole body beneath you trembling. You roll your hips, slower than before, grinding, drawing out every last wave for him to give you everything he’s got. 

Then—

CRACK.

The ancient bedframe finally gives out. 

With a deafening groan of protest and a sharp snap, the entire mattress drops six inches on one side, sending you both lurching sideways with surprised gasps. You’re straddling him, leaning a little to the left, Joel breathless and stunned under you. You look at the current state of your bed, then at him, somehow still balls-deep inside you, his hair a mess, his pretty face dazed, and cheeks flushed. 

“You broke my fucking bed.” 

His expression switches from shocked to offended, his eyebrows cinching together. “Excuse me, I broke your bed? Baby, you were ridin’ me like a fuckin’ mechanical bull.”

“After you fucked me into the mattress. Either way, it’s your fault. No one has ever broken my bed before.” 

“No one has ever fucked you like me before.” He looks smug about it, too. 

“Touché.” Your attention turns to the bed again, frowning. “Fuck, I’m gonna have to sleep with my mattress on the floor. With making the cake and working, I won’t be able to fix this for a few days.” 

“I’ll fix it tomorrow.” 

You look at him. “You don’t have to. It’s fine. I can probably get one of the handymen to do it when I’m free.” There are a handful of knowledgeable men who help fix things around town—Tommy is one of them. 

“I said, I’ll fix it tomorrow. You don’t need a handyman when I used to be a fuckin’ contractor.” 

That has you perking up. “A contractor?” 

“Yeah.” He takes a moment to get comfortable, keeping you atop him while he scoots down the lopsided bed and arranges your pillows to prop up his head and shoulders. “C’mere,” he says, pulling you down to lie half on top of him, his softened cock slipping out of you. Your ear is pressed over his heart, hearing the steady beat, his arm around you with his hand on your hip.

“It’s sexy that you used to be a contractor,” you say. Your palm is resting on his stomach, and he covers it with his free hand. “I’m just going to make the assumption that was back when you were in Texas, and since it gets pretty hot there, did you work with your shirt off often…?”

He’s amused. “Yes. Especially in the summer.” He’s drawing imaginary shapes on your hip. 

“What I’d pay to see that.” 

“Well, you’re makin’ the cake for free—”

“Not free,” you interrupt, lifting your head to look at him, resting your chin on his pec. “I’m making the cake in exchange for you eating my pussy like a champ.” 

He huffs, meeting your gaze. “Now you are, but before, the shit we agreed on for you to make the cake was nothin’. It would’ve taken me no time at all to get, so you were makin’ it for free.” 

“More like half-off to non-smugglers.” 

“Then you need to re-evaluate what your skills are worth ‘cause you’re sellin’ yourself short.” 

“You are very sweet, but I promise the deal I made you was only for you. A chocolate cake with basically a day’s notice? Come on, I’d want some good shit for that. Coffee, painkillers, antibiotics, ammunition, a firearm—what I asked you to get wouldn’t even pay for the chocolate, let alone a whole cake.”

He’s frowning, his finger pausing on your skin. “Then why would you agree to so little from me?”

You smile. “A weakness for single older dads.”

“You got a lot of those around here?” 

“Nope,” you pop the ‘p.’ “You’re a rare breed, and the reason why, if I’m yours, then you are mine. I do not share.”

“I don’t either.” 

“Perfect.” 

“Glad we got that out of the way. Can we go back to talkin’ about me bein’ a contractor?” 

“A sexy, shirtless contractor?” 

“Yes. What I was goin’ to say before you interrupted me is that you were so kind about the cake, that if you wanted, I can fix your bed without a shirt on.” 

“Can that be standard when you fix anything around my apartment?”

He smiles. “If that’s what you want.” 

“Oh, I want it. Also, may I make the request that the bed be extra-reinforced? We will be testing it out when you’re done.” 

“Is that right?” 

“Yep.” 

“You’re gonna fuckin’ wear me out with how much you want my cock.” 

“Your mouth, too. I’d also like to see what your fingers are like.” 

“Jesus Christ.” His fingertip starts making shapes on your hip again. “I wanna know more about you than just what you like in bed. How long have you lived in Jackson?” 

“Seven years.” 

“You got any family?”

“Biological? No. Lost my parents and little sisters when I was about twelve. Typical tragic backstory where I was the lone survivor. You know the bartender, Seth?” 

“Yeah.” 

“He and his wife found me and raised me with their kids. I was an adult by the time they decided to come out this way, and they told me I was old enough to make my own choice on whether I’d follow them or not. Obviously, I did. They may not be my blood relatives, but they’re still my aunt and uncle, which took me some years to label them as such. It’s hard when you remember your family, and they could never replace my parents. Was Ellie close with her mom and dad?” 

He frowns. “She didn’t have parents, or at least ones she knew. She was raised by FEDRA in Boston. I don’t think that girl knows what it’s like to be loved by a parent, or anyone, for that matter.” 

“From what you’ve told me, I think you’re doing a great job of showing her what it’s like to have a loving father, or a loving parent in general. The cake was a great idea. It’s so sweet and thoughtful. Do you have a present for her?” 

“Before I come over here tomorrow night to take care of your bed and have that drink with you, I’ll be spendin’ my day fixin’ up a guitar for her.” He’s fondly smiling. “I finished gettin’ all the parts I needed today—even traded your uncle for a piece of bone I’ll use for the saddle—”

“I know nothing about guitars. What’s the saddle?” 

“But you know what one looks like, right? An acoustic guitar?” 

You picture one in your head. “Yes.” 

“Okay, so you know the part near the bottom of the body where the strings are anchored? Where they’re pinned in?” 

“Yes.”

“That’s the bridge. The saddle sits on the bridge. It’s usually made of bone or plastic and holds the strings up at the right height and helps them stay in tune when you play.” 

“I think I know what you’re talking about.” 

“Good. So, got the bone, new strings, and I’ll clean and shine the rest of the metal parts. She has a thing for moths, and I’m gonna try my damndest to carve one into the fretboard—that’s the guitar neck with all the metal frets and dots to guide your fingers when you’re playin’? I’m gonna put it right at the top below the headstock, where the turning pegs are.”

“I can’t believe you don’t think you’re a good dad. The lengths you go to for this child. She’s really lucky to have you.” 

“Maybe.” 

“She is. Do you play?” 

“Since I was about half her age.” 

“You’ll have to play me something sometime.” 

“I will, but don’t ask me to sing. I’m fuckin’ awful at it.” 

“I have a hard time believing that. Is that your only hobby?” 

“No. I also do woodworkin’.”

“Like wooden figurines?”

“Yeah.” 

“You gonna make me one?” 

“What’s your favorite animal?” 

“Ummm—” You have to think about it for a second. “Maybe otters? I think it’s cute when they hold hands while sleeping.” 

“I’ll make you a pair of otters then.” 

You smile. “Just like that, you’re gonna woodwork me a couple of tchotchkes?” 

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “Gives me somethin’ to do when I’m home from work, and Ellie’s out bein’ a kid.” 

“If you ever want some company, I’d be happy to hang out with you while you do your thing. I’ll also watch movies with you, go horseback riding, and you could even help me make cakes.” You suddenly feel unsure of yourself. “Unless you’re not interested in any of that and you’re just looking for an exclusive sex partner.” 

“I told you I don’t do fuck buddies or casual shit.” 

“So, you want to date me?” 

“If you’ll have me.” He lifts your hand from his belly to kiss your knuckles. “I’d understand if you didn’t want people knowin’. though.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Why wouldn’t I want people to know I’m dating you?” 

“Because I’m old.” 

“Once again, I do not give a fuck that you are—how old are you?” 

He takes a deep breath and says on the exhale, “Fifty-six.” 

“Once again, I do not give a fuck that you are fifty-six. You’re hot and sweet, and I’d want everyone to know you’re mine.” 

He smiles. “Yeah?” 

“Yes. There’s just one little thing we need to figure out.” 

“What’s that?” 

“How long do you wait until you tell Ellie?” 

“After her birthday. Maybe in a week or two to see how things go between us.” 

“Solid plan.” You lean up and peck him on the lips. 

“What about you? You got any hobbies?” 

“Mostly baking. I also collect records and love watching movies.” 

“When I go out again, I’ll find you more records and movies.” 

“That’s sweet of you, but you don’t have to do that.”

“I want to. I do have a question.” 

“I’ll hopefully have an answer.” 

“I know you like sex—”

“Love,” you correct. “Love sex very much.” 

“Yes, I know you love sex very much, and you said you weren’t seein’ anyone. Do I need to worry about any former, uh, paramours?” 

“Wanting to fight you for my bed?”

“Yes…” 

“No. The few guys in town are all married now, and there are a couple of traders who stop by every once in a while who’ll be disappointed, but they won’t step on your toes.” 

“I know it’s none of my business, but why didn’t any of the men here wanna marry you…?”

“Oh. I guess we should probably discuss this now, rather than having me blindside you down the road. I’d like to have a family one day, and they were all done with babies and raising kids. They married women closer to their own age who felt the same way. So, if that’s a dealbreaker, you need to let me know now.” 

He’s quiet as he thinks about what you’ve said. Nerves swirl in your belly. You’re hoping and praying this isn’t the end. 

“I had a daughter,” he finally tells you. “Sarah. She was my pride and joy, my everythin’. She died in my arms twenty years ago on the night of the outbreak. It broke me. I was a shell of a man from that point on, and then Ellie came into my life. I was hired to transport her across the country, but things, uh, didn’t work out when I got her to her destination. So I brought her here to Jackson, where we’d be close to Tommy, and she’d get to have a somewhat normal life as a kid. 

“For twenty years, I swore to myself I’d never bring another child into this godawful world.” At his admission, your heart plummets. “Was really fuckin’ careful when I’d fuck to limit the risk as much as possible, too, which meant I never finished inside my partner. I never had the desire to, or would ever humor the idea.” 

Now, you’re confused. “If you’re so anti-creampies, why is your come dripping out of me as we speak?” 

He smiles and caresses your cheek with a gun-calloused palm. “Because in all of my fifty-six years on this planet, the happiest I’ve ever been is when I’m a dad. I fuckin’ love bein’ a father, and I know I’m too old to even be thinkin’ about babies, but if it happened? I wouldn’t be upset about it. I’d welcome it.” 

He’s perfect, and you’ve never wanted a man more. 

“I know we’ve only known each other for less than a day, but marry me.” Joel chuckles. “I’m serious. Make me your wife. I will fuck your brains out, have as many babies as you want, bake you delicious things, and treat Ellie like she’s my own kid. You’re everything and more that I want in a partner, and I think we’d be good together.” 

His thumb strokes over the apple of your cheek. “I’m flattered by your offer, sweetheart. I truly am, and have half a mind to accept it, but marriage isn’t somethin’ you rush into. I know most everyone does these days with how uncertain everythin’ is, but I’d like to take my time to court you properly before we decide to get married.” 

You sigh. “If you insist.” You glance up at the clock on your bedside table; the red numbers show it’s after ten p.m. Your gaze returns to his. “We’ve got less than two hours before you need to head home, Cinderella. Would you be up for another, softer, maybe sensual round—I’m thinking missionary—then we can shower, you can help me get my mattress onto the floor, and take off? Or do you want to shower, help me get my mattress onto the floor, and hang out in the living room, watching a movie or something until you need to leave?” 

“Another round, we shower, we leave your bed alone, and you come home with me instead of sleepin’ on the floor.” 

“To your house, where Ellie is…?” 

“I’ll sneak you in. She spends most of her time in her room anyway. She won’t know you’re there.” 

“If you want to hold off on her knowing about me, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

You don’t know how he does it. One minute, you’re lying half on top of him, and the next, he’s got you beneath him on your back, his hips cradled by your thighs. He kisses your clavicle, saying into your skin, “It’ll be fine.” His lips trail up your throat, making you shiver when he sucks on your pulse point, his cock hardening against your core. “Come home with me.” Joel continues his journey, laving kisses along the underside of your jaw to nip at your chin. He hovers his face over yours, searching your eyes. “Will you?” 

“Only if you’re sure.”

“Quit your worryin’. I told you, it’ll be fine. She’ll have no idea.” 

“Okay, then. I’ll go with you.” 

He smiles. “Good girl.” 

Joel wasn’t kidding about sneaking you into his house. That’s how you find yourself freshly fucked, showered, and clothed, creeping up a dark staircase behind him and into a hallway, where he signals for you to stay because Ellie’s door is open. He walks over to her doorway, leaning in it like he’s done it a hundred times before, the light shining on his face showing that fond smile he always has when he talks about her. 

“Hey, kiddo.” 

“Hey, Joel.” 

“You have a good day?” 

“Scooping horse shit?” You have to hold in your laugh. “Not really, but afterward, Jesse and I went to Dina’s to watch a movie.”

Jesse and Dina are good kids.

“What movie?” 

“Star Wars. The first two, but I wasn't really paying attention. We were too busy joking around and trying to throw popcorn into each other’s mouths.”

“What’d you do after that?” 

“We went and had dinner. Did you get some of the apple pie? It was really fucking good. I think the peach cobbler is still my favorite, though.”

You also made the peach cobbler. Ellie has good taste. It’s your favorite, too. 

“Yeah?” he asks. 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, hopefully it’ll come ‘round again soon.” 

Once traders come through with more peaches, you’ll be able to. It’s adorable watching him interact with her and seeing how much he clearly loves her. 

“I sure hope so. How was your day?” 

“Good. They had me out patrollin’, and I went through some houses to see if I could find anythin’ good. Did you get the tapes I left on your desk?” 

“I did! I listened to the Backstreet Guys, or whatever the fuck they’re called—people used to like that shit?” 

Is she talking about the Backstreet Boys?

Joel chuckles. “Sarah loved them.” 

“She usually has great taste in music,” Ellie replies, “but I’m not sure about this one.” 

“Well, I’ll tell you right now, NSYNC is similar—” She is talking about the Backstreet Boys, and how very ‘good dad’ of Joel to be familiar with the music his child loves. “—but I think you’ll enjoy the Halican Drops albums. That was Sarah’s favorite band. I’ve been lookin’ forever to find you their music, and I hit the jackpot today when I came across a kid’s room that hadn’t been picked clean.” 

“Oh, sweet. I’ll listen to them before bed. Thanks, Joel.” 

“You’re welcome, kiddo. Don’t stay up too late. You gotta be up early to scoop more horse shit.” 

She groans. “God, I fucking hope not. Can you ask Tommy to assign me to anything else? Like anything else.”

His voice softens. “Yeah, I’ll do that in the mornin’. Night, Ellie.” 

“Night, Joel.” 

He pulls her door closed and waits ten seconds, then motions for you to come to him. He grabs your hand when you’re within reach and leads you further down the hall to his room at the end, where he opens the door and flips on the light. He ushers you in, closing the door and locking it behind you.

The first thing you notice is that it smells like him—crushed thyme, gun oil, and something uniquely Joel, mixed with the scent of freshly cut wood. Then you take in the area, the paintings that depict cowboys, his woodworking workstation, what you assume is Ellie’s future guitar leaning against it, another one hanging on his wall, and further in the room, a third you think is the one he actually plays. The piece of bone he got from your uncle is sitting atop the worktable, along with little metal parts and his tools. 

“I like your room,” you tell him. “It’s cozy.” He’s got a comfy-looking accent chair you could imagine him reading in and a desk by the door with a drawing of a moth on top of it—what he plans to carve into Ellie’s guitar.

He spins you to face him. “Thanks.” He grabs the hem of your shirt and pulls it up off your arms, followed by your sports bra. “You’re my first guest.” 

He grunts, crouching down in front of you. Joel gets his fingers under the waistband of your leggings and underwear, tugging them down. You hold onto his shoulders for balance as you step out of them, and he removes your socks, leaving you completely nude.

“Is that why you were adamant about me coming over tonight? So you could finally christen your bed?” 

He stands back up, one of his knees popping. “No.” Joel kisses you, and you hold his scruffy cheeks as he works open the buttons of his flannel. He shrugs it off and unbuckles his belt, his lips leaving yours to get his jeans undone and shoved down, followed by his boxer briefs. 

“When I said ‘christen your bed,’ I meant have sex in it for the first time. Why are we naked if we’re not gonna fuck?” 

All of his clothes are on the floor, including his socks, and instead of answering your question, he straightens and captures your lips once more, his hands gripping your waist. He kisses you as he walks you backward toward his neatly made bed, and when you’re beside it, he breaks away to pull back the blankets.

“Get in.” It’s not a suggestion, and you do as he says, getting under the sheets and turning on your side, propping your head up with your arm to watch what he’s doing.  

“The lack of clothes and kissing is giving me mixed signals.” 

“What do you mean?” he asks on his way to turn off the overhead light. 

“When I’m naked with someone and we’re making out, that’s the lead-up to fucking.” 

The room goes dark, save for the moonlight slipping through the closed blinds, offering some illumination as he returns, going around the bed and crawling in on the other side. You turn over to look at him as he gets to the middle of the bed. “C’mere.” He reaches toward you, and you scoot like he asks until he’s able to pull you up against the solid warmth of his front. He curls around you, one arm draped over your waist, the other under your head, his large palm resting gently on your spine. “Have you ever slept with someone?” he asks. 

You blink up at him in the dark, quietly replying, “We literally just fucked twice.” 

“No.” He brushes his thumb lightly over your back. “Not sex. I mean, have you ever just fallen asleep with someone?” 

The question has your breath catching a little, but not from arousal. No, this is something completely different. It’s warmer. Sweeter, and it makes your chest ache for some reason. 

Your mouth opens to reply, but no words come out immediately. 

It has you thinking back, really thinking back. Sure, you had nights where men stayed over. Nights when you were tangled in sweaty sheets with someone who’d be gone by morning. But this? Naked and held? No rush. No expectations. Just simple, quiet skin-on-skin closeness? 

“No,” you finally admit. “Never.” 

Joel hums a contented sound in his throat. He kisses the top of your head, his facial hair lightly scratching your forehead. “I hope you like it, sweetheart,” he murmurs. 

You lie there, stunned. You assumed he asked you here for the same reason men before him invited you into their beds—to fuck, and maybe some post-sex cuddling before your clothes are back on and the mood fades. 

But Joel doesn’t just want you. He wants you with him, here like this, in a way that feels much more intimate than sex. He doesn’t just wreck you with his body; it’s the way he chooses you when he doesn’t have to, how he holds you like you matter, like you’re his. With him, you’re not being used, you’re being kept. 

That dawning realization sinks in, curling around something tender behind your ribs. 

Your voice is small when you whisper, “You didn’t want me here for sex, did you?” 

“No,” he answers. “I wanted you here ‘cause I’ll sleep better with you next to me.” 

Your throat tightens, staring into the dark, feeling a little overwhelmed because you don’t know what to do with all of this affection settling over you. 

“Oh.” 

Joel chuckles, pulling you in tighter, tucking your head under his chin. “Yeah. Oh.” The room goes quiet, then he adds, “Also, don’t want you breakin’ my bed.”

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” he laughs into your hair. “You ride like a fuckin’ hellcat. That old frame of yours didn’t stand a chance.” 

His statement has your mouth dropping open, a mix of offense and flattery.

“That’s rude and slanderous because we both agreed you broke the bed.” 

“We agreed on no such thing. Tomorrow, I will even show you proof that you rode me into the sunset and your bed straight into the ground by where it snapped.” He kisses the top of your head again. “Gotta reinforce both our beds before I let you do that again. I think your couch could take the abuse, though, so that’s an option.” 

He has you biting back a smile. “I hate you.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

“No, I don’t.” 

“You wanna marry me.” 

“I’m not so sure I do now.” 

“You do.”

“Maybe.” 

“Six months.” 

“Six months, what?” 

“If we’re still together in six months, I’ll marry you.” 

Your heart rate increases. “Really?” 

“Yes. Now, get some sleep.” 

Part 2 - Masterlist

Joel hadn’t planned to tell you right away when he got his hearing aids.

This thing between you was good. You felt solid. So in sync, most of the time. You’d been through enough together that he knew your foundation wouldn’t–couldn’t– be easily shaken.

But this didn’t feel like a small thing. Sure, you knew his age. You’d met him when you were volunteering at the goddamned senior center.

Hearing aids, though, were a step too far. 

Because that meant he was officially old. People would think he was your dad, even more so than they do already. Or maybe even his caretaker, god forbid.

He looks alright, he supposes, for being a few years shy of seventy. But his bones ache, his hair is more grey than not, and wrinkles line his face. He has to face the fact that he’s an old man. And, while he’s facing the facts, he needs to admit to himself that he really can’t hear for shit these days.

He’s a tired, deaf, selfish old man, and he can’t bear to lose you just yet.

—

You’re out of town for the weekend when he gets the hearing aids. It’s perfect, really, because he can learn how to use them. They’re fairly low profile, and he’s let his hair grow longer these days, making them easier to hide.

Sunday night, you arrive back home. You show up at your door, weekend bag slung over your shoulder. As you pull out your keys, Joel beats you to the lock, swinging the door open wide for you. You’re exhausted, and it must show in the bags under your eyes, but you can’t help but smile the moment you see him.

He reaches to relieve you of your bag and you shrug it off, letting him put it down by the entryway bench.

“You have a good time, baby?” he asks.

“It was fucking wonderful. I really needed that,” you smile, reaching up to kiss Joel, “I’m really glad to be home now though-” 

And then you kiss him again and hum against his lips, a happy little sound.

Joel’s never heard it before.

He wants to hear it again. He has to hear it again–

He kisses you again, a little bit deeper. Presses himself towards you and hears the way you moan against him, breathy and soft and desperate. What he’d felt only as vibration before now has a pitch he didn’t know he’d been missing. 

Need hits him like a freight train, suddenly urgent and dizzying. In a moment, he’s hard and wanting, pulse pounding fast.

"Honey," he sighs, lips still hovering over yours, hot breath tickling against your skin. You look at him, glancing across his face, reading in it whatever he happens to be showing. He wonders if it looks like reverence. "I need you baby, I need you right now--"

You’re surprised at his abrupt enthusiasm, a crease between your furrowed brows, but a smile plays on your lips.  

"I should probably go shower,” you tell him, turning towards the bathroom.

"Nuh uh," he shakes his head and reaches for you, pulling you close. "You don’t gotta. Unless ya really wanna. I just need you right fuckin’ now, baby. Want you any way you’ll have me."

You scrutinize him, looking him up and down. For a moment, he’s certain you’ve clocked him, that you know what he’s hiding. 

Instead of challenging him, though, your expression softens. You shrug, like it’s simple. “I’m yours.”

It's been a while since he's greeted you like this, and you’re certain you must be missing something for him to be so turned on, so out of the blue. Sure, you’d been gone for the weekend, but it was just a weekend, and it’s certainly not the first time you’ve been apart, nor the longest.

He’s desperate though, more desperate than he knows how to be. He can’t keep his hands off of you, can’t stop touching you. His hands trace up and down your sides, making you gasp and whine at his attention. You revel in it.

When he gets you to the bedroom, he tries to pace himself. To savor it. He means to slow himself down.

He peels your clothes off, piece by piece. Gentle fingers fumble with the buttons, and he kisses that spot behind your ear that makes your breath hitch. 

When it does, though– when that sweet gasp passes your lips, Joel is changed. Any restrained passion he’d been trying to keep in check dissolves, replaced by desperate frenzy. 

He rids you of the rest of your clothes, strewn garments in your wake as he guides you to bed.

Joel has always been a generous lover, always watching and learning. In the early days with him, he’d ask you to show him what you like. He’d keep his eyes on you, attentive, reading you with care as he’d replicate the ways you know to give yourself pleasure, as though ensuring your gratification were his life’s only goal.

You’re used to his eyes on you, watching how your body reacts to his touch, touching you gently when you need softness, being firm when you need redirection. 

So, it’s always been good. But it’s never been quite like this. 

He pushes you down onto the bed and grabs you by the knees, shoving them apart, making you gasp. He hums and grabs you, lifts you, and scoots you back towards the headboard. Resets your legs so your thighs are spread again for him and he’s slotted between them. You can feel his cock, fat and heavy against his thigh, straining against his jeans– and fuck the fucking denim– he’s still wearing his clothes.

It’s not fair.

“Get naked, Joel,” you tell him, “I want to see you.”

You can see a blush spread across his cheeks and nose, but he doesn’t look bashful as he used to be. He looks hungry. A smirk twitches on his lips.

You’re bare for him, and so so ready. And, you think distantly, you’re so incredibly comfortable with him. There was a time you would have shrunk away from this kind of touch that allows you to be so seen. For him, though, you love little more than to lean back and spread your legs, so bare and exposed, all for him. To show him every part of yourself, and simply trust that he won’t frighten.

He makes quick work of his clothes. Grabs his t-shirt by the back of the neck and rips it over his head. Unbuttons his jeans and shucks them and his boxers off in one go, his cock bouncing heavy between his legs. You let out a breath, watching.

He slips his arms under your legs and slots back in, rests his body face down on the bed, presses himself in between your thighs.

He examines your cunt; runs a gentle thumb from your navel to just above your clit and presses down with just the lightest pressure. And then a little more, till you’re squirming and whining and his nostrils are flaring, his breaths coming out as pants at your response. He drags wet, broken kisses down your body. His lips trace your tummy, the dips of your hips, down down down til he spits on your shiny seam, making your clit nice and wet.

You tremble, just a little, in anticipation of feeling him on you. But he doesn’t move towards you. He looks up at you, brown eyes looking at you with such love and concern. And then he looks back down, to where you’re spread for him. He hums, affirming.

“Oh– would you look at that– she needs t’ be filled up, don’t she?” he asks, breath hot against your soft cunt, his words making you jerk against him, trying to find some friction. He grins against you as you sigh, pretty little asshole and pussy both visibly clenching in tandem mere inches from his face.

He stills you, hands clutching your hips, holding you down.

“I think she might need a kiss first, though, huh baby?” 

“Mhmm-”, you sigh.

Your breath hitches as he places a gentle kiss against your lips before he slips his tongue between them, gentle, languid- He lets you card your fingers through his hair as he licks into you, humming in affirmation when you grab on tight. He noses at your clit and draws a yelp out of you, groaning, the rumble of it vibrating against your skin.

There’s no rush as he pulls you apart. Just a little bit of time and some very precise pressure. You can feel yourself start to build as he flicks a pointed tongue against your clit. His focus is exact, and in no time at all, your breaths are shallow and desperate, your hips rocking up to meet his strokes, to feel his scruff against your thighs.

He’s eating you out like he needs it to live. Loud slurps punctuate softer licks as he buries his face between your legs. He’s so responsive, growling at every reaction you make. 

He barely brakes for air, but when he does, it’s punctuated with filth. “That’s a good girl, yeah, say my name just like that–” 

All you can do is breathe his name, a soft prayer, Joel, Joel, JOEL–

You chant, till the pull within you builds and breaks, sending you sobbing on his tongue, bliss coursing through every part of you. 

Sounds that he didn’t know he’d been missing surrounding him like the most beautiful symphony, your sighs, gasps, moans– He knows it’s useless speaking with his pussy-stuffed mouth, but he growls into you, letting you ride his face through it, prolonging your orgasm, and not stopping until you can’t handle any more.

When the stimulation becomes too much, you yank his head back by the hair. He grins up at you, sheepish. He's panting, wipes his slick mouth with the back of his hand, and stares at you, so fucking hungry. “Probably a good thing you had me stop where you did,” he tells you, “Nearly came now just from eating you-

"I love you--" you sigh, barely able to think, the intensity of your climax making you fuck-drunk and languid. A smile breaks through the hungry, wild expression on Joel's face, and he draws himself up and pulls you toward him so you're seated. 

"I love you, too," he presses his forehead against yours, damp curls tickling your brow, till he pulls back and swipes his hair away, pressing back against you.

You hum, so comfortable and happy, and Joel sighs.

It takes you a few minutes to fully come back to yourself, Joel holding you close the whole time. When you do, you know you need more. You pull back gently, shifting yourself apart from him until you’re able to straddle him. He’s still hard, painfully so, and neither of you need to say a word. You lift yourself, line him up with your swollen pussy, and sink down slowly, inch by stiff  inch. Your eyelids flutter shut at the sensation. He watches you in awe and adoration.

He reaches around you, grabs your ass with each of his hands, and starts to rock you gently.

“Yes–” you hiss, and tilt your hips to match each thrust.

It’s gentle at first, careful, and considered as he fucks you in his lap. But then, you adjust your position just a little and start to bounce, taking more with each thrust, grinding hard against him as he fucks up into you and hits just the right spot.

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck fUCK!--” you cry, sensation overwhelming you.

Everything is so much, so deliciously overwhelming, every little breath and moan and gasp that passes your lips finally tipping him over the edge.

“Honey–,” he hums, “I’m– I’m close, not gonna last–”

“Give it to me.”

“Fuck–” He keeps rocking into you, but his movements still just a little as he lets go. You can feel the way his cock pulses and shudders in you, his balls throbbing, your insides coated with cum, all of this sending you over again.

He whines as your clenching pussy chokes him, drawing even more from him. 

It’s pure ecstasy. 

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to reduce the overwhelm. When you come back down, your breathing starting to even out, you open your eyes to discover–

Joel, staring at you, reverential, with tears streaming down his cheeks.

You’ve only seen Joel cry a handful of times, and never once while he was still inside you–

“Oh fuck, babe, what is it?” you ask, suddenly panicked.

He shakes his head, thumbing his tears away, “No, no,” he tries to reassure, “Nothing’s wrong–”

But that doesn’t reassure you. The love of your life is balls-deep in you, crying, and you don’t know why.

“I promise,” he insists, and then he tucks his hair back behind one ear.

It only takes you a moment.

“Joel Miller. Did you get fucking hearing aids and not tell me?”

He laughs; a wet, spluttery thing.

“I can’t believe I’ve been missing out on so much- I–”

You let him collect his words, his thoughts. You love that he tries, even when it’s hard. He makes sure you understand.

“I never heard you like that before, baby-” he tells you, “Those gasps and moans. All those sounds you make for me. I can hear them now. And I could’ve been hearing them this whole damn time if I hadn’t been too proud.”

He shakes his head, frustrated.

“I was worried you’d think I was too old.”

Your eyes widen. Somehow, that wasn’t what you’d expected.

“Baby, you know I know how old you are, right? I met you at the fuckin’ Senior Center,” you frown.

He glares at you. Some of the puffiness around his eyes dulls the intended effect.

You know it’s not exactly that, though. It’s really just the irrational fear that you both have, of losing the other when you’d only just found one another, manifesting in any way it can.

So you press your lips to his, and hold him close. He’s still sheathed inside you, and you can feel him start to twitch hard again. 

“You know,” you tease, rocking your hips again, “I think the hearing aids are kind of sexy.”

Joel scoffs, rolling his eyes.

“No, I mean it–” you insist, “You’ve always been attentive. But– I don’t know. I know it’s something that’s been bothering you–and I also know you weren’t super into the idea, getting hearing aids– I guess I’m proud of you.” 

He snorts, but you can see the smile he’s trying to hide.

“I’m sorry, baby,” he shakes his head, “I just– I shouldn’t have put it off so long.”

“It’s okay, old man,” you tease, pulling forward to kiss him gently. Still seated on him, you roll your hips with just a little more vigor than you’d intended, cutting yourself off with a gasp.

He groans.

A small smile settles on your face as you meet his gaze, purse on your shoulder, ready to go. Joel rubs the back of his neck, but he’s not nervous. He knows what he wants to ask, and the raw energy of that desire buzzes beneath his skin. 

“Feels like you just got here,” he laments as he lowers his arm. If that were true, the moon and stars wouldn’t be visible in the night sky. 

You nod despite the fact that you’d eaten dinner with your knee against his, talked through a movie tucked into his side, let yourself relish the comfort of being in his home. These days, it feels like yours too. 

“You make it harder to leave every time,” you admit. It’s a light dig.

Joel tilts his head just enough for you to notice. “Do I now?” 

You nod thoughtfully. “You treat me really well,” you say. “Really, really well.” That hadn’t been the case with everybody who entered into your life. Perhaps you’d already expressed that to him in a million different ways, but the emphasis doesn’t feel wrong on a night like this. 

You’ve never had a relationship as steady and constant as what you have now with Joel. The sincerity of  your words warms a proud part of him. 

“I’m happy to,” he says. “You know that, don’t ya?” 

That’s what terrified and delighted him—the ease of it all. Maybe things would be different if it felt like a chore. 

“I know.” 

A smile tugs at Joel’s lips as he steps closer. “Also reckon you know I gotta steal one last good night kiss.” 

Butterflies burst to life in your stomach when Joel cups your cheek and presses his soft lips to yours. He pulls away much too soon, and you’ve never felt the lingering ache of want quite like this. The feeling weaves itself between the bones of your ribcage. 

“I’ve been thinkin’,” he starts, hopeful. “Would you wanna stay the night?” 

A lump forms in your throat. You hadn’t brought any extra clothes or toiletries. And you’d left the light on above your stove to ensure you didn't come home to a dark apartment. Even then, the response to Joel’s question is a reverberating yes in your mind. It’s the only answer that makes sense when you’ve been unsure about so many decisions in this life. 

“If you’ll have me.”  

He kisses you in place of an answer, large hands kneading your waist like you’re his tether to Earth. A small sound rises up your throat when his tongue runs over your lower lip in a light, almost ticklish sweep. 

Joel pulls away, eyes searching yours. 

“M’sorry,” you breathe shyly. 

He strokes your cheek with his thumb. “I like hearin’ ya.” 

The new warmth that spreads through you is deeper, unfamiliar, more consuming. Joel has never been one to refrain from dishing compliments or a well-timed remark. Now something different burns beneath the gruffness of his voice. 

“Wish I heard you more sometimes,” he continues. “You’re my little church mouse.” There’s a disarming glimmer in his eyes.

You pout as a smile threatens to break through. “No I’m not.” 

You could be loud if you needed to be. Joel had the singular ability to hear you even when you hadn’t said a word. You never had to vie for his attention or assert yourself for fear of going unheard. 

As a stillness settles between you, he slips his thumbs beneath your shirt to brush your stomach. He smirks when you look down at his hands to escape his gaze. 

A pleasant flame has kindled within you.  

“Might as well get comfy again since you’re stayin’,” he says, then amends, “Since you can’t seem to get enough of me.”

You huff a laugh and look up at Joel again. He’s handsome in the dim light of the foyer. A few strands of silvering hair fall onto his forehead. His dark eyes bear that same intensity that always drew you in instead of away. This time, it’s you who raises a hand to his face. Your fingertips run over his prickly scruff, and his eyelashes flutter when you run a finger down the slope of his nose. 

That indescribable tug within you hasn’t faded away 

“Like what you see?” Joel asks, voice low, partly teasing. 

He doesn’t move for fear you’ll pull away. You trace the dip of his Cupid’s bow, and when you go lower, he puckers his lips against your finger in a delicate kiss. Your gentle touch and heavy eyelids have made more warmth kindle low in Joel’s belly. It’s your thoughtfulness that does it for him. You’ve never been quick to rush into anything. You always think, then think some more, and he can see that’s what’s happening now. 

“I’ve always liked what I’ve seen,” you finally say. 

“Well, there’s a whole lot more of me.” He presses in. “We can take this upstairs if you’d like.” 

“Alright,” you murmur, lowering your hands from his face. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

Joel offers his hand. It nearly engulfs yours as he leads you towards the staircase. 

•••

In his bedroom, his lips find yours in an fervent kiss, hands firm where they grasp along your sides. You’re so dizzy, you lose track of everything except Joel. Reality rushes in when you begin to fall backwards. 

After your back hits the mattress, Joel’s plush lips trail a line to your jaw and down your throat. His body is solid above yours, but you don’t feel the brunt of his weight. Your hands shakily comb through his disheveled hair as your heart hammers in your ears. It feels like you’re a live wire and he’s the water making you spark. 

When he stands, leaving you lying there, the rise and fall of your chest is embarrassingly pronounced. You watch with hooded eyes as he pulls off his shirt. Wispy hair is splayed across his chest, and a darker line of it leads down from his navel. He’s broad and rugged. 

“Told you there was more,” he drawls with a smile in his voice. 

You’ve never wanted another person as more as you want Joel now. But you can’t help but be aware of the fact that you’re out of your depth. Aside from what you’ve gathered vicariously, this is new. You don’t have half the courage you imagined you would. 

You manage to push yourself upright on shaky arms. That’s when Joel notices the look in your eyes. 

“I didn’t hurt ya, did I?” his brows furrow with worry. “M’sorry.”

You swallow and shake your head. “I’m just a little nervous.” 

“Nerves are okay,” he assures. “Long as you want this.”

“I do,” you promise. 

Joel studies you to be sure. “I want you real bad, but the world’ll keep turning if we don’t have sex tonight.” 

There’s something about his shamelessness and directness that makes you want him even more. 

“Don’t wanna screw this up.” You exhale a self-deprecating laugh, and Joel purses his lips. Then the deeper truth comes out, “Want it to be good for you.”  

Joel scrubs at his scruff with a husky chuckle. “Got me all wound up, so I’d say you’re off to a helluva start,” he says, then his gaze softens. “It’s already good for me.” 

His words give you enough courage to lift your shirt over your head. Your bra is trimmed with lace, and the crotch of his jeans grows tighter. You’re so beautiful that sometimes he can’t believe it—mind and body. 

You still his hands as he begins to unbuckle his belt. 

“May I?” The way you blink up at him makes him curse under his breath. 

You pull his belt free from the loops when you’re done. After popping the button and dragging the zipper down, Joel goes weak in the knees when you peer up at him with a sweet, shy smile. Then his breath catches when you lean forward to kiss the pudge of his belly. You bite your lower lip as he pushes his pants down and kicks them to the side. 

The bulge between his muscular thighs is prominent through his gray boxer briefs. It swells as you unexpectedly unclasp your bra and toss it to the floor. 

“Christ, sweetheart,” he groans, palming himself. 

With his free hand, he gingerly cups one of your breasts and runs his thumb over your pebbled nipple. The sensitivity makes you jolt. 

“Wanna scoot up the bed for me?” 

You move before the full sentence has left Joel’s mouth, a little braver now. The mattress dips as he crawls overtop of you. It all happens so fast. His lips find the pulse point of your neck, then descend along your sternum in a line of kisses. He strays off course to pepper some over the supple skin of your breasts, then even lower. Your hips shift as he kisses your stomach. 

With deft fingers, he undoes your shorts and helps you shuck them to the floor. Joel guides your knees to a propped position, then lays between your legs like he belongs there. The muscles of your thighs twitch with the threat of closing as his finger teases along the seam of your panties. 

“Joel…” you say his name because you’re not sure what else to say and it feels like you’re on fire. 

“Just admiring,” he assures, stilling. “You doing okay? Just say the word.” 

The thought of this ending pains you. “Please don’t stop.” 

Joel hides his knowing smile in the hot kiss he presses beneath your bellybutton, then over the top of your mound, then over the damp fabric where you ache for him. An unsteady breath leaves you when he hooks both index fingers beneath your waistband and stares into your eyes so deeply you want to hide. 

“How ‘bout we get these outta the way...” 

Joel is nothing short of careful and attentive as he drags the fabric down your legs. Upon resettling between them, he kisses your inner thighs, noting the way your muscles jump. He’s so close, the fan of his breath feels cool where your arousal has gathered.

“So here’s the deal,” he starts in a low timbre that makes you clench around nothing. “I’m really good with my hands… amongst other things.” He pauses to trace the crease of your thigh. He’s surprised his own voice doesn’t waver at the sight of you glistening for him, because of him. “Just gotta let me know when something’s workin’ for you and we’ll be aces.” 

It’s a miracle you don’t melt straight through the mattress. 

“Okay.” It’s your quietest response all night. 

“Okay,” he parrots with a glimmer in his eyes. 

You’ve never been this turned on in your life. This hot. 

“I don’t think I’m gonna make it,” you admit in a murmur.  

The thicker, dazed quality of your voice makes Joel kick up in his boxers. As his lips twitch in amusement, he fights the urge to take you right this second. 

“Guess we’ll pray for the best then.” 

The world freezes when the pad of his middle finger finds your clit and begins to rub firm circles. When your brows pinch together, he trails it downwards through your slick entrance as it flutters in want. 

He ventures back to your swollen bud to work a steady pace. The pleasant tension within your core roots even deeper than before, snaking and expanding. Holding your breath and tensing your muscles seems to make it swell faster. 

“Relax, sweetheart,” Joel soothes. “It’ll feel better on the tail end if you do.” 

You’re too worried he’ll stop not to listen. 

“There ya go,” he praises. “Think I’m ready for a taste.” 

There’s no further preamble before he presses a feathery kiss to your clit. At your jolt, he suckles it into his mouth and feels out your reactions. Your fingers immediately curl into his taupe sheets, but that’s not enough, so you bury them in Joel’s hair to scratch against his scalp. The stimulation paired with the warmth of his mouth grows to be so much that your thighs involuntarily close around his head. His stubble prickles against your velvety skin. 

The vibrations of Joel’s hum remind you that he’s a real person down there, and you force your legs back open with what’s left of your coherency. He rewards you by running the flat of his tongue from your opening to your clit. Electricity prickles beneath your skin as you arch off the bed to chase him. 

This time, he sucks your clit into his mouth with more pressure than before and you lose yourself in the sensation. 

Before long, he lifts up and replaces his mouth with his finger. 

“Feelin’ good?” His question comes as you cant up into his touch with a quivery breath. “What’s my baby want more of?” 

You whimper because, as impossible as it seems, he hasn’t done anything you don’t prefer. You want more of everything—whatever he’s willing to give. If he does happen to fall off the mark, you’re certain he’ll find it again before you even say a word. 

Joel is gracious enough not to make you spell it out. He takes it upon himself to draw an orgasm so strong and concentrated out of you, that all you can do is shut your eyes and surrender to the swell as he sees you through. 

Your eyes flutter open just as he shuffles back off the bed to push his boxers down. His cock lifts towards his stomach in a smooth, impressive swing. Traversing veins are strained along the length of him and his mushroom tip is flushed in a testament to his need. Dark, wispy curls surround his base. 

A fresh surge of eagerness and anticipation warms you down to your toes. Joel smiles shyly when your eyes flit up to his, and it’s the first time all night he’s looked a little self-conscious. You’re the first person he’s bared himself to in quite some time. 

Words escape you as he crawls back over your frame. He braces one hand beside your shoulder and uses the other to give himself a few tugs to ease the ache. You’re beautiful beneath him, all wide-eyed and longing. 

His stomach clenches when you reach out to replace his hand, tentative and careful as if he’ll break. You give him a couple strokes, and even though there’s a bit more friction than he would normally prefer, it feels good because it’s you. He’s rigid in the palm of your hand, throbbing in dull pulses. You’re not sure if gorgeous is the appropriate word, but it’s the only one you can think of. 

“I’ve been missing out,” you lilt after working up the courage. 

Joel flushes as he laughs, those lovely crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. He lowers to kiss you, then guides the tip of his arousal to your cunt. The beady pearl of his wants mixes with the glide of you, and you frown when he stops to reach towards the nightstand drawer. 

As he resumes his position, you realize he’d grabbed a condom. He rips the packet open with his teeth and promptly rolls the rubber down himself. 

“Think m’gonna pass out if I don’t get inside you soon,” he says, eyes searching yours to check in. Even in his brazenness, there’s a familiar honeyed quality to his voice that sets you at ease. 

You laugh even as a small spell of apprehension returns. Joel notices, and refuses to let the levity dissipate so you don’t fall back into your head. 

“Is that funny?” he asks in feigned offense. “You’re the one who’s got all the goddamn blood in my head rushing south.” 

He playfully pinches at your waist and a breathless giggle stutters out of you as you squirm. When you helplessly look up at him, Joel smooths a hand over your skin as fondness settles in his dark eyes. 

“Hey. Remember what I said?” he asks as he lines himself up between your thighs. “Just say the word.” 

The sensation of him pressed hot and heavy against your entrance has cleared everything from your mind except desire. 

“I’m okay.” An encouraging smile pulls at your lips. “Just need you really bad, Joel.” 

Hearing his name makes him twitch as he runs himself through your folds. 

“M’right here, baby.” He notches at your entrance. “Deep breaths for me, okay?” 

A dull ache thrums through you as Joel eases into your warmth. You whine after the thickness of his tip has breached. 

“That’s it,” he coos. “Just like that.”

All you can do is hum airily and watch where he disappears within you.

“Feels like heaven already,” he compliments. “Keep breathing, we’re getting there.” 

Tears prick in your eyes because the stretch is new, and beautiful, and overwhelming. That soft, focused look in his eyes only adds fuel to the fire because pleasure and eagerness burn just beneath. You never realized how harrowing it was to be wanted so intensely. For the longest time, you wondered if it was possible for someone to feel such a way about you, and here Joel was in the flesh. 

“Know there’s a lot of me,” he grits. “Doing so well…”

When he bottoms out, both of you sigh in relief. It feels like you’re floating even though you’re pinned beneath his strong frame. Warmth radiates from his skin. 

“Oh—god,” you breathe. 

Joel chuckles as he eases out of you, “Close.” He thumbs a circle around your clit. 

The initial pressure subsides as Joel begins to thrust, biceps flexing as he shudders with pleasure. He takes it slow and steady, each drag more intoxicating than the last. His reach deepens as he lowers himself onto his forearms and you hook your ankles around the backs of his thighs. Stroke after stroke, he hits that spongy spot within you just right. Joel can hardly believe how snug and warm you are. 

“You’re in trouble,” he rasps. 

“W-why?” you whimper. 

“I’m never gonna get my fill of this.” 

You paw at his biceps and shoulders, not exactly sure how or where to touch him to ground yourself. Scratching your nails down his back earns a satisfied growl, and when you dig your fingernails into the meat of his backside, he gives a pointed thrust that makes you bite back a cry. 

“Lemme hear those pretty sounds, mouse.” 

You’re unable to help the next breathy moan that escapes you. 

“You’re perfect,” The moment has you so blinded that’s all you can see him as—his cock included. 

It’s a broken confession.

Joel dots a few lazy kisses over the apple of your cheek, then touches his forehead to yours. It’s almost too much—his wrecked grunts, the graze of his chest, the sound of skin meeting skin where he stretches open the most tender part of you. 

It is too much.

“I’m gonna—” your breath catches in your throat. “Joel.” 

“Let go for me, babygirl,” he coaxes. “Lemme have it.” 

The tension embedded within you winds undone in an instant. Pleasure radiates as your walls contract around him in strong, rhythmic pulses. In another life, where he wasn’t completely gone and taken by you, Joel would’ve been able to hold out. But he’s only a man. 

A gasp escapes you as he gives one last deep thrust. His balls draw up as the insistent tug low in his gut drives him to spill into the condom, stomach tensing with each relentless spurt. You rub his back as he rides it out with a shudder. You’re achy, but more than content to shiver through the aftershocks. The two of you stay like that for a while, basking in each other’s closeness, the haze. Still joined as one. 

Something in the air shifts, the gravity of it all finally pressing in. 

Joel looks spent and satiated as he lifts up to meet your gaze. “You okay?” he wipes the tear off your cheek. The way you look at him suggests you’re expecting him to answer for you. As if you’ll be whatever he says. 

“You’re okay,” Joel decides, kissing your forehead. 

You weakly cup his cheek and guide him to kiss you. 

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips. 

Your chest flutters. “I love you too.” 

All Joel can think about as he reluctantly slips out of your heat is that he’s glad you stayed. When he begins to soothingly massage your thighs, you’re almost certain you’ll never want to leave again. 

-

Thank you so much for reading! Please know that you’re feedback means the world to me. I love reading your thoughts and it makes writing for you guys all the more worth it. Likes, comments, and reblogs greatly appreciated. ♡

JOEL MASTERLIST 

The dog shuffles in, slower than he used to be, and leans his full weight into Joel’s leg with a soft thump. Joel reaches down, scratches behind his ears.

“Mornin’,” he mutters, like it’s routine. Because so little else is

The house is clean. Too clean. Not for anyone else. Just to keep the quiet from echoing. He wipes down counters that are already spotless. Folds laundry that doesn't need folding. It beats remembering what silence used to sound like, back when someone else filled it.

There’s a photo on the fridge. Sarah and her husband, hands cupped around the soft curve of her belly. Someone added a filter and printed it from one of those little Bluetooth machines, like it was meant to last longer that way.

Taped beneath it, Ellie’s postcard: a fox in the snow. The back a familiar scrawl.

“Dina and I met a guy playing slide guitar at a bar in Missoula. Thought of you. Hope the dog’s still kickin’. Miss you, old man.”

He rereads it while the coffee brews, even though he already knows it by heart. Smiles, faintly Thinks of the voicemail that followed—Ellie’s laugh, something loud and cluttered in the background, her voice getting swallowed up by joy.

Sarah sends updates every couple of weeks. Nursery paint swatches. Little socks lined up in a drawer. The secondhand glider they finally decided on. She asked if he wanted to visit. He said yes. Meant it. Told her not to worry when she said they were booked solid for the next month. Didn’t want her to feel bad for living. That’s what he wanted for both of them. What he’d fought for.

But pride doesn’t keep you warm when you reach for someone who isn’t there.

He drinks his coffee standing. Puts on a slow record—one of the scratched ones—and wipes down counters already clean.

The sponge squeaks across the surface, shrill in the quiet. He doesn’t stop until his fingers ache.

Phone in hand, he leans against the sink. One missed call from Sarah. A text from Ellie: 

Found a bakery with bear claws the size of your head. You’d love it.

He huffs a soft laugh. Thumb hovering over the call button. Doesn’t press it. He taps Tommy’s name. It only rings twice.

“Hey, big brother,” Tommy says, too chipper for how early it is. It grates and comforts all at once.

Joel rubs his jaw. “You busy?”

“Nah. Maria’s out walking. Tryin’ to get the baby to drop, y’know? She’s been waddlin’ like a penguin for days.”

Joel huffs a quiet laugh. “She doin’ alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Tired. Hormonal as hell. But good. Real good.” He pauses. “She said to tell you hi. Said if Uncle Grumpy doesn’t show soon, the baby’s first word’s gonna be disappointment.”

Joel smiles, caught off guard. “Tell her I said hi back.”

“You oughta come out. Just for the weekend. Guest room’s made up. Kids keep askin’ when you’re comin’.”

“Been busy,” Joel mutters, though he knows it ain’t true.

Tommy doesn’t bite. “What, reorganizin’ your record shelf for the fifth time?”

Joel doesn’t answer. Tommy’s voice softens. “You know you’re allowed to leave the house, right? Maybe even meet somebody.”

Joel snorts. “Ain’t lookin’ to complicate things.”

“Doesn’t have to be complicated,” Tommy says. “Could just be… nice.”

Joel leans against the counter, presses his thumb into the wood until the skin goes white. “House is quiet now. Sarah’s doin’ her own thing, Ellie’s off travelin’. Kinda get used to the stillness. Don’t know if I’ve got it in me to stir it all up again.”

“I gotta say, sometimes it feels like you’re the one doin’ the leavin’, even when you stay put. We got a lotta noise here. Kids laughin’, cryin’, fightin’ over cereal. It’s a mess. But it’s a good mess. And I just…I wish you wanted to be in it more.”

Joel swallows hard. His voice is low when he finally says, “I do. I just… I don’t always know how.”

Tommy waits a beat, then says gently, “You don’t gotta say nothin’ else. Just show up. That’s all we want.”

“Anyway, just think about it,” Tommy continues. “Ain’t sayin’ you gotta jump on some damn dating app or whatever Maria keeps tryin’ to push. Just… you still got time, Joel. Time to not feel so goddamn alone.”

Joel doesn’t answer right away.

His eyes flick to the fridge. To the photo of Sarah and her husband—her hand on the swell of her belly. To the postcard Ellie sent, taped just beneath it.

He thinks about how long it’s been since someone touched him and it didn’t come from memory. Since someone looked at him and saw something other than history.

“I’ll think about it,” he says, finally.

Tommy nods. “That’s all I’m askin’.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That night, Joel sat at his desk and stared at the screen like it might blink first.

He told himself he was just looking up chords for “Misery and Gin.” Something slow. Familiar. His hands hadn’t moved like they used to—not without protest—but some part of him still remembered. Some part wanted to remember.

He scrolled past blurry chord charts and out-of-tune covers, fingers hovering over the trackpad.

And that’s when he saw it. A sidebar. Bright blocks of color. Looping videos with no sound. Just motion. Skin. Suggestion.

He didn’t click. Not right away.

But he didn’t look away, either. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about sex. Nights got long. Bed felt colder when there wasn’t anyone pulling the covers off him. Desire and loneliness—he knew how to bury both. He had gotten good at it.

But tonight? Something about that link—those flickering, low-res previews—felt like it might break the silence for five minutes.

So he clicked.

The page came up fast. A grid of previews filled the screen. Women in soft lighting. Some posing, others laughing. A few trying too hard. Too much gloss. Too much noise. He was already moving to close the tab—

Then he saw you. 

You were on the floor in a tank top and panties, legs crossed, holding a mug in both hands like you were trying to warm your fingers. Hair twisted up, a few loose strands framing your face. You were laughing at something off-screen, the kind that started low and cracked wide open.

Your stream title was simple:

Come keep me company 🤍

It felt...human. Not slick. Not cheap. Just lonely in a way that mirrored something in him.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he clicked again. The stream opened quietly. Music played in the background, something soft and hazy he didn’t recognize. You were mid-story, leaning forward a little, one hand tracing slow circles on your knee.

“…and I swear, the guy had no idea his mic was still on. Just kept ranting about almond milk like it had personally fucked him over.”

You laughed, bright and real, and Joel found himself smiling before he even realized it.

“Y’all are a great crowd tonight,” you said, eyes scanning the chat like you could actually see them. “So quiet. So well-behaved.”

Your gaze lingered a little longer on the lens, your voice softening just a touch. “Almost makes me wonder what you're all doing with your hands.”

Joel’s breath caught.

The shift wasn’t obvious. Barely there. But he felt it. Like a string pulled taut under the surface, low and steady and impossible to ignore.

When your hand moved down between your thighs, it wasn’t coy or careful. It was familiar. Confident. Like you’d done it a hundred times for yourself, and this just happened to be a night you left the door open. You didn’t angle for the camera. You didn’t make a show of it.

Joel felt it hit, sharp and sudden.

It was the kind of hunger he hadn’t known in years. The kind that snuck in low and hard, blooming through his abdomen and down his thighs until his whole body felt tight with it. His cock swelled thick against his sweats, already straining toward his waistband, the tip wet and sensitive in a way that made him flinch. He shifted in his seat, dragging a palm over his thigh like he could calm it down, but it didn’t help.

He hadn’t felt like this in a long time. The need to be seen. Touched. Pulled out of the quiet he’d settled into like a second skin.

The way you let yourself feel pleasure, without apology. Like you didn’t care who saw, or maybe forgot anyone was there at all. Your body tensed, lips parting, eyes fluttering shut, and Joel forgot how to breathe. He could feel it hit his chest like a fist, like your release had pulled something from him, too—left him clenching the mouse with one hand, straining in his sweats, the ache so sharp it almost felt like grief.

He wanted to touch himself. The urge was sharp, restless, pooling low in his stomach and pressing hard against his waistband. His cock was swollen, already leaking through the soft cotton of his sweats. Still, he didn’t move. Couldn’t. Because watching you in the aftermath unraveled something in him. The way your chest rose and fell. The way your hand slipped away like it wasn’t needed anymore. You looked soft, dazed, like you’d chased what you needed and found it. There was no performance left in it. Just quiet satisfaction, the kind that came from doing it for yourself. And that wrecked him. Because it wasn’t about the camera. It wasn’t about who might be watching. You wanted it for you. And somehow, that made him want you more than anything else had in years.

You stretched, slow and sleepy, fingers brushing your collarbone before tucking your hair behind one ear. “Alright, lovers,” you murmured, voice low and lazy from the afterglow. “That’s it for me tonight. Be good to yourselves.”

Then you smiled—smaller this time, softer. Like you didn’t owe anyone anything.

The screen dimmed. The silence that followed hit harder than Joel expected.

He sat there in the dark, cock still aching, hand gone limp in his lap. His chest rose, then again—shaky. A breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, barely audible.

—--------------------------------------

Joel told himself he shouldn’t go back.

The first night had been a weak moment. Curiosity, loneliness, whatever excuse made it easier to swallow. He’d meant to leave it at that.

But the next night, he was there again.

A soft lamp glowed from your dresser, casting amber light across your skin. The bed was unmade. A blanket half-kicked to the side. You lay across the mattress, one leg bent, the other draped off the edge, body loose like you hadn’t thought twice about how it looked.

Music drifted low from a speaker—something slow, mostly rhythm and breath. Your laptop was propped up on a pillow. You scrolled through chat, smiling without speaking.

And then, without ceremony, your hand slid down.

Fingers skimmed your navel, lingered for a moment, then dipped lower. You eased your thighs apart, just enough to slip your hand between them. No warning. No shift in expression. Just movement. Fluid and natural. Like this was how your evenings ended—with your fingers between your legs and your head tipped back against the pillow.

Joel’s cock pulsed hard, already aching in his sweats. He adjusted slightly in his chair, trying not to grip the waistband, trying not to reach. But the pressure was relentless. Sharp and thick, the kind that settled low in his stomach and refused to fade.

On screen, your fingers moved slowly over the front of your panties. Rubbing yourself through the fabric at first, finding the rhythm like you’d done this a thousand times and didn’t need to think about it. Your hips shifted just a little, chasing the pressure. Then you slid the fabric aside.

His eyes were glued to the screen—completely still, breath shallow. You moved the fabric aside with practiced ease, revealing the slick pink of your pussy, soft and glistening in the low light. Folds delicate, lips plush and parted, the kind of sight that made Joel’s mouth go dry. He hadn’t seen something that pretty in years—maybe ever. Not like this. Not with someone so unabashed, so sure of herself it made his chest ache.

Joel sat frozen, the only movement the slow rock of his hips against the seat. His hand hovered, then rested low over his erection, thick and aching, tip already wet. He didn’t stroke. Just held. Let it throb in his grip, full of something he still wouldn’t take.

You came quietly, breath catching as your body arched, then folded in on itself. No theatrics. Just a soft, honest release. After, you stayed still, hand between your legs, chest rising slow, eyes fluttering open, dazed and distant.

It felt like you were alone. Like he shouldn’t be seeing this.

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t speak. His cock pressed against his palm, dampening the fabric, desperate for relief. He could’ve finished. Easily. But he didn’t.

Not while you looked like that. Unguarded. Untouched by anyone but yourself. He didn’t want to ruin it. He just wanted to stay with you.

—---------------------------------------------------------------

What brought Joel back night after night was your voice.

You talked easy and warm, like every stranger mattered. You laughed without trying to sound cute. You filled silence without making it heavy. And somehow, you didn’t feel far away.

You felt like something he didn’t know he was still allowed to want.

Some nights he barely watched, just let your stream play while he tuned his guitar or shuffled through things that didn’t need fixing. Other nights, like this one, he sat still and just... listened. Let your voice fill the room. Like keeping an eye on you made something in him settle.

Still, his body betrayed him. The arousal came fast and hard—sharp, familiar, and constant. It would’ve been easy to give in. Just a few strokes, one imagined moan, and he’d be gone.

But he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

Because this wasn’t just lust. Not anymore. It was habit. It was comfort. It was the only way he knew to make sure you were okay. And that felt more important than getting off.

But tonight, something shifted.

Some asshole in the chat wouldn’t stop spamming your name—asking for attention, pushing boundaries, demanding things like he was owed them. You ignored him once. Twice. But Joel saw it—the way your shoulders tensed, the flicker of strain in your smile.

Something in him lit up.

That old reflex. The one that used to kick in when Sarah got hurt or Tommy ran his mouth too far. Protective. Immediate. Automatic.

You weren’t his. He knew that. You’d probably seen worse. But he made an account anyway.

Didn’t think about the name. Just typed it out. LoneStar67. One message. Direct.

“Drop it.”

The guy didn’t stop right away. Of course not. But Joel kept at it. Quiet, steady. No threats. Just presence. Control. Something that said, enough.

Eventually, the chat went quiet.

And then you looked up. Read the name out loud. Smiled, soft and real.

“Thank you, LoneStar67.”

Joel felt it deep in his chest. Like he’d just been handed something he didn’t know he needed.

His cock still ached, worse now. He glanced down and found his hand already there, pressed firm through the fabric, knuckles white.

This time, he didn’t stop.

He slid his palm lower, fingers curling around the thick shape beneath his waistband. His breath caught. Head tilted back just slightly. Your voice still filled the room.

He didn’t move fast.

Didn’t stroke.

Just held.

Because right now, it wasn’t about getting off. It was about being here. About knowing you felt safe again. About the way your voice softened when the tension left your shoulders. The way you said his name.

Even if you didn’t know who he was.

—--------------------

You noticed him right away after that night.

LoneStar67.

It wasn’t just the way he shut that guy down—it was the way his name kept showing up after, quiet but constant. If someone in the chat got pushy or crude, there he was. A short message. Just enough to let them know someone was watching. Someone had your back.

You started seeing the pattern. He didn’t flood the chat or toss out tips to get your attention. He wasn’t flashy. But he was always there. Right when your stream started, right until the end. He didn’t say much—just enough to let you know he was watching.

Especially the night your setup gave you hell. The ring light kept shorting, the whole stream lagged, and someone was already mouthing off in the chat about the delay. You were two seconds from snapping when you caught it:

LoneStar67: “Take your time. We’re here.”

You smiled. Couldn’t help it. The timing, the tone—it calmed you instantly.

“I appreciate it, LoneStar,” you said, glancing at the screen. It wasn’t flirtatious. Not really. But your voice softened. Warmer than you meant.

His reply came a beat later.

LoneStar67: “Just looking out.”

You waited, eyes lingering on his name, expecting more. Hoping, maybe. But nothing else came. And for reasons you couldn’t quite explain, that left you a little bummed.

The restraint was… curious. Maybe even a little frustrating. Your chat could be a mess—commands, crude asks, things no one would dare say face to face. But not him. Never him.

And that made you wonder. Why not? Was he older? Married? Just not interested? Or was it something else you couldn’t quite place?

You started testing it. Little things. Slower moves. Softer light. Holding eye contact with the lens a bit longer. Letting your voice drop, just enough.

Still nothing from him. No shift. No reaction.

Just that steady presence. Quiet. Watching. Always there.

So one night, you decided to make it obvious. Just for him.

You figured with his username this would grab his attention. You pulled on an old Texas Longhorns t-shirt before the stream—soft from years of wear, thin enough to cling, tight enough to tease. No bra. Your nipples pressed against the fabric, dark and visible in the low amber light. You didn’t mention it. Just let it sit on your skin, casual and deliberate.

Half an hour in, you straddled the toy, slow and steady. No theatrics. Just the grind of your hips, the quiet rhythm of need building under your skin. The hum of background music filled the silence, and you let yourself get lost in the feel of it—wet and aching, slick thighs tightening with every shift.

But what made you wetter wasn’t the toy. It was the idea of him. Watching. Wanting. Sitting in the dark somewhere, jaw tense, cock hard, hand still.

You scanned the chat, barely blinking. Waiting.

And then–

LoneStar67: "Look at you."

It hit you like a pulse. Low and hot. Straight between your legs.

You held eye contact with the camera a little longer after that. Slowed your hips. Let your hand drift lazily over your stomach, slipping just under the hem of the shirt like it meant nothing.

You didn’t say his name. Didn’t call him out.

But your smile turned knowing—small and secret, meant for someone.

“Thought you might be here,” you murmured, soft enough it could’ve been for anyone.

But it wasn’t. And you both knew it.

—--------------------------------------

Something in Joel cracked open.

His cock had been hard for minutes, straining against his sweats, aching for relief. His hand had just been resting there—like that meant it didn’t count.

But this time, he moved.

Fingers slipped under the waistband, wrapped around the heat of it. Thick. Leaking. He dragged his thumb up the length, breath catching, hips twitching forward.

And then—without thinking—he typed something.

He almost shut the tab. Almost backed out before it could matter.

But then you smiled.

Small. Soft. Like you knew.

“Thought you might be here,” you said.

That was all it took.

Joel gripped himself and stroked, slow and steady, matching your rhythm. One hand on the desk, holding still. Eyes locked on your body. Pretending it wasn’t a screen. Pretending it was real.

He came harder than he meant to.

Joel stayed even as the stream slowed to its quiet end.

You’d already come, already slipped into the soft hum of your wind-down voice, talking aimlessly about your day. Nothing special. Just the little things. But he listened. Still. Like always.

His body was loose, spent, but his mind hadn’t gone quiet. If anything, it felt clearer. Calmer. His shoulders had dropped without him noticing—more relaxed than they’d been in weeks. Maybe longer.

Then came the ping.

A soft sound. Barely there. He almost didn’t check.

But it was you.

Hey.

He blinked. Stared at the screen, like it might change. Like maybe it wasn’t meant for him.

Replies flooded his head. All wrong. Too eager. Too cold. Too much.

He typed what felt real.

Hey.

You answered fast. Said you couldn’t sleep. Said the stream had you wired. He told you he felt the same. Conversation unfolded slow from there—gentle, unhurried. The kind that made time slip by.

Then you said it.

Thanks for always showing up. For making the space feel a little safer.

Joel read it twice. Three times. His hand hovered over the keyboard.

Then he typed.

Didn’t mean to cross a line earlier. That comment—‘look at you.’ I just… I didn’t want you thinkin’ I’m some creepy old man.

A pause. He exhaled. Rubbed a hand over his jaw.

It had been a long time since a woman messaged him like this. Since he let someone see even a part of him.

Your reply came quick.

You didn’t. That’s why I liked it.

Joel froze.

It had been a long time since anyone flirted with him. Or really saw him at all—soft around the edges, a little unsure, worth noticing for more than what he could do. Most days, Joel didn’t feel like the kind of man someone teased. He felt useful. Reliable. The guy you called when something broke, not the one you stayed up thinking about.

He didn’t respond right away.

And just when he started to wonder if he’d let the moment slip, another message popped up. Like you’d waited for him, then stepped in to carry the silence.

Not gonna lie, I kinda liked that you couldn’t hold back… kinda surprised you’re even here, to be honest.

He stared at the screen for a long beat. Then:

Only reason I’m here’s you. Always has been.

You blinked. Stared longer than you meant to. You’re shocked at how it didn’t feel like a line to you. Just honest. 

You blinked once, then typed:

This? Me in a Texas tee with a half-dead ring light and an anxiety twitch? This is the highlight of your night?

He didn’t answer right away. You figured maybe you’d overplayed it—too much snark—but then:

Well damn, you forgot the part where you made me lose my mind for fifteen minutes straight.

The rest came easy after that.

You asked what he did. He kept it vague—said he worked with his hands, mostly. Construction, repairs, whatever needed doing. You joked that he was a walking fantasy, and he told you to cut it out.

You asked what brought him to your stream in the first place.

You told him about your first stream—how awkward it felt, how long you spent picking an outfit no one cared about. Lit candles you didn’t even like.

“And now?” he asked.

A pause. Then:

“Now I care more about who’s watching.”

The hours passed without either of you noticing. Conversation drifted from music to bad dates. Joel laughed hard at a story about your ex and a botched roleplay scene. His dog was curled up at his feet. A low playlist hummed in the background. He wondered what you were listening to. What your room looked like. If you were sitting cross-legged or curled up in bed.

His clock ticked past 2 AM.

“I should probably get some sleep,” you typed. “My legs are killing me. Haven’t moved since nine.”

And Joel hated how much he didn’t want the night to end. Before Joel could figure out how to sign off, another message popped up.

“I don’t really do this…But you don’t seem like a creep. So if you want to… you could text me?” 

“On one condition.” You continued. 

He stared at that part.

“I get to know your real name.”

His thumb was already reaching for his phone. He opened a new message.

Hey. It’s Joel.

—-----------------------------------------

You started texting the next morning.

Just a quick “hey” from you, a dry “mornin” from him.

But it didn’t stop.

You talked all day. Every day.

You sent photos of your breakfast with dumb captions. He teased you about burnt toast. He learned your routine—when you streamed, when you went to the gym, how you took your coffee with oat milk and exactly three ice cubes. You loved little things. Old songs. Warm socks. Inside jokes.

You learned he liked quiet mornings. That he kept to himself. That he was always fixing something, even when no one asked. He told you about Texas, about music, about the old mutt curled up at his feet most nights.

Not everything, though.

He still hadn’t told you his age. You hadn’t asked—but he knew you could tell. In the way he spoke. In the quiet pauses. The wall wasn’t to push you away, just to protect whatever was left standing behind it.

But you still stayed. So when you went live a few nights later, Joel didn’t hesitate.

He was already logged in.

And there you were.

Hair down, soft light behind you, something low playing through your speaker, more atmosphere than music. You stretched across the bed, one knee bent, eyes locked on the camera with that look he was starting to recognize as you typed on your phone.

Coy. Quietly smug. Like you knew something he didn’t.

Like you were waiting for him to catch it.

His phone buzzed.

You: You watching, LoneStar?

His chest tightened. Fingers hovered over the keyboard.

Him: Course I am.

You smiled. Slow. Like you could feel him watching. Like you knew exactly who his eyes were on.

Then came another message.

You: Been thinking about doing a private stream soon… Not for just anyone, though.

Joel’s stomach tightened.

He shifted in his chair, legs spreading without thinking, cock aching hard against his sweats. His hand twitched at his thigh, wanting to move. Just a little.

But this time, he didn’t pull back.

Your message sat on the screen—innocent on its own, but with your voice, your gaze right into the lens like you were looking straight at him—it felt intimate. Intentional.

Joel exhaled slowly. Ran a hand over his face, then down to his phone.

Him: Not just anyone, huh? Then yeah. I’d love to.

You looked into the camera and smiled—bright, excited. The kind of smile that made something flutter deep in his chest.

Then his phone buzzed again.

You: Can’t wait to see the handsome man I’ve been talking to.

—----------------------------------------

The stream had ended twenty minutes ago.

Joel was still at his desk, hands curled loose in his lap, heart thudding like he was waiting for something he shouldn’t want.

The room was dark now, lit only by the low glow of his monitor. Your last words still echoed in his head. That smile. The way you said you couldn’t wait to see him.

He should’ve let it go. Signed off. Gone to bed like he always did. Instead, he sat there. Waiting.

Then it came.

Incoming Video Chat Request 

His stomach dropped.

For a second, he didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. You were asking to see him. Not just hear his voice. And that terrified the hell out of him.

What if you saw him and changed your mind?

What if all the little things you liked, the quiet jokes, the steadiness, the care, what if none of that mattered once you saw the lines on his face? The gray in his beard? The years?

What if all you saw was a lonely old man?

Joel stood too fast, ran a hand through his hair. Wiped both palms down the front of his jeans like it might settle him. It didn’t.

He tapped out a quick reply:

One sec.

Then paused. Looked around his room like it might offer reassurance.

It didn’t.

He angled the webcam low, kept the frame tight—just his chest, his collarbone, his flannel. Just enough to ease into it. Just enough to hide the parts of himself he wasn’t ready to offer yet.

Then he hit accept. The screen lit up.

There you were.

Propped against the same pillow he recognized from your streams. Makeup still fresh. Hair mussed just enough to be real. Your lips were a little pink at the edges, like you’d been chewing on them out of nervousness.

And when you saw him, you smiled. Bright. Unfiltered. Not performative. Just you.

Joel’s breath caught. His throat went tight. But he kept his voice steady, even if the edges frayed a little.

“Fair warnin’,” he said, rough and low. “You ain’t gonna like what you see.”

“Joel, there’s not a single version of you I wouldn’t want to look at right now.” You smiled. 

He didn’t move.

Just sat there, fingers curled around the edge of the desk, your words sinking slow and heavy into a part of him he’d kept quiet for years. He hesitated—then reached for the camera.

He adjusted it, tipped it and let you see the real Joel Miller. 

—--------------------------------------

You weren’t sure what you expected.

But when the screen shifted and Joel’s face came into view, it knocked the air out of you.

He was handsome.

Not in some curated, filtered kind of way. Not like the men who filled your inbox with flexed arms and forced smiles. Joel looked real. Solid. The kind of man you could lean into without thinking twice.

There were lines around his eyes, a heaviness in the set of his mouth—worn in, not worn out. His hair was swept back, going gray at the edges. Stubble roughened his jaw like he’d tried to shave and changed his mind halfway through. His collar was loose, his shoulders broad, but he sat stiff like he didn’t quite believe he belonged here.

And still—he looked at you. Let you look back.

No mask. No pose.

“Holy shit, Joel. You’re hot, you know that?”

Joel looked up, caught off guard. A quiet huff left his chest as he shook his head. “You need your eyes checked.”

You grinned, settling your chin in your hand. “No, I don’t. I just finally get to say it to your face.”

He didn’t say anything right away. Just watched you. A little softer now. Like he wasn’t waiting for the joke to land or the punchline to come.

The conversation drifted after that. Nothing big. You told him about your day. He listened. You teased him once or twice, watched his mouth twitch like he might actually smile. He shifted in his chair, rubbed the back of his neck, but stayed right there.

At one point, you leaned in a little, voice quieter now. “I like the way you look at me.”

His gaze sharpened just enough to feel it. Then he said it. Low. Real.

“You’re somethin’ else.”

“You mind if I ask how old you are?” you asked, voice soft, almost careful.

Joel hesitated. His jaw flexed once. That old instinct to pull back, to guard what little he still kept close, flickered through him.

“Fifty-six,” he said finally, voice rough.

He waited for the shift. The flicker in your expression. The math behind your eyes. That quiet recalibration he’d seen before, where interest dulled just slightly.

But it didn’t come.

You smiled. “Good. I like knowing.”

And just like that, something in his chest let go. You weren’t trying to flatter him. You weren’t fishing. 

Still, he didn’t relax all the way. Not when you leaned in a little more, voice dropping low.

“I don’t usually do this,” you said. Honest. No act. No script.

“I know.” Joel’s voice was quiet. “Didn’t figure you did.”

You looked at him then, really looked. “But I wanted you to see me.”

His pulse kicked up.

He’d been trying to be good. Careful. Not let this slide into something it wasn’t supposed to be. Because you weren’t just some girl on a screen. You were funny. Smart. Warm. And if he fucked this up by giving in too fast, by making it about his need instead of yours, he didn’t know if he’d forgive himself.

But the way you were looking at him now, there was no mistaking it.

“I been seein’ you,” he said. Soft. True.

That did something to you. He could see it, the way your body shifted, the way your mouth parted just slightly.

Then your fingers slipped to the hem of your shirt, slow and sure.

“Wanna keep looking?” you asked.

And Joel didn’t have a single good reason to say no.

You lifted your shirt slowly, letting it rise over your stomach, then higher. There was no act to it, no script. Just skin and intention. Your breasts were soft in the glow of the screen, nipples already tight, a flush blooming across your chest. You didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. This was yours. And it was for him.

Joel watched like he’d never seen anything so real. Like he didn’t want to miss a second. His eyes followed every line of you, slow and careful, like he was trying to memorize all of it.

You heard a quiet shift on his end, the rustle of fabric. His chest rose quicker now. His hands stayed out of frame, knuckles flexed tight against the edge of the desk. But still, he didn’t move.

He was trying to be careful. Trying not to break something that already felt too good to be real.

You looked into the camera.

“Joel,” you said, soft but sure. “You don’t have to hold back.”

His breath hitched.

“I’m trying not to,” he said, voice low. “Just don’t wanna turn this into somethin’ it’s not. Don’t wanna turn you into that.”

“I know that,” you said gently. “And you’re not.”

Something in him loosened. Just slightly.

Then your hand moved lower, fingers slipping between your thighs. Not to perform. Just to let him see. To let him in.

Joel’s breath caught.

And this time, he didn’t fight it.

He let himself want. Let himself feel it—your trust, your body, your eyes on him like he was worth watching.

Like you’d chosen him.

You stayed like that for a moment, bare and open, your hand resting between your thighs, breath shallow. The silence between you wasn’t tense, it was thick with something else. Anticipation. Want. Trust.

Then you shifted back slightly on the bed, the movement slow, deliberate. Your legs parted just enough to let the shorts ride higher on your hips. The fabric was thin, soft, and now visibly damp, clinging to the heat between your thighs. You weren’t wearing anything underneath.

Joel’s eyes dropped.

His breath faltered.

He didn’t speak, but everything about him shifted. His grip on the desk tightened, jaw locked like he was holding back something feral. You could feel it through the screen, the way his want built like a storm in his chest.

Your fingers moved, just a light press, a soft rub through the cotton, and his reaction was instant. A sharp exhale. His eyes flicked up to your face, then down again, like he couldn’t decide which part of you he wanted to burn into memory first.

He didn’t try to hide it anymore.

One arm moved out of frame, slow and controlled. His shoulder lifted, and you could picture it—his hand wrapping around his cock, thick and aching, slick at the tip, finally giving in to what he’d been holding back since the second you lifted your shirt.

He let himself have you now. All of you. Your flushed skin, your parted lips, your fingers slipping beneath your shorts, your breath catching every time your eyes locked on his.

You moved for him. He touched himself for you.

And in that moment, it didn’t feel like performance. It felt like confession.

“I can tell you take care of everybody else,” you said softly, your voice a slow pour of warmth. “Always carrying something for someone.”

It landed hard. Too real to dodge.

Your fingers moved between your thighs again, slow and wet, breath catching softly.

“So how about tonight,” you whispered, “you take care of yourself?”

Joel exhaled rough through his nose. One hand slid out of frame, slow like he still wasn’t sure he should.

“Don’t gotta be perfect,” you breathed. “You don’t have to prove anything. Just let go. You’re allowed to feel good.”

He wrapped his fingers around his cock, thick and flushed in his palm. He moved slow at first, like he didn’t trust the moment to stay. Like if he went too fast, it would vanish.

Then your voice hit him again.

Low. Sweet. Just a little wrecked.

“Jesus, Joel.”

His eyes stayed low, focused on the desk, breath dragging through clenched teeth. His thumb swept up the length, catching at the tip, already wet.

Then came the next part—softer, almost a hum.

“Of course you’d have a cock like that.”

Joel froze for half a second.

It unsettled him because it landed too deep. Like it carved a space in him. No one said shit like that to him. Not like they meant it.

He groaned low in his chest, the sound pulled from somewhere he hadn’t touched in years.

“Touch yourself, baby,” you murmured. “Don’t stop. I want to watch you feel good.”

His hand moved faster, strokes slick and tight. His legs were spread wide beneath the desk, his body tense, trembling with restraint. His jaw clenched, face flushed. Mouth slack now. Every part of him undone.

You whispered again, filthier this time, and that was it. “Cum for me, please.” 

He came with a groan—raw, guttural. His body jolted forward as he spilled over his hand, across his stomach, soaking the band of his jeans. His eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving, hand still gripping tight around the base like he couldn’t let go yet.

And for once, he didn’t feel ashamed.

Because when he looked back at the screen, you were still there. Still watching. Still smiling.

He saw the way your body moved, how your thighs trembled, your hips rocking into your hand. You tipped your head back, mouth falling open, trying to stifle a moan that still made it through, low and needy.

Joel couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. He watched you unravel, cheeks flushed, lips parted, your fingers working tight between your legs like you couldn’t stop now, not with his eyes on you.

He should’ve been spent. Should’ve leaned back and let the moment settle.

But the sound of your orgasm wrecked him. The sight of you shaking, breathless and needy, pushed him past any thought of restraint. He imagined what you'd look like if it were his hands making you feel that way, his mouth, his fingers, his body over yours, pulling those sounds from you until you broke apart beneath him. The fantasy hit too hard, too fast, and it lit something up in him again.

His hand moved before he could stop it. Gripped the base, already half-hard again, his cock twitching in his fist. He stroked once, breath catching, the weight of it still hot and slick in his palm.

Then again.

He let out a moan, surprised by how quickly it built, how sharp the second release hit him. His cock throbbed, twitching hard as more cum spilled over his hand, thick and warm. His chest rose fast, jaw clenched as his body trembled through it.

He hadn’t expected to come again. Not like that.

But with you still spread out on the screen, flushed and wrecked and smiling just for him—there was no holding anything back.

You looked so goddamn beautiful like that. Skin flushed. Chest rising slow. Eyes lidded but still on him.

He didn’t know what to say. Couldn’t find the words that fit.

He glanced around, hand sticky, breath still uneven, and realized he hadn’t thought this far ahead. No towel in reach. No plan for what came after.

He muttered something under his breath and stood, shifting the laptop with him out of habit. The camera wobbled a little, then tilted just enough to show you more than he probably meant to. A glimpse of worn floors, a shelf full of records, a lived-in couch draped with a throw blanket. The hallway behind him was dim but warm, the kind of space that looked like it held stories.

You perked up, chin resting on your arm. “Wait… are you giving me a tour now?”

Joel glanced at the screen, caught off guard. “Wasn’t tryin’ to.”

Your grin widened. “Too late. I’m already invested. Keep going.”

He shot you a look but didn’t argue. Kept the camera propped up on the counter while he grabbed a towel from a nearby drawer. You watched his shoulders roll as he cleaned himself off, muscles shifting under the soft fabric of his shirt, the flushed line of his stomach still visible.

“You always this prepared?” you teased.

“Usually just this messy,” he said, drying his hands. But his voice was light. More open than it had been minutes ago.

You kept watching. Not for the view—not just for that—but because this was him. Unfiltered. A little awkward. A little shy. You liked him like this.

He caught the way your eyes lingered on his body. The slow curl of your mouth. It made something settle low in his stomach again, not arousal, not exactly. Just the comfort of being seen. Of being wanted.

He sat back down, pulled the laptop closer, cleared his throat.

“Hope that was alright,” he said, voice low. Like it wasn’t the best thing he’d felt in years.

You smiled, soft and sure. “Joel, it was perfect.”

His stomach pulled tight again. Not with heat, but something deeper. Something that ached in a better way.

You were curled back on the bed now, one arm tucked beneath your head, the other resting lightly across your stomach. The screen lit your face in soft gold. You looked relaxed. Real. Still watching him.

Neither of you said anything for a while. The silence felt soft and settled, like a blanket pulled up after a long day.

Joel leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out under the desk. You asked if he always kept his place that clean. He chuckled, said no, not unless company was coming over, which earned a sleepy grin from you.

You shifted on the bed, asked about the records behind him. He told you about the stack he kept by the player. One was missing a sleeve. You teased him about that, said it gave character. He said he liked that word.

And just like that, you were back in it. Conversation easy again, like nothing had happened — or maybe like everything had, but it didn’t scare either of you off. Just made the air between you feel more certain.

Something had changed. Quietly. Without either of you naming it.

You broke it gently. Voice low, half-muffled by your pillow.

“I know I keep saying this, but I really don’t usually do this with other viewers. The texting, the private streams. Any of that.”

Joel laughed once, soft. “Me either.”

You looked at him again, more serious now. “But I’m glad it was with you.”

Joel didn’t know what to say to that. Just nodded. You yawned. Shifted a little deeper into your pillow.

“You gonna text me in the morning?”

His voice came quieter this time. “Yeah. I will.”

And he meant it. He stayed on the call long after you fell asleep, watching the soft rise and fall of your chest. The way your lips parted. The sound of your breathing, steady in his ears.

When he finally closed the laptop, the room felt too quiet.

But for the first time in years, the quiet didn’t feel empty.

It felt full.

Like something had started.