Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The trading post was never quiet.

Even this far out, tucked against a collapsed factory wall and fortified with mismatched boards, it buzzed with a low hum of voices, boots against wood, the occasional clang of a tool striking metal. A place like this only worked because everyone agreed it had to - neutral ground, no fights, no double-deals - or else the whole thing would come down in flames.

You’d been coming here every few months with your settlement’s trading group, but this was the first time they’d put you on the list to make the journey. You knew you were old enough to be trusted, though your nerves twisted every time you passed one of the guards at the door, rifles loose in their hands, eyes scanning for trouble.

It smelled like smoke, leather, and sweat inside. Nothing about it was welcoming, but it was better than the road.

You were setting down your pack at one of the benches when you noticed him.

At first, he was just another body moving through the crowd: broad shoulders, worn flannel rolled up at the sleeves, gray streaking through the beard. He carried himself like someone who knew how to handle a fight, though he didn’t look like he was spoiling for one. No, his energy was different - quiet, contained, heavy as a stone at the bottom of a river.

He didn’t notice you. Not at first.

You told yourself that was for the best.

The day went by in fits of bartering and waiting your turn, the kind of patience that survival had drilled into everyone. Your group swapped cured meat and dried herbs for tools and spare ammunition. You watched people haggle, lie through their teeth, and still shake hands at the end like it was ritual.

And him - Joel, someone called him once - you kept catching him in your periphery. Not staring, not lingering, but you noticed the way he moved through the place, deliberate, like every step was accounted for. He didn’t talk much, but when he did, people listened.

By nightfall, you were tired. The post had a handful of rooms upstairs, nothing special - thin walls, hard cots, just enough space to shut out the noise of the main floor. You were grateful your group had somewhat of a history here, so they managed a room for each of you. 

The first thing you heard after you dropped your pack was a knock.

Not on your door - across the hall. His door.

You hadn’t realized Joel was staying the night, too.

Later, downstairs, you ended up at the same table by chance.

You had a cup of something that was more burn than taste. He had the same. For a while, the two of you just sat, a chair’s width between you, letting the room’s noise fill the gap.

He glanced your way once, a sharp flick of dark eyes, then back to his drink.

“You’re new.” His voice was low, rough like gravel.

You blinked, not sure if he meant it as a question. “What gave it away?”

The corner of his mouth tugged - not a smile, not really, just a twitch. “You’re watchin’ everything too hard. Folks that’ve been doin’ this awhile don’t bother. Either trust it or don’t come back.”

You bristled, heat sparking in your chest. “Maybe I just don’t like being robbed blind.”

He huffed, leaning back in his chair. “Fair enough.”

The conversation could’ve ended there. Should have. But something about his tone - it wasn’t condescending, not exactly, just… blunt. Like he’d already measured you up and wasn’t impressed.

You hated the prickle of irritation it sent through you.

“You always this friendly?” you asked, raising your cup.

Joel didn’t flinch. “I’m friendly enough. For the right people.”

You swallowed the last of your drink, letting the burn trail down your throat. There was something in the way his gaze held steady on you - just for a beat too long before he turned away - that stirred the air between you, made it heavier.

Upstairs, the walls were thinner than you thought.

You could hear boots crossing the floor of his room, the creak of his bedframe. You told yourself you didn’t care.

But you lay awake long after your group had gone quiet, staring at the cracked ceiling, wondering why his voice still lingered in your head.

The morning came with gray light spilling through cracks in the shutters, dust motes dancing in the beams.

You weren’t much of a morning person - hadn’t been before the world ended, certainly weren’t now - but trading posts didn’t care. If you wanted first pick, you had to be early, and your group had already started dividing the day’s tasks before you’d even rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

Breakfast was little more than a scrap of jerky and half a stale biscuit you bartered off someone downstairs. Bitter coffee steamed in chipped mugs around the main room, the sharp smell of it cutting through the usual musk of leather and sweat.

You left your group haggling over nails and blankets and slipped toward one of the side stalls, a crate set up with odds and ends: jars of screws, a couple of knives with handles wrapped in tape, a small pile of dog-eared books.

That was where you saw him again.

Joel.

He had a box of tools in front of him, weighing a wrench in his hand like he wasn’t sure if it was worth the price. His eyes flicked to you as you approached the stall, and just as quick, away again. Like you weren’t worth the space in his morning.

You ignored him. Or tried to.

The books caught your attention - nothing rare, but your settlement had hungry eyes for anything that wasn’t survival manuals. You picked one up, thumbed through yellowing pages.

“You don’t strike me as the readin’ type.”

His voice came from your right, low and steady, as if it was just an observation and not a jab.

You froze a second, then looked up at him, narrowing your eyes. “And what type do I strike you as?”

Joel’s mouth curved, not quite into a smile, but something wry, edged. “The kind that don’t sit still long enough.”

You slammed the book shut, more force than necessary. “Maybe I surprise people.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t apologize. Just shrugged. “Maybe.”

The stall-keeper watched the exchange with thinly veiled amusement, pretending to busy himself with rearranging jars while his eyes flicked between you and Joel like he was waiting for a show.

You turned your back to Joel and asked the price of the book, just to prove a point. The trade went quick - you had a pouch of dried berries from home, and the man took them without complaint. The book was shoved into your pack before you let yourself glance Joel’s way again.

He was still there, wrench in hand, watching you now. Not obvious, but not hiding it either.

“What?” you snapped.

Joel’s brow furrowed like he hadn’t realized he was staring. Then he shook his head once. “Nothin’.”

He set the wrench down, muttered something to the stall-keeper, and walked off with his usual deliberate stride, leaving you with a strange, restless tightness in your chest.

You found him again by accident later that day, near the back of the post where people loitered while their groups finished deals. He was sitting on a crate, elbows on his knees, fiddling with the strap of his pack.

You almost walked past. Almost.

“Do you just glare at people all day, or is that your version of being friendly?” you asked, folding your arms.

Joel looked up, slow, those dark eyes fixing on you with the same heavy weight you’d noticed last night. He didn’t answer right away, just studied you in silence until the back of your neck prickled.

Finally, he said, “You always this mouthy, or is it just me?”

That earned him a snort. “Depends who I'm talking to.”

The corner of his mouth twitched again. Not a smile. You weren’t sure he remembered how. But there was something almost amused in his expression before he looked back down at his hands.

“Guess it ain’t just me, then.” he muttered.

You leaned against the wall near him, not close, but not far either. The space between you held a kind of tension you couldn’t name. Not attraction. Something rougher, sharper.

For a while, you didn’t talk. People passed, voices carrying, boots thudding on wood. You watched the crowd, he watched his hands, and still it felt like the two of you were circling something invisible.

When you finally pushed off the wall to leave, Joel spoke without looking up.

“Don’t trust too easy. You’ll last longer that way.”

It wasn’t advice, not really. More like a fact, thrown into the air between you.

You paused, meeting his profile. “You mean here, or in general?”

Joel’s jaw shifted. He still didn’t look at you. “Both.”

You left without answering, but his words stayed with you the rest of the day, echoing louder than they should’ve.

Next morning came colder.

The sky hung low and heavy, clouds swollen dark, the kind of gray that promised trouble. You felt it in your bones before the first drops started tapping against the boards of the trading post roof.

“Last day,” one of your group muttered, cinching up her pack. “Soon as this is done, we head back.”

That had been the plan.

The post was busier, almost frantic as folks tried to get their final trades in before the weather broke. You wove through the narrow lanes, weaving past crates and stalls, keeping an eye out for things your group needed. A coil of rope, a bundle of canned goods, a pack of matches - every little thing counted.

And of course, he was there.

Joel.

You spotted him near a different stall this time, arms crossed as someone tried to talk him into a deal. His stance was pure stubbornness, rooted and immovable, and eventually the trader gave up with a muttered curse. Joel turned - and caught you staring.

For a second, neither of you moved. Then his mouth tugged into that almost-smirk that made your chest tighten in irritation.

“What?” you demanded, crossing your arms.

“Nothin’.” His voice carried over the chatter around you. He took a slow step closer. “Just wonderin’ how long you’re gonna gawk before you actually buy somethin’.”

You scoffed. “Please. I’m not gawking.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Your jaw clenched. “You always this insufferable, or do you save it for strangers?”

Joel tilted his head, dark eyes sharp. “Don’t remember invitin’ you into my mornin’.”

That stung, though you refused to show it. “Don’t flatter yourself. I wouldn’t show up if you paid me.”

“Good,” he said flatly. “I don’t got the patience for babysittin’.”

Heat flared in your cheeks, and you stepped closer before you could stop yourself. “Babysitting? You don’t even know me.”

Joel didn’t move back. If anything, his shoulders squared, his tone edged with something like challenge. “Don’t have to. You talk enough for both of us. Easy to figure the rest.”

You opened your mouth to snap back, but the first real clap of thunder rolled overhead, low and sharp.

Then came the rain.

It hit all at once, hammering the tin roof above, flooding the gaps in the walls. Within minutes, the packed dirt outside turned to soup, the road beyond vanishing under sheets of gray. Voices rose, complaints flying, people pressed closer together inside the post as the storm took over.

“Shit,” someone near you muttered. “Ain’t nobody goin’ anywhere in that.”

They were right. The downpour was too heavy, the path out too slick and dangerous. Even the guards at the door pulled back, shrugging at each other, resigned.

So much for leaving.

You stepped aside as more people crowded in, brushing rainwater from your sleeves. The air felt thick, damp, restless. Your group huddled near the stairs, murmuring about whether to wait it out upstairs, but you lingered, scanning the room.

Joel hadn’t moved far. He was leaning against one of the support beams, watching the storm beat against the world outside. His shoulders looked broader in the dim light, his jaw shadowed and set.

Your irritation from earlier still burned hot, but your eyes kept catching on him anyway. The way he seemed unbothered by the chaos, the way he took up space without trying.

Maybe he felt your gaze, because he glanced over, dark eyes finding yours.

“Storm don’t care if you’re ready to go.” he said, voice raised just enough to reach you through the noise.

You snorted. “That some kind of wisdom?”

“Just common sense.” He shifted, pulling the strap of his pack tighter across his chest. “Somethin’ you could use.”

Your mouth fell open. “You don’t even know me, and you’ve already decided I’m an idiot. That it?”

Joel’s lips pressed into a line, like he was fighting the ghost of another smirk. “Didn’t say idiot. Just young.”

The word cut deeper than it should have. Young. Like it made you soft. Replaceable. Disposable.

You crossed your arms tight over your chest. “Maybe young people are the only reason the world hasn’t completely burned to the ground. Ever think of that?”

Joel’s gaze held yours, steady and unflinching. “All I’m sayin’ is, you don’t survive this long without learnin’ a few things the hard way. You’ll get there.”

You hated the way your pulse jumped at the weight of his voice, how it settled into your bones like it belonged there.

The rain kept falling, relentless, drumming against the roof like a warning.

You told yourself you’d head upstairs soon, tuck in with your group until morning. But for now, you stayed rooted across the room from him, irritation tangled with something else you weren’t ready to name.

Something that made the air between you feel heavier than the storm outside.

Chapter Text

The rain didn’t let up.

By nightfall, it only grew heavier, drumming against the roof like the sky meant to cave it in. The storm swallowed every thought of leaving, every hope of dry roads and easy travel. People muttered and cursed, but after a while, the frustration settled into something else.

Restlessness.

Someone brought out a jug of rough moonshine, the kind that burned more than it tasted, and before long it was passed around in tin cups and chipped mugs. Laughter rose over the storm, voices louder than they’d been all day, strangers shoved together into something close to community.

Your group joined in, more out of boredom than eagerness. You did too, sitting at the edge of one of the long tables, cup in hand, watching the storm drip through the cracks and turn the floor into muddy streaks.

That was when you saw him.

Joel sat at the far end, shoulders hunched, mug clutched in one broad hand. He didn’t look like he wanted to be there, but he hadn’t walked out either. His eyes flicked across the room now and again, sharp even when he seemed tired, catching on details most folks ignored.

You told yourself to leave him alone. To drink your share, laugh at your group’s bad jokes, and mind your business.

But you kept catching his profile in the firelight, the scar that cut across his brow, the way the gray in his beard caught the glow. Something about it pulled at you, irritating and undeniable all at once.

Your tongue loosened by the sharp bite of alcohol, you found yourself wandering closer.

He didn’t look up when you slid into the seat across from him.

“Didn’t take you for the social type.” you said, lifting your mug.

Joel’s eyes finally cut to you, flat and unimpressed. “Ain’t. Just waitin’ the storm out same as you.”

You smirked, leaning an elbow on the table. “This your version of blending in? Sitting alone, glaring at everyone?”

He gave a low huff, not quite a laugh. “You’re determined to talk, huh?”

“Maybe I just don’t like silence.”

Joel’s gaze lingered on you for a beat, long enough to make you feel pinned in place. Then he tipped his mug back, swallowing a mouthful, the muscles in his throat working as he did.

“You’ll learn,” he said finally, setting it down with a dull thud. “Sometimes silence is the only thing that keeps you sane.”

You rolled your eyes, but the words struck deeper than you wanted them to. “Guess that’s easy to say when you’re old enough to have grown comfortable with being miserable.”

That earned you a sharper look. His jaw tightened, brow furrowing like he wasn’t sure whether to be offended or amused.

“You always this reckless with your mouth?” he asked.

“Only when someone thinks they can size me up in two sentences.” You leaned forward, lowering your voice just enough to make it sting. “News flash, Miller, I’m not as easy to read as you think.”

His eyes darkened at the sound of his name. Maybe you weren’t supposed to know it, but someone had let it slip yesterday and you’d tucked it away.

Joel didn’t rise to the bait, not directly. He just sat back, studying you with a long, assessing stare, until the noise of the room seemed to dull around the edges.

“Careful,” he said finally, his voice low, almost lost under the storm. “The world’s hard enough without makin’ enemies for the fun of it.”

Your heart gave a hard, traitorous thump.

You masked it with a smirk, tipping your mug toward him. “Good thing I don’t scare easy.”

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The storm howled, laughter spiked from the other table, and still it felt like the only thing in the room was the space between you, stretched thin and taut.

Then Joel shook his head, muttered something under his breath, and tipped his mug back again.

You leaned into the back of your chair, pulse still racing, telling yourself it was just the liquor, just the storm, just the fact that you were stuck in this post another night with nothing better to do.

But the weight of his gaze lingered long after he looked away.

The jug made another round, weaker for wear but still sharp enough to scrape down your throat. The room was louder now - voices cracking with half-songs, laughter spilling over frustration. People had decided if they were stuck here, they’d at least wring some warmth out of it.

You stayed across from Joel, though you kept telling yourself you should move. Back to your group, back to easier company, away from the weight of his stare.

But every time you thought about standing, you caught him watching you again. Not openly, not lingering - but catching. Measuring. Like he was waiting for something you didn’t even know you’d give.

You set your mug down harder than you meant to. “So, do you do this every time you’re stuck on the road? Sit in the corner, brood, make everyone nervous?”

Joel’s mouth twitched, though it wasn’t a smile. “Wouldn’t call this the road. Wouldn’t call this nervous, either.”

“Oh, right.” You leaned an elbow on the table, chin tilting toward him. “This is you being… friendly.”

He gave a low huff, shaking his head. “You don’t know the first thing about friendly.”

The words hit sharper than they should’ve, though maybe it was the liquor burning in your chest. You narrowed your eyes. “And you do?”

Joel’s gaze lifted, steady, pinning you like he had last night. “When it counts.”

For a moment, you didn’t look away. Something shifted in the air between you - not soft, not sweet, but heavier, darker, charged.

You broke it first, tilting your mug back until the last of the liquor seared your throat. “Guess I’ll just have to take your word for it.” you said, voice rougher than you intended.

Joel’s brow furrowed, like he’d caught the tremor under your words, but he didn’t call it out. Instead, he leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight, and studied you in silence.

It wasn’t the silence of dismissal. It was something closer to patience.

The sound of dice rattling across the next table filled the gap. You glanced over, just long enough to see a group of traders slamming their hands on the wood, groaning over lost coin. When you looked back, Joel was still watching you.

“Storm’ll probably last through the night.” he said finally.

“Guess that means you’re stuck with me a little longer.” The words slipped out too fast, too sharp, and your pulse spiked when you realized how they sounded.

Joel’s expression didn’t change much - just that slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his thumb tapped once against his mug.

“Guess it does.” he said.

No smile. No tease. Just a low, even agreement that sank into your bones like a warning - or a promise.

You shifted in your seat, heat prickling under your skin, and told yourself it was the drink, the storm, the way the post pressed everyone too close together.

But when Joel finally looked away, when his gaze cut back to the crowd, you found yourself missing the weight of it.

And that was more dangerous than anything he’d said.

The jug kept making its rounds, the sharp burn softening into something that didn’t sting quite as much as before. Or maybe you’d just stopped caring about the taste. The room around you blurred into a chorus of half-drunken laughter, dice clattering, voices pitching too high as the storm roared against the roof.

Your group had drifted toward the far end of the hall, wrapped up in their own games. That left you here, across from Joel, the noise pressing against your ears while the table between you seemed too small, too thin.

Your mug was nearly empty. His wasn’t far behind.

“So,” you said, words looser than you’d planned, “how long’ve you been doing this?”

Joel’s brow rose. “This?”

“Trading, traveling. Being a grumpy old man in general.”

That earned you a sound - not quite a laugh, but closer than you’d heard from him yet. A low huff, rough at the edges. He shook his head, rubbing a thumb across the rim of his mug.

“Old man, huh?”

You smirked, leaning forward on your elbow. “If the flannel fits.”

Joel finally looked up at you, eyes dark in the dim light, steady in a way that made the hair at the back of your neck prickle. “You got a mouth on you.” he said.

“Sharp observation.” you shot back, though your voice dipped lower than you meant it to.

He didn’t flinch. Just studied you, slow and deliberate, like he was measuring the weight of your words against something you couldn’t see.

“Bet it gets you in trouble.”

The heat that rose in your chest wasn’t just from the liquor. You met his stare, lips curving without humor. “Only with people who can handle it.”

Joel’s gaze lingered. Then, barely audible over the noise of the room: “Reckon I can handle it.”

Your pulse jumped. You laughed, short and sharp, just to cover it. “Big talk for a man who nearly bit my head off this morning.”

“You gave as good as you got.” he said simply.

That shut you up. Not because it was untrue - it wasn’t - but because something in his tone carried weight. Not teasing. Not even annoyed. Just… acknowledging you. Like he’d been paying closer attention than you thought.

The silence between you stretched, thick with storm and alcohol and something unnamed.

You broke it first, smirking again to chase off the pull in your chest. “Maybe you’re not completely insufferable after all.”

Joel leaned back in his chair, the corner of his mouth twitching like he was swallowing down another huff of amusement. “Careful. Soundin’ awful close to a compliment.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“I won’t.”

You both held each other’s eyes longer than was reasonable. Long enough for the noise of the hall to blur, for the storm outside to press in heavier, for your breath to come just a little tighter.

Someone shouted near the dice table, mugs clattered, laughter spiked. The moment broke, but the echo of it stayed lodged in your ribs, thrumming beneath your skin.

You finished the last of your drink, setting the mug down hard. “Guess I should quit while I’m ahead.”

Joel’s gaze flicked to your empty cup, then back to your face. His voice dropped low. “Guess you should.”

But neither of you moved.

The storm kept raging, the post kept buzzing with restless noise, and you sat there, across from him, the liquor in your veins tangling with something sharper, heavier, something you couldn’t yet name.

And Joel didn’t look away.

The hours blurred, measured only by the scrape of mugs across wood and the low roll of thunder.

You hadn’t meant to stay planted across from Joel this long, but the liquor loosened more than your tongue - it loosened your stubbornness, your need to prove you didn’t care what he thought. And somehow, every time you aimed a barb at him, he caught it without flinching, sent something back in that gravel voice that kept you circling instead of walking away.

The storm outside had settled into a steady roar, but inside the post, voices had dropped. One by one, people peeled off from the tables, dragging themselves upstairs, leaving only a handful of stragglers still clinging to the bottom of the jug.

Your head felt light, not spinning, but softer at the edges. A dangerous softness.

Joel’s was tilted slightly, his hand cradling the mug that had long since run dry. His eyes were heavy-lidded, but sharp enough that you knew he hadn’t dulled the way you had. You wondered if he ever did.

You slid your chair back a little too hard, the legs scraping against the wood. “Guess the fun’s over.” you said, voice rough from drink.

Joel’s brow lifted. “This was fun?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy my company,” you shot back, tugging your pack strap up from the floor. “I made your night a hell of a lot less miserable.”

He leaned back, one brow arched, gaze steady. “That what you call it?”

You grinned, sharp and bratty, heat buzzing in your veins. “Yep. You’ll be crying into your pillow without me.”

Joel’s mouth twitched - that same half-smirk you’d been pulling from him all night. “You got a hell of an opinion of yourself.”

“Someone has to.”

The last of the stragglers stumbled toward the stairs, leaving the two of you near the end of the long table, storm filling the silence where laughter had been.

You pushed to your feet, a little less steady than you’d like to admit. Joel followed, slower, deliberate, slinging his pack over one shoulder.

The stairs creaked under your boots as you started up together, the hallway dim and narrow when you reached the second floor. Rooms lined either side, doors shut, voices muffled behind them.

You glanced at Joel, your pulse skittering, words slipping easier now with the drink still warm in your chest. “Bet you snore.”

His brow furrowed, eyes cutting to you. “What the hell kind of thing is that to say?”

You shrugged, biting back a grin. “Just seems like the type. Loud, annoying, probably keeps the whole hallway up.”

Joel shook his head, a low sound deep in his chest. “You’re somethin’ else.”

“Not denying it, though.”

You stopped at your door, hand on the knob, the storm still rattling the shutters behind you. Joel stopped across the hall, his door opposite yours, his gaze lingering a beat too long.

“Goodnight.” you said, voice lighter than you meant, trying to mask the pull low in your chest.

He nodded once, jaw tight, eyes steady. “Night.”

You slipped inside your room, shutting the door behind you, heart hammering too loud for the small space.

Across the hall, you heard his boots move - one step, then the creak of his floorboards.

Too close. Too much. Too soon.

You pressed your back to the door, eyes closed, and told yourself it was just the liquor, just the storm, just a man twice your age with a stare that wouldn’t let you go.

But your body wasn’t listening.

And neither, you suspected, was his.

The room was too small.

Four walls, one cot, a chair that wobbled on uneven legs - enough to keep the rain off your back, not enough to drown out your thoughts.

You sat on the chair, boots still on, staring at the cracked ceiling as the storm hammered above. The liquor hummed warm in your blood, your head too light and too loud at the same time.

You tried. You really did. Told yourself to stay put, to sleep it off, to let the night end where it should.

But time ran wrong in your head. Every second stretched into something unbearable. Ten minutes felt like an hour, every heartbeat pounding with the weight of the night downstairs - the barbs you’d traded, the way his eyes had lingered, the way your own voice had dropped when you told him he’d be crying into his pillow without you.

You hated him. Or maybe not. Maybe you hated the way you couldn’t stop thinking about him. 

You lasted maybe five minutes. Ten, at most.

The chair scraped as you stood, heart pounding louder than the storm, and before you could think better of it, you were at the door.

You pulled it open.

And froze.

Joel was still there.

Not down the hall. Not tucked into his room across the way. He was standing right outside, one hand braced against the wall, his pack dropped at his feet like he hadn’t even tried to settle in.

His eyes snapped to yours, dark and unreadable in the dim light.

For a long, heavy second, neither of you spoke. The storm roared, the floor creaked under the weight of silence, and still he didn’t move.

You gripped the doorframe tighter, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Thought you’d be asleep by now.”

Joel’s jaw shifted, slow, his gaze locked on yours. “Ain’t tired.”

Your chest tightened. The air between you was thick enough to choke on.

You swallowed, tongue darting over your lip. “So what are you doing out here?”

He didn’t look away. Didn’t blink. His voice came low, rough, steady as gravel.

“Same as you.”

The meaning hung there, dangerous and undeniable.

Your pulse hammered. You should’ve turned back, should’ve shut the door, should’ve swallowed it all down and let the night end before it broke open into something else.

But you didn’t.

And Joel hadn’t left, either.

Chapter Text

The hallway groaned around you, wood swelling with the storm outside, shadows deep in the low lantern light. Joel didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just stood there, broad shoulders blocking the narrow space, jaw tight as if he’d been bracing for this.

Your pulse raced, too loud in your ears. You tried to pull air into your chest and push out something sharp, anything to slice through the heavy quiet.

“So what, you’re just... what? Lurking?” you said, voice rougher than you meant.

Joel’s brow twitched, his mouth tightening. “Didn’t figure I was the only one who can’t sit still.”

You scoffed, leaning a shoulder into the doorframe. “Don’t pin this on me. You’re the one pacing the hall like a stray dog.”

His gaze flicked, steady and sharp, catching on your mouth for half a second before it burned its way back to your eyes. “Better’n sittin’ inside runnin’ my mouth to four walls.”

Heat rushed up your neck, sharp and hot. “God, you really can’t help yourself, can you? Everything out of your mouth has to bite.”

Joel stepped closer, slow, deliberate. Not much, but enough that you felt it - the heat of him, the weight of his presence filling up the small stretch of hallway.

“Funny,” he murmured, voice low, gravel catching at the edges. “That’s exactly what I was thinkin’ about you.”

The words landed harder than they should have. You swallowed, breath tight, pulse stumbling. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm.” His head dipped slightly, eyes locked on yours. “And you’re still standin’ here.”

Your throat went dry. You wanted to spit back something, anything, but your mouth wouldn’t shape the words. The storm hammered against the shutters, thunder rattled the beams overhead, and the space between you crackled sharp as lightning.

Joel’s chest rose and fell, slow but heavy. You realized you’d mirrored him without thinking, leaning in just enough to feel the pull.

And before you knew whose hand moved first, before you could decide if this was a mistake or inevitability... 

Your lips were on his.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t careful. It hit like the storm outside - sudden, violent, all-consuming. His mouth was hot against yours, rough, certain, like he’d been holding back for too long.

You gasped, fingers curling into the doorframe as Joel’s hand caught at your hip, dragging you closer. The air between you vanished, swallowed whole by the crash of your bodies, the clench of his jaw, the raw heat that spilled out all at once.

It was an argument, it was a surrender, it was both at the same time.

And you didn’t stop to think what it would mean when the storm ended.

The kiss burned hot, fast, and clumsy - teeth clashing, mouths dragging, both of you too impatient to care. His beard scraped your skin raw in a way that only pulled you deeper, hands finding purchase anywhere they could: his fingers dug hard into your hip, your own clutching at his shirt like you could anchor yourself against him.

Joel broke for air first, his forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. “Inside,” he rasped.

You fumbled back a step into your doorway, tugging at his shirt to drag him with you. But he resisted, his weight planted stubborn as stone.

“Not yours.” he muttered, eyes dark, chest heaving.

You blinked, stunned. “Excuse me?”

“My room,” he said, voice low, unyielding, like he was negotiating a trade instead of pressing you against the frame.

A laugh broke from your throat - sharp, incredulous, half-drunk. “Are you serious right now?”

Joel’s grip on your hip tightened, dragging you closer, lips brushing your jaw in a fleeting scrape. “Dead serious.”

Your pulse jumped, irritation mixing with want until you couldn’t tell the difference. You pushed at his chest just enough to meet his eyes again. “Why the hell would I go to your room?”

“’Cause mine’s bigger.” he shot back without missing a beat.

You stared at him, breathless, half a second from either hitting him or kissing him again. “Oh my god,” you hissed, shoving him toward your doorway. “You’re out of your damn mind if you think...”

Joel spun you with a sudden shove, not rough but firm, and your back hit the opposite wall - the one beside his door. His mouth crashed into yours again before you could finish the sentence, swallowing the protest right out of it.

You gasped against him, heat flooding through you as his hand slid up your side, pinning you there with the sheer weight of him. You clawed at his shoulders, dragging him down harder, even as you broke the kiss long enough to spit the words out. “You are... so fucking... stubborn.”

His teeth caught at your lip, pulling a sharp gasp from your chest. “Takes one to know.”

It wasn’t clear who gave in first - whether you shoved him backward toward his door or he dragged you there himself. The next thing you knew, the latch clicked, the door swung wide, and you stumbled together into the dark, the storm roaring behind you, the argument unresolved but forgotten in the heat of his mouth on yours.

The door slammed shut behind you with a thud, rattling the thin walls. Joel’s mouth was on yours again before the echo faded, hot and rough, lips dragging, teeth catching, like neither of you had the patience to make it neat.

Your back hit the wall, his hands braced beside your head, caging you in. His body pressed close, solid, heat bleeding through the layers of his flannel until you could feel every line of him.

You fisted the front of his shirt, dragging him closer, your teeth nipping his lower lip hard enough to draw a low sound from deep in his chest. It vibrated against your mouth, rough and unrestrained, and only pulled you tighter into him.

Joel broke for air, his forehead resting hard against yours. His breath was ragged, hot against your skin.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re askin’ for.” he muttered, voice low and dark, though his hand slid down to grip your hip like he already knew you weren’t about to stop.

“Then show me.” you shot back, half a dare, half a plea, your chest rising fast against his.

That was all it took.

He surged forward again, one hand tangling in your hair as his mouth crashed against yours, deeper this time, hungrier. You met him just as fiercely, pushing back, biting down, dragging your nails across the back of his neck until he growled into your mouth.

It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t careful. It was clashing mouths and pulling hands, a fight neither of you had any intention of losing. 

His fingers slipped beneath your shirt, calloused palms skimming your skin, and the shock of his touch sent your breath stuttering. You arched into him, chasing the heat, tugging at his flannel until you could shove it down his shoulders.

“Impatient.” he rasped, but his own hands were no steadier, dragging your shirt up, baring skin to the cool air before his mouth found your throat. His beard scraped rough against sensitive flesh, his teeth catching just hard enough to make you gasp.

“Hypocrite.” you managed, tugging at his hair to drag him back up to your mouth.

Joel huffed against your lips, a sound that was half amusement, half something darker, and kissed you again - slower now, but heavier, deeper, until your knees buckled beneath the weight of it. His hand caught you before you fell, dragging you tighter against his body, pinning you there with the kind of steadiness that made your chest twist.

The storm groaned through the walls, but you hardly noticed anymore. All you felt was Joel - the press of his body, the scrape of his beard, the iron grip of his hands as if he could hold you still long enough to burn this out of both of you.

Your shirt bunched high on your ribs, his calloused palms dragging over your skin like he couldn’t decide whether to savor or devour. You clawed at his shoulders, tugging him down harder, lips colliding until you could taste the bite of copper where your teeth had caught him.

Joel pulled back, chest heaving, his gaze sweeping down your body with something heavy, heated, and dangerous. His hand clamped at your waist, pinning you to the wall.

“You don’t got a clue what you’re doin’.” he rasped, voice thick with gravel.

You smirked, chest brushing his with every breath. “Seems like I’m doing just fine.”

His eyes narrowed, the muscle in his jaw twitching. The hand on your waist slid lower, squeezing hard enough to make your breath catch. “Careful, darlin’. You’re playin’ with somethin’ that’ll bite back.”

A laugh spilled from you, sharp and breathless. “Maybe I like the bite.”

Joel swore low under his breath, then crushed his mouth back onto yours, tongue parting your lips in a kiss that left you reeling. His free hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back, exposing your throat. His teeth scraped your skin, his breath hot, the sting making your knees weak.

You gasped, half a moan, half a laugh. “You think you’re in charge?”

Joel froze for the smallest second, his mouth hovering just above your pulse, before he let out a low, humorless chuckle that vibrated down your neck.

“Don’t think. Know.”

Then his hand slid under your thigh, hoisting your leg up against his hip, grinding his weight into you until you were pinned in every sense of the word. Your breath stuttered, hands clutching at his shoulders for balance.

But your grin never faltered. “Mm. Guess we’ll see about that.”

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you - really look. Hair mussed from his grip, lips swollen from his mouth, eyes bright with liquor and defiance. Young. Too damn young.

The thought sliced through him, cold against the heat roaring in his blood. Looked barely more than a kid compared to the years carved into his body.

He almost let go. Almost.

But then you rolled your hips against his, dragging a sound from him he hadn’t meant to make, and the hesitation snapped like dry tinder in a fire.

“Fuck.” he muttered, crashing back into your mouth, all restraint gone.

Your shirt was gone before you realized he’d pulled it over your head, his hands greedy over bare skin, rough from years of work but steady in their hunger. You yanked at the buttons of his flannel, clumsy and impatient, until you gave up and just shoved the fabric off his shoulders.

The room grew hotter with every piece of clothing hitting the floor. His mouth moved down your collarbone, sucking bruises into your skin like he needed to mark proof you’d been here, proof you’d chosen this. You tugged at his hair, arching into his touch, your laughter broken and breathless between gasps.

“You’re... so bossy.” you panted, nails dragging down his back.

Joel growled against your skin, his teeth grazing your shoulder. “And you’re still beggin’ for more.”

You gasped, heat flooding lower in your belly, defiance curling your lips. “Not begging. Just… keeping you busy.”

Joel’s answer came in the form of his hands gripping your thighs, lifting you clean off the ground until your legs wrapped around his hips. You clung to him, startled laughter breaking into a moan when he pressed you hard against the wall, grinding into you with enough force to steal your breath.

“Still think you’re in charge?” he asked, voice ragged, forehead pressed to yours.

You kissed him hard, biting his lip until he groaned. “We’ll call it… a draw.”

Joel’s laugh was low, dark, and strained - the sound of a man half a breath from losing all control.

Joel’s weight pinned you against the wall, his mouth moving hard over yours, swallowing every sound you made. His hands were everywhere at once - gripping, dragging, claiming - until one slipped lower, finding the waist of your pants.

The scrape of his knuckles against your bare skin made you jolt, a gasp tearing from your throat. Joel growled into your mouth at the sound, his tongue brushing yours as his fingers pushed further inside.

“Joel...” It came out half warning, half plea.

He pulled back just far enough to look at you, eyes burning dark, his breath rough against your lips. “What?”

You swallowed hard, nails digging into his shoulders, your voice trembling but sharp with challenge. “Thought you were all talk.”

The corner of his mouth curved, not a smile but something darker - the kind of expression that promised you’d regret poking at him, even as your stomach twisted with heat at the sight.

“Darlin’,” he rasped, his voice dropping low enough to rattle in your chest, “you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

His hand shoved deeper into your pants, fingers rough, calloused, sliding where you were already slick with want. The first touch against your clit had you choking out a moan, your head slamming back against the wall.

Joel’s mouth caught at your throat, sucking hard at the pulse hammering beneath his tongue, muffling the sounds he dragged from you as his fingers stroked with deliberate, devastating pressure.

“Fuck.” you gasped, legs tightening around his waist, hips grinding down against his hand. Your nails raked down his back, leaving lines in his skin he’d feel tomorrow.

Joel groaned low, the sound vibrating against your neck. “Knew it,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Knew you’d sound like this.”

Your eyes fluttered, a broken laugh slipping out between moans. “You’ve… been thinking about it?”

His teeth scraped your jaw, his pace never faltering. “Shut up.”

You laughed again, sharp and breathless, but it dissolved into a cry when his fingers curled inside you, hitting deep, dragging pleasure so sharp it made your thighs tremble.

“God... Joel...” Your head tipped forward, forehead pressing to his, your breath shuddering against his mouth.

He caught your lips again, swallowing the sounds you couldn’t hold back, his tongue rough against yours, his free hand gripping your ass to keep you pinned while the other worked you mercilessly.

Every thrust of his fingers was demanding, claiming, like he was proving something neither of you would say aloud. You were young, reckless - but in his hands, you couldn’t hold back, couldn’t pretend you weren’t unraveling for him.

And Joel knew it.

His fingers drove you higher, deeper, each thrust dragging a sound from your throat you couldn’t have hidden if you tried. Your body arched hard into him, hips bucking, chasing every stroke as though your bones might splinter if you didn’t find that edge.

You felt it building sharp in your belly - that unbearable pull, the fire coiling tighter and tighter until you knew you were seconds from falling.

Joel knew it too.

You felt the shift in him before your mind caught up: the sudden withdrawal of his hand, the loss of friction so abrupt it ripped a cry from your throat.

“Joel!” Your voice cracked, sharp with frustration, your thighs trembling around his hips.

He pulled back just enough to see your face, his own set in that rough, steady mask, though his eyes burned hot in the dim light. His fingers, slick from you, trailed deliberately slow up your thigh before gripping your hip hard.

“You think you get to call the shots?” His voice was low, rough, but steady, cutting through the storm outside.

Your breath came ragged, chest heaving, heat roaring under your skin. “You...” Your words tangled in a gasp, too raw. “You can’t just...”

“Can’t?” His mouth brushed yours, almost soft, completely at odds with the way his body held you pinned. “Darlin’, I can do whatever the hell I want.”

Before you could fire back, his hand slid down again, forcing past the waistband, finding you wet and aching. You gasped, nails digging into his shoulders, as he pressed his fingers back inside, harder this time, stroking in a rhythm that had your body shaking in moments.

The pressure surged again, white-hot, crashing over every nerve until you could barely breathe, every sound spilling out of you muffled by his mouth when he kissed you. Your thighs squeezed tight around him, your body desperate, begging, so close to that edge again you thought you might break.

And again - he stopped.

His fingers stilled deep inside you, the pressure unbearable, leaving you trembling, half a heartbeat from release with nowhere to go.

You broke from his mouth with a ragged cry, fury mixing with the ache in your chest. “You son of a...”

Joel’s teeth caught your lower lip, pulling it into his mouth just long enough to muffle the rest of your curse. When he let go, his voice came low, dangerous, and maddeningly calm.

“Thought you liked the bite.”

Your whole body shook against him, the storm rattling the walls in time with your pulse. “You’re... fucking... unbearable.” you gasped, hips rolling helplessly against his hand still buried inside you.

Joel smirked, a flash of heat and darkness in his eyes. “And you’re still beggin’.”

He pulled his fingers out slow, achingly slow, before pressing them hard against your clit, circling just enough to make your vision spark.

Your head fell back against the wall with a broken moan. “Please...”

Joel’s hand caught your chin, forcing your gaze back to him, his thumb rough along your jaw. “Say it again.”

Your lips parted, breathless, caught between fury and need. “Please.”

The word left you wrecked, trembling, and Joel’s smirk deepened like he’d won something more important than the argument.

Then he pressed back into you again, rough and deliberate, dragging another choked cry from your throat as the storm howled outside.

Joel’s fingers moved inside you again, slow at first, then faster, harder - the pressure so fierce it had your body trembling against the wall. Every thrust sent sparks down your spine, every graze of his palm against your clit dragging you closer to the edge until you were unraveling beneath him.

Your nails raked over his shoulders, your mouth opening on a cry you couldn’t bite back. “God... Joel, I’m...”

And then he stopped.

Again.

He froze his hand inside you, holding you there on the knife’s edge, your body spasming helplessly around him.

You nearly screamed with frustration, shoving weakly at his chest. “You are... fucking unbelievable!”

Joel leaned in close, his mouth brushing your ear, voice rough enough to scrape bone. “Beg again.”

Your whole body shuddered, rage and want twisting together so sharp you could hardly breathe. “You already...”

“Again.” His teeth grazed your earlobe, his free hand gripping your hip like iron. “Wanna hear it.”

You gasped, clenching around his fingers, desperate enough now to swallow the last of your pride. “Please,” you panted, forehead thudding against his shoulder. “Please, Joel... don’t stop this time.”

His breath shuddered against your skin, and you felt the low growl rumble through his chest.

“Good girl.”

The words hit harder than his touch, your stomach flipping at the sheer weight of them. And then Joel moved, rough and relentless, his fingers slamming back into you with a pace that had your legs locking tight around his waist.

This time, he didn’t stop.

Every stroke was harder, faster, merciless, his thumb pressing against your clit with just enough pressure to send you spiraling. His mouth found yours again, swallowing the broken cries spilling from your chest as your body clenched tight around him, the release tearing through you sharp and unstoppable.

You gasped his name against his lips, nails digging hard into his back, every nerve alight as the climax ripped you apart. Joel groaned low, his forehead pressed to yours, riding you through it, his hand unyielding, not easing until you were shuddering in his grip, wrung out and gasping.

Only then did he slow, dragging his fingers from you slick and shaking, pressing his palm hard to your thigh to keep you from collapsing.

You sagged against him, chest heaving, eyes hazy with the aftershocks. Joel’s gaze burned into yours, dark and heavy, his thumb brushing your cheek almost without thinking - a fleeting softness at odds with the storm still raging in the room.

But when your lips curved into a smug, breathless grin, his jaw tightened.

“Not so tough now, huh?” you teased, voice wrecked but sharp.

Joel’s mouth twitched, a humorless huff leaving him as he shifted you higher against the wall, pressing his hips firm between your thighs. You felt him hard and unyielding through his jeans, and the spark in his eyes was pure warning.

“Darlin’,” he rasped, voice low and dangerous, “I ain’t even started yet.”

Joel’s body pressed you to the wall, holding you up like you weighed nothing. His breath was rough against your ear, his chest heaving, his hand still gripping the underside of your thigh so tight you’d feel the marks in the morning.

“Reckon we move this to the bed.” he muttered, his voice still thick with the storm he hadn’t spent.

You laughed - soft, breathless, but sharp enough to cut. “What, wall’s not good enough for you?”

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, his mouth twisted in a half-snarl, half-smirk. “Ain’t about me. Don’t think you’re ready to be split in two up against plaster.”

Heat flooded through you at the words, but you smirked anyway, tilting your head, playing it off. “Oh, so now you’re planning to take it slow? Real gentle?”

His brow arched, suspicion glinting in his eyes. “Somethin’ wrong with that?”

You dragged your teeth over your lower lip, letting your grin grow sly. “Not wrong. Just… maybe you’re too old to keep up with anything else.”

Joel froze. Just a fraction, but enough for you to catch it.

And then his eyes darkened, a dangerous glint sliding in beneath the calm. He huffed a laugh, low and humorless, and leaned in until his lips brushed yours.

“Careful, darlin’.” His voice was so soft it sent a shiver down your spine. “That mouth’s gonna get you in trouble.”

You smirked against his lips, whispering back, “Maybe that’s the point.”

Joel’s jaw flexed, and in his head, the words seared themselves into something sharp. Too old. Too weak. He’d remember.

Without another warning, he hefted you higher against his body, turning and carrying you across the room. His boots thudded heavy on the floorboards, the storm outside muffling the sound as he reached the bed.

He dropped you onto it like you weighed nothing, your back bouncing against the thin mattress. You barely had a breath to laugh before his hands were on you again - dragging your pants down rough and impatient, tearing the last barrier between his hunger and your skin.

“Joel.” you gasped, half a laugh, half a moan, as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

He was broad, scarred, every inch of him proof of years survived. The sight made your stomach twist hot, and Joel caught your stare, the corner of his mouth curling dark.

“Old, huh?” he rasped, climbing onto the bed over you, his weight pressing you down. His hand pinned your wrists above your head, his other palm sliding down the length of your bare stomach, slow and deliberate. “We’ll see how old I feel when you can’t walk tomorrow.”

You swallowed hard, but your grin never wavered. “Big words for a man who had to stop and catch his breath at the stairs.”

Joel let out a sound - half laugh, half growl - before he bent low and kissed you, rough enough to make your lips sting. His hand tightened on your wrists, the scrape of his beard dragging fire across your jaw as his mouth trailed lower, down your throat, claiming every inch.

And under it all, that quiet promise burned: you’d pay for the jab later.

Joel’s mouth broke from yours with a wet, ragged sound, his beard scraping fire across your skin as he moved down. His hand still pinned your wrists above your head, the weight of him keeping you caged as his other hand tugged at your waistband. 

“Y’know…” his voice rumbled, low and almost lazy, “could just leave you like this. Worked up. Needy. Cryin’ for somethin’ you don’t get.”

You gasped, heat prickling under your skin, and tried to glare through the haze. “You wouldn’t.”

Joel’s mouth curved against your collarbone, a shadow of a smirk. “Wouldn’t I?”

Your breath hitched as he finally dragged your panties down, slow and deliberate, peeling them over your legs until you were bare beneath him. His gaze swept down your body, hungry, rough, and unrelenting.

“Pretty thing.” he muttered, half to himself, the words rasping as if they cost him.

Your cheeks flamed, but you tilted your chin stubbornly, lips parting for another jab. Before you could get it out, Joel was shifting back, his own hands working at his belt. The leather hissed, the buckle clinked, and then his jeans hit the floor.

And when he stripped the last of the fabric away, your breath caught sharp in your chest.

He was... 

Big.

Your throat went dry, your quip dissolving before it left your tongue. Heat shot straight through you, your thighs pressing together instinctively, but Joel caught the motion, and his smirk sharpened.

“What’s the matter?” His voice was pure gravel, low and taunting. “Cat got your tongue?”

You turned your head, trying to hide the flush burning up your face, but Joel’s hand caught your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

“Thought you had all kinds of smart things to say,” he drawled, leaning in until his breath was hot on your lips. “Nothin’ left now?”

Your chest heaved, words caught in your throat, your bravado crumbling under the weight of him - his size, his presence, the sheer hunger rolling off him.

Joel’s smirk deepened as he shifted his hips forward, the heavy press of him brushing against your core, dragging a broken gasp from your lips.

“Yeah,” he rasped, his mouth grazing yours. “That’s what I thought.”

And then he pushed inside.

Slow only for the first inch, deliberate enough to make your body seize around him, to make your nails dig deep into his shoulders. You choked out a sound you couldn’t contain, your head tipping back against the mattress, the stretch almost unbearable.

Joel groaned low, deep in his chest, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment as he sank deeper, inch by inch, until he filled you completely.

When he opened them again, his gaze was fire, dark and unrelenting.

“Still think I’m too old?” he rasped, his voice breaking ragged at the edges.

But you couldn’t answer. Not when your body was clenching so tight around him, not when every thought had burned away in the rush of heat and stretch. The teasing words you’d thrown so carelessly before were gone, smothered under the sheer force of him inside you.

All you could do was gasp his name, nails clawing at his skin, as Joel’s smirk curled darker, satisfied.

The first push stole the air from your lungs. He was thick, stretching you to the point of burning, your body straining to take him in. The sound that broke from your throat was caught somewhere between a gasp and a cry.

Joel groaned deep in his chest, the sound raw, almost guttural, as he buried himself to the hilt. He stayed there for a breath, forehead pressed to yours, his jaw clenched so hard you could feel the tension radiating off him.

“Jesus,” he muttered, the word rough and strangled. His grip on your wrists tightened, knuckles white. “You’re so damn tight.”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, hard enough to leave marks. You hissed at the stretch, legs trembling against his hips. “You... you’re huge, Joel.”

His mouth twitched in something darker than a smirk. “Now you notice.”

Before you could snap back, he drew his hips back slow, dragging every inch of him out of you until you thought you might split from the emptiness alone - then thrust back in with a force that slammed you into the mattress.

You cried out, your voice breaking, nails clawing down his back. The pain and the pleasure twisted together so sharp it left your chest heaving, your body struggling to adjust even as you clenched hard around him.

Joel groaned again, low and dangerous, his beard scraping against your jaw as he pressed his mouth to your neck. “Claw me all you want, darlin’.”

His hips rolled again, another rough thrust, deeper this time. Your back arched off the bed, your thighs tightening around his waist, a choked sound ripping from your throat.

Joel’s teeth grazed your skin, his breath ragged in your ear. “That’s it. Feel me now?”

You couldn’t find words. All that left you was a broken moan, your nails dragging down his back again, leaving red streaks in your wake.

He pulled back to look at you, eyes burning, sweat starting to glisten at his temples. The sight of your lips parted, your face twisted in shock and want, hit him harder than he expected.

And still, he pressed in again, sharp and heavy, making the bed creak under the weight of him.

“Thought you had all kinds of fight in you,” he rasped, hips slamming home once more. “Where’d that mouth go now?”

Your answer came out in another gasp, cut off by the sheer force of his thrust and he smirked against your throat, satisfied. 

Joel’s rhythm shifted, the initial ragged thrusts giving way to something faster, heavier, driving the mattress into the wall with each snap of his hips. His mouth dropped to your chest, open and hungry, his beard scraping fire across your skin.

He sucked a bruise just above your breast, then dragged his tongue over it, the heat of his breath spilling against your skin. His voice came low and rough, spilling words he hadn’t meant to let slip.

“Good girl. Takin’ me so well.” His teeth grazed your nipple, and you gasped, arching into his mouth. “Knew you’d fit me. Knew it.”

Your nails clawed down his back again, but it wasn’t defiance this time. Your voice broke on his name, hips lifting to meet his in frantic rhythm, chasing that sharp edge winding tighter in your belly.

Joel felt it - the way your body clenched around him, the desperate pitch of your sounds. His thrusts slowed, deliberate, dragging out each inch until you thought you’d lose your mind.

Then his free hand slid down your stomach, rough palm parting your thighs until his fingers found your clit. He pressed hard, circling slow, matching the punishing pace of his hips.

You gasped, a strangled, broken cry. “Joel... God...”

The combination was maddening. Every deep thrust was drawn-out torture, every stroke of his fingers sharp enough to make you tremble. He gave you no room to escape, no rhythm to cling to, only the overwhelming stretch of him inside you paired with the ruthless drag of his touch.

Your thighs shook, your body writhing beneath him, and Joel’s mouth pressed back to your chest, teeth scraping, tongue flicking over your skin as his words spilled hot and ragged.

“That’s it. Give it to me. Want you to fall apart right here.”

You keened, breathless, every nerve on fire, clawing at him as the slow grind of his hips and the sharp rhythm of his fingers pushed you to the brink.

Joel didn’t stop this time. He held you there, working you over with merciless precision, his eyes dark and fixed on every shudder, every cry he dragged from your lips.

Your body broke. The pressure Joel had been winding tighter finally snapped, heat surging through your veins in a violent, shuddering climax. Your back arched, mouth open on a strangled cry as his name tore free, ragged and desperate.

But Joel didn’t stop.

His hand never left your core, rubbing through your release with steady, unrelenting pressure, even as your body twisted beneath him. His hips drove deeper, slower, dragging his length through the clench of your climax, each thrust shaking another wave out of you.

“Fuck... please...” your voice fractured, the edge of desperation shredding it thin. Your thighs quaked, your nails scrabbling against his shoulders, pushing and pulling all at once.

He only groaned, low and gravelly, sweat slicking his brow. His mouth pressed to your ear, words rasped hot against your skin.

“Thought you could run that mouth forever, huh?” His fingers circled harder, faster, until you bucked helplessly under him. “Look at you now. Nothin’ left to say.”

Your body convulsed again, overstimulation biting hard, pleasure sharp enough to blur your vision. You whimpered, shaking your head, but Joel’s hand and cock were merciless - dragging you past the brink and straight into another wave you hadn’t even known you could reach.

The sounds spilling from you were wrecked, broken, the bratty edge long gone. You clutched at him like a lifeline, nails biting into his back, your voice dissolving into sobbed gasps.

Joel groaned again, hips snapping harder now, chasing his own release even as he wrung every last tremor out of yours. His mouth stayed pressed against your chest, teeth grazing, voice spilling rough and hoarse.

“Take it. Know you can take it.” He bit down just enough to make you cry out, and his pace turned punishing. “Told you I’d go slow, didn’t say a damn thing about stoppin’.”

Your body gave out beneath him, trembling, every nerve raw and undone. You couldn’t think, couldn’t speak - only feel him inside you, relentless, determined to drag every sound, every shake, every ounce of fight from your body until nothing of your teasing was left.

You thought you had nothing left. Your body trembled, slick with sweat, every muscle weak from the storm Joel had already dragged you through. But then his hand pressed harder, his hips driving with raw, punishing rhythm, and that unbearable pressure built again.

“Joel...” your voice cracked, high and broken, your nails clawing at his back. “I... I can't...”

“Yes, you can,” he growled, his forehead pressing to yours, his voice raw with strain. “One more for me. Gimme one more.”

You sobbed against his mouth, the overstimulation sharp enough to make your legs shake around his hips. But Joel wouldn’t let up, his hand ruthless on your clit, his thrusts deep and relentless.

And then you shattered.

Your climax ripped through you harder than the last, tearing a cry from your chest that echoed off the thin walls. Your body arched into him, clenching so tight around his cock Joel cursed, a strangled groan breaking from him.

“Fuck...” His rhythm faltered, his breath ragged, and for the first time, you felt him break.

Joel pulled out quick, his hand wrapping around himself as he stroked fast and rough, hovering above you. His release came in heavy, hot spurts across your stomach and thighs, his groan low and guttural, shuddering with the force of it.

For a moment, only the storm outside filled the silence - rain lashing the roof, thunder rolling in the distance.

Joel braced himself on one hand above you, his other still gripping his cock, his chest heaving as he caught his breath. His eyes flicked down, catching the mess he’d left across your skin, and his jaw tightened, a quiet curse slipping from his lips.

You lay there beneath him, trembling, lips parted, hair plastered to your forehead. No words came - not the teasing ones you’d flung so easily before, not even a jab. Only silence, your chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.

Joel looked at you, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. And for once, he didn’t have words either.

Chapter Text

The room was thick with heat - sweat cooling on your skin, the air heavy with the scent of sex, the storm outside still hammering against the windows.

Joel shifted off you, rolling to the edge of the bed with a groan. He sat there a moment, elbows braced on his knees, his chest heaving as though every breath was a fight. The muscles in his back flexed with the movement, scars carved deep into the skin, proof of years that had come before this night.

You lay still, eyes tracing the water stains on the ceiling, heart racing so fast it felt like it might shake out of your chest. Every inch of you ached, your thighs trembling from the force of him, but it wasn’t just your body that felt raw. Something heavy coiled in your chest - the sharp realization of what had just happened.

You had let Joel Miller fully have you.

And worse: you hadn’t hated it.

For a moment, the only sound between you was the storm, the faint drip of water where the ceiling leaked in the corner. Then Joel muttered a low curse, reaching for the ragged flannel he’d shed earlier. He wiped himself off, then tossed the shirt to you without looking.

“Here.”

You blinked at it, lips twitching, but said nothing as you wiped your stomach clean. The silence stretched again, heavy and thick, filling every corner of the room.

Joel finally leaned back, running a hand down his face. He didn’t look at you, not once, his jaw tight as though words might slip out if he gave you the chance.

You turned your head toward him, studying the lines of his profile - the furrow of his brow, the twitch of his mouth. He looked older now in the dim lamplight, shadows carving deep into his face.

Maybe it was the liquor still buzzing in your blood, maybe it was the ache between your thighs, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“So much for going slow.” you murmured, voice hoarse.

Joel’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t turn. For a long moment, you thought he wouldn’t answer at all. Then, in a voice low and flat.

“Shouldn’t’ve happened.”

The words landed sharp in your chest, even if you’d been expecting them. You stared at the ceiling again, jaw tightening, swallowing down the sting.

“Yeah,” you said finally, your voice thin but stubborn. “Guess not.”

Silence fell again, colder this time.

Joel stood, pulling on his jeans, his movements heavy, deliberate. He didn’t look at you as he buckled his belt, his breath still rough in his chest.

You pulled the blanket up, curling into it, your body humming with exhaustion and your mind buzzing with everything unsaid.

Neither of you spoke again.

And in that silence - too drunk, too stubborn, too raw - the weight of what had just happened settled deep, heavier than the storm outside.

The blanket clung damp to your skin, sticking to the sweat cooling there. For a while you stayed flat on your back, staring at the cracked ceiling, waiting for your breathing to even out, waiting until the shaking in your legs subsided. Your body still hummed from him - from the rough way he’d taken you, the way he hadn’t stopped until you were broken wide open.

And it was only once the ache dulled into something bearable that you pushed yourself upright.

The movement was slow, your limbs stiff, but determined. You swung your legs over the side of the bed, ignoring the way your thighs trembled with the effort, ignoring the soreness stretching deep between them.

Joel moved so fast it startled you.

His hand shot out, steadying your arm before you could plant your feet. “Easy.” he muttered, voice rough, carrying that instinctive weight.

You froze, not because of the touch - but because of the tone. It wasn’t Joel the trader, Joel the gruff stranger you bickered with at the market. It was Joel the protector, Joel the man who had just broken you apart with his body and still somehow looked at you like you were something fragile.

“I’m fine.” you said, sharper than you meant to.

His grip lingered, his eyes cutting to yours, unreadable in the dim light. “Don’t look fine.”

You pulled your arm free, standing on shaky legs. It took everything in you not to flinch at the soreness, to keep your chin high as you bent to grab your clothes. “I said I’m fine.”

Joel’s jaw worked, the muscle ticking. He didn’t argue, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back as you tugged your pants up, fighting with the fabric that stuck to your damp skin. You shoved your shirt over your head next, your hands fumbling at the hem, clumsy with exhaustion and liquor.

Joel stood when you reached for your boots. He bent first, grabbing them before you could, setting them on the mattress beside you.

“I don’t need your help.” you muttered, pulling the laces loose.

“Didn’t say you did.” he replied, voice quiet, low.

The silence stretched again, filled with the storm rattling against the window and the sound of your uneven breaths. You shoved your feet into the boots, tugged the laces tight, and rose.

Joel was standing a foot away, shirtless still, his chest rising and falling slow, steady. His eyes tracked you, dark and unreadable.

You swallowed hard, lifting your chin. “I’m going to my room.”

His brow twitched, just enough for you to see the hesitation flicker there. His room was across the hall - two steps, maybe three. Close enough that you’d feel him there, even with a door between you.

“Alright.” Joel said finally, the word heavy with something you couldn’t name.

You crossed the room, the blanket slipping from the bed as you reached the door. Your hand was on the handle when you felt him move again - one step closer, not enough to stop you, but enough that the heat of him pressed against your back.

For a breath, you thought he’d say something. Maybe an apology. Maybe nothing at all.

But Joel stayed silent.

You opened the door and stepped out into the dim, narrow hallway, your body aching, your mind screaming, your chest tight with words you refused to let out. The door to your room was only a few feet away.

You didn’t look back.

And when the latch clicked shut behind you, the weight of Joel still followed, heavy as the storm outside.

The door shut behind you, and the sound felt final. Like the click of a lock, like a line drawn.

You leaned against the wood for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, your body still trembling. The air in here was cooler, untouched by sweat and sex, but the weight in your chest didn’t lift with the change. If anything, it pressed harder, thick as the storm outside.

Your boots thudded to the floor as you kicked them off. You stripped out of your clothes with quick, clumsy movements, tugged the threadbare blanket from the bed, and pulled it tight around you before sinking onto the mattress.

You stared at the dark ceiling, trying to slow your breathing, trying to find some steady ground in the spinning haze of liquor and the raw ache in your body.

It had been… too much. Too fast, too rough, too consuming. Joel had torn every last piece of control from you, and the worst part was that you hadn’t hated it. No matter how much you wanted to deny it, your body had begged for him, bent for him, broken for him.

Your fingers dug into the blanket.

It shouldn’t have happened. He’d said it himself. He was twice your age, a man you barely knew, a man who’d done nothing but bristle against you since the day you first crossed paths. And still… the way he touched you, the way he’d looked at you when you came undone, it had carved something raw into you.

It had been a mistake. A drunk, desperate mistake. You repeated it like a mantra, trying to beat it into your head.

But the truth snuck in anyway.

It was the best mistake you’d ever made.

Your chest ached, your lips parting on a shaky exhale.

You didn’t want him. You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

So why did you already want to hear his voice again?

Joel sat on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the scuffed wood floor. His hands hung loose between his legs, fingers twitching faintly, his breath still uneven though the storm outside had steadied into a hard, rhythmic rain.

He hadn’t planned on it. Christ, he’d been fighting against it the whole damn night - the liquor, the storm, the way she’d needled him until he snapped. He wasn’t a boy anymore, didn’t fall into temptation so easy. He knew better.

But the second her mouth pressed to his, it had all gone to hell.

Joel dragged a hand down his face, muttering a curse under his breath.

He’d called it a mistake. He’d meant it. 

She was young. Too young. And worse - reckless. Bratty, mouthy, no sense of caution. He’d seen women like her burn bright and burn out in this world. And yet she’d taken him apart like no one had in years. She’d looked at him - smart eyes, sharp tongue - and he’d wanted to prove her wrong, to shut her up.

And he had.

But now? Now he was left with the aftertaste.

It wasn’t guilt, not exactly. Joel wasn’t fool enough to think he was some holy man above desire. But there was a weight in his chest, heavy with the knowledge that she’d deserved more than what he’d given her tonight - not tenderness, no, but control. Restraint. The part of him that usually kept the leash tight had slipped.

And she’d followed him right off that cliff.

Joel clenched his jaw, the sound of her voice still sharp in his head. The way she’d teased him, the way she’d begged him, the way she’d gone quiet after, no words left.

It shouldn’t have happened. He’d said it, meant it. But that didn’t erase the truth of how his body still ached for her, how his hands still twitched with the memory of her skin.

He reached for his shirt, tugged it back on, as though covering himself could undo the night.

Then he lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, the storm’s steady rhythm pressing down around him.

Neither of them slept easy that night. 

The storm broke in the early hours, leaving the trading post heavy with the smell of wet wood and mud. The rain stopped so suddenly that it left behind an almost eerie quiet, the kind that seemed to buzz in your ears after hours of endless noise.

By daylight, people were already moving. The storm had set everyone back a day, and no one wanted to lose more time than they already had. Boots hit puddles as traders hauled packs to wagons, voices rising sharp in the cold morning air.

You hadn’t slept more than an hour, if that. The blanket still clung to you as you sat at the edge of your bed, pulling your boots on with stiff fingers, your body aching in ways you couldn’t quite separate - what came from him, what came from the storm of liquor, what came from your own thoughts battering you all night long.

The world outside felt clearer, harder, now that your head wasn’t buzzing with drink. Clearer, but not easier.

When you opened your door, you almost tripped over him.

Joel was leaning against the wall across from your room, arms crossed over his chest, his bag already slung over one shoulder. He wasn’t looking at you - his gaze was fixed somewhere down the hall, his jaw tight, but the set of his shoulders told you he’d been waiting.

The sight made something in your chest twist.

You pulled the door shut behind you, squared your shoulders, and started past him without a word. But Joel pushed off the wall, his boots heavy on the warped wood floor as he fell into step beside you.

“You leavin’?” he asked, voice low, rough from sleep.

You glanced at him, frowning. “Everyone’s leavin’, Joel. Storm’s done.”

He grunted, eyes still forward. “Could wait ‘til tomorrow. Road’ll be better.”

You barked out a laugh, too sharp, too thin. “What, and give us another night stuck here? Don’t think so.”

That shut him up for a stretch. The two of you stepped out into the morning together, the post buzzing with people, the ground soft and sucking underfoot. The sun hadn’t fully burned through the clouds yet, but the air carried the crisp bite of the storm’s aftermath.

Joel shifted his bag higher on his shoulder. His silence pressed heavy, the kind that said he was working up to something.

You beat him to it.

“Look,” you muttered, your hands tightening around the straps of your own pack, “last night...”

Joel cut you off, his voice flat. “...was a mistake.”

You stopped dead, the word cutting sharper than it had in the dark. Daylight made it real.

Your jaw tightened, and you forced a nod, though your throat burned. “Yeah. Guess we’re good at those.”

His gaze flicked to you then - quick, sharp, like he hadn’t expected you to bite back. For a second, something like regret flickered there, but it was gone before you could catch it.

Joel exhaled, heavy, his eyes shifting back to the road. “Ain’t sayin’ it wasn’t…” He stopped, lips pressed tight, the words fighting in his chest. Finally, low and gravelly, he added, “Wasn’t bad.”

The understatement pulled a bitter laugh out of you. Wasn’t bad. That was what he had, after dragging every sound out of your throat, after breaking you apart in ways you didn’t even know you could break.

“Yeah,” you said, softer than you meant to. “Wasn’t bad.”

You fell into silence again, walking side by side as the crowd thinned, people scattering down their separate paths. Your road and Joel’s split just outside the post, two muddy tracks stretching off in different directions.

You slowed at the fork, turning to him. “Guess this is it.”

Joel nodded once, the brim of his faded cap shadowing his eyes. “Reckon so.”

You waited for him to say something else - anything else - but Joel only adjusted his pack and stepped onto his path, his broad frame already pulling away.

You swallowed hard, your chest tight, and turned down your own road.

The storm had passed, but the weight of him clung to you still, heavy as the mud sucking at your boots.

And you knew, without a doubt, that no matter how wrong it was, no matter how much you told yourself otherwise, this wasn’t the last time.

Chapter Text

The trading post hadn’t changed much in six months. The same sagging roofs patched with tin, the same rows of tables piled with salvaged goods, the same stink of smoke and damp wood clinging to the air.

And yet, stepping into it now felt different.

Six months was a long time - long enough for the ache in your body to fade, long enough for the bruises to vanish, long enough for your mind to convince itself that night had been nothing. Just a mistake made under liquor and storm clouds. Long enough to pretend it didn’t linger every time you closed your eyes, long enough to tell yourself you’d never see him again.

You had half a pack of goods slung over your shoulder, a list in your head of things to trade for. Simple, practical. You were here to get in and get out, not to linger.

And then your eyes found his.

As if they’d been trained to.

Joel was across the square, near one of the stalls where a trader was spreading out canned food. He looked exactly as you remembered - broad shoulders, beard a little greyer, lines deeper in his face, but no less sharp. He had a pack slung across his back, his stance steady, cautious, like he owned whatever ground he stood on.

For a moment, the rest of the post blurred. The voices, the clatter of goods, the shuffle of boots - all of it dropped into a dull hum as his gaze locked on yours.

It wasn’t surprise in his eyes. Not really. More like recognition, heavy and sharp, the kind that dug into your chest and made your pulse stumble.

You stopped mid-step.

Joel didn’t move, didn’t speak, but his jaw tightened, his shoulders stiff. He looked the same way he had that morning after, when daylight had carved the night into something harder, something impossible to ignore.

Six months, and nothing had changed. The memory still sat between you like it had happened yesterday.

You swallowed, forced your legs to move again, your hand tightening on the strap of your pack. You weren’t going to be the one to stop in the middle of the square, not when your stomach twisted like this, not when the heat crawled up your neck.

But Joel moved first.

He shifted slightly, angling his body so that you knew - without question - that he wasn’t going to look away.

You managed to slip past him in the square without a word, though it left your pulse thudding in your throat. Your pack felt heavier than it had minutes ago.

The rooms were still the same - thin walls, creaky doors, the smell of mildew and damp wood. You tossed your pack onto the cot, pressed your palms to your eyes, and let out a long, shaky breath. Six months, and the first thing you did when you saw him was freeze like some kid.

You weren’t here for Joel. You were here for food, ammo, whatever else you could scrape out of this place.

So after a while - after your pulse had calmed, after your hands stopped trembling - you headed back to the market.

It didn’t take long to find him again. Or maybe he found you.

You were at one of the back stalls, bartering over a rusted tin of coffee grounds, when you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Joel stood two tables down, pretending to study a pile of battered tools. His hands were braced on the edge of the table, his shoulders set tight, but his eyes flicked sideways - once, twice, then caught yours.

The air tightened between you.

You dropped your gaze back to the coffee tin, muttered something under your breath, and shoved it back across the table. Not worth it. Not right now.

But Joel didn’t move on.

When you turned away, he was there. Close enough that you nearly bumped into his chest. You stopped short, your breath catching, and his eyes locked on yours again.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.” you said finally, your voice a little too sharp, a little too thin.

Joel’s jaw flexed. “Same.”

Silence stretched. People brushed past, voices rising around you, but all you felt was the space between you and him, full of six months of unspoken words.

You shifted your weight, crossing your arms. “Guess we got bad timing.”

“Or bad luck.” Joel muttered.

Your lips twitched - not quite a smile, not quite a frown. “You always this cheerful?”

Joel huffed, barely audible, and glanced away, scratching at his beard like he could hide the tightness in his expression. “You always this mouthy?”

The words cut, familiar and barbed, but the undertone was different now. Quieter. He wasn’t trying to start a fight, not really.

It was awkward, strange, your body remembering every place he’d touched you even as your mind screamed to shove it down.

You cleared your throat, shifting back a step. “Well. Don’t let me keep you.”

Joel’s eyes dragged back to yours, holding them for a long, heavy second. Something flickered there - something you couldn’t name, didn’t want to.

Then he gave a short nod, muttered, “Right.” and stepped past you.

But the air still felt thick with him, even after he was gone.

The day stretched long.

The trading post wasn’t big enough to get lost in, no matter how hard you tried. A handful of stalls, a couple of fire pits, the narrow paths beaten into the mud by too many boots. And somehow, everywhere you turned, Joel was there.

It started with the water barrels. You’d been filling a tin canteen when his shadow passed across you, his own canteen in hand. Neither of you spoke - not a word - but you felt the weight of him beside you, the way his presence filled the space. You capped your canteen faster than you needed to and walked away without looking back.

Later, you spotted him near the armorer’s stall, running his hand over a battered shotgun like he meant to test the balance. You weren’t even trading there - just passing by on your way to the food stalls - but his eyes found yours anyway, quick and sharp, before he turned back to the weapon.

By midday, you were tired of pretending not to notice.

At one of the long tables near the fire pits, you tried to eat, chewing through stale bread and jerky. The noise of the market hummed around you. And then Joel walked by. He didn’t sit - just passed, slow enough that your eyes snagged on him, slow enough that you knew he was aware of it.

Each encounter left an aftertaste, bitter and sharp, like a burn at the back of your throat.

You told yourself it was coincidence. That the post wasn’t big, that paths would cross whether you wanted them to or not. But the way his eyes always landed on you - the way yours always seemed to find his first - said something else.

By late afternoon, you found yourself lingering near a stall selling scraps of cloth. You thumbed through faded shirts without much interest, the air thick with smoke and damp earth. When you glanced up, Joel was across the square again, speaking low with a trader. His head was tilted down, his posture loose, but you could feel it - that sharp thread of awareness stretched taut between you.

Your stomach twisted, your jaw tightening. Six months, and still it hadn’t dulled. If anything, the space had made it worse.

You forced yourself to look back at the shirts, though your hands shook slightly as you folded one back into the pile.

By the time dusk fell, you’d lost count of how many times it had happened - the flick of his eyes catching yours, the brush of his shoulder as you passed too close, the silence thick enough to choke on.

You thought about the night six months ago more than you had in weeks, your body remembering things your mind tried to bury.

And each accidental meeting left the same taste behind: unfinished.

The sun had sunk low, bleeding orange and purple across the sky, when you saw him again.

You were bent over a trader’s table, inspecting a scatter of brass casings. Most of them were dented, useless. You turned one between your fingers, pretending to weigh its worth, though your thoughts were far from the metal.

Because across the table, Joel stood.

He was leaning with one hand braced on the wood, the other resting heavy at his side. His shoulders hunched slightly, that watchful set to his stance that made it clear he was always ready to move if trouble sparked. His voice was low, trading for something practical - ammo, maybe, or oil.

But you weren’t watching the goods. Not really.

Your eyes slipped lower, catching on his hands. Big, rough, veined. The same hands that had pinned you, the same fingers that had drawn you apart until you were gasping, begging.

Heat curled in your stomach before you could stop it.

You forced your gaze back to the casings, tried to focus, but it was useless. All you saw was the way he’d touched you. How unerring he’d been, how he’d known exactly where, exactly how, like he’d been made for it. The memory rushed in uninvited - the scrape of his beard on your chest, the gravel of his voice, the press of his mouth on skin you hadn’t let anyone touch in years.

You swallowed, hard, your pulse climbing.

And then your eyes betrayed you again, dropping to his mouth. His lips - chapped, rough, the same ones that had crushed yours in that first desperate clash. You could still taste him if you thought about it too long, still remember the sting of his teeth on your neck.

Something reckless stirred in you. Maybe it was the memory, maybe it was the six months of silence that had sharpened into something unbearable, but the words slipped free before you could stop them.

“You scowl when you’re buyin’ bullets.” you murmured, voice low enough that it was meant for him and him alone.

Joel’s head turned. Slowly. His eyes narrowed, dark and sharp, landing square on yours.

“You always talk when you should be payin’ attention?” His voice was rough, even, but there was a hitch to it - a flicker of something tighter just beneath the words.

You tilted your head, lips twitching. “I pay attention. Just not to the same things you do.”

It was bolder than you’d meant it to be, the tease laced with an undertone you knew he’d catch. The kind of undertone that said you weren’t talking about bullets, or scowls, or anything else the traders might overhear.

Joel’s jaw worked, the muscle tight as stone. He didn’t answer right away, didn’t rise to the bait the way you half-hoped, half-dreaded. But his gaze dipped for just a second - quick, sharp, landing on your mouth before snapping back up.

The smallest crack in his armor. Enough to make your chest tighten, heat coil low in your stomach.

You smirked faintly, feigning nonchalance as you turned another casing in your hand. “Thought so.”

Joel exhaled through his nose, low and heavy, like he was dragging patience up from somewhere deep. He straightened, lifted his pack onto his shoulder, and muttered, “Careful.”

It wasn’t a warning. Not really. More like a reminder, a plea, maybe even a threat to himself.

And then he walked away, boots heavy on the packed earth, leaving you standing at the stall with your heart racing, the memory of his hands stronger than it had been in months.

You stared down at the brass in your palm, your mouth curving in the faintest trace of a smile.

Careful, he’d said.

You weren’t sure you wanted to be.

The sky had dimmed further by the time it happened again - not quite dark, not yet night, but the air had cooled, the square thinning as traders packed away their goods. The fire pits sparked to life, smoke rising in lazy curls that carried the smell of charred wood and the faint grease of whatever scraps people had managed to barter.

You’d told yourself you were done for the day. That you’d slip back to your room, eat what little you had, and stay there until morning.

But your feet betrayed you.

You lingered near the edge of the square instead, fingers restless against the strap of your pack, watching the crowd thin. And when the movement shifted at your periphery, you knew before you looked who it was.

Joel.

He was across the way, carrying something wrapped in cloth - supplies he must’ve managed to barter for. He moved with that same steady gait, heavy but sure, his eyes scanning the path ahead. For one, dangerous second, you thought maybe he wouldn’t notice you.

But he did.

Of course he did.

His gaze cut across the square and caught yours, sharp and inevitable, like gravity itself.

Neither of you stopped walking - he kept forward, you shifted to head in the opposite direction - but somehow, you both ended up colliding anyway, at the corner of one of the stalls where the path narrowed.

You froze. He did too.

For a moment, it was just the two of you in that cramped stretch of space, the noise of the square muted to a dull murmur. His shoulder nearly brushed yours, close enough that you could smell the faint mix of smoke and leather clinging to him, close enough that every nerve in your body stood on edge.

Joel’s eyes flicked over you, quick, cautious. He didn’t say anything.

Neither did you - not at first.

But the silence pressed too heavy, dragging the words out of you in a whisper. “You’re terrible at stayin’ out of my way.”

Joel’s jaw tightened. “Could say the same about you.”

The heat climbed up your neck, but you didn’t step aside. Neither did he. You both lingered there, caught in a standoff that wasn’t really about the path at all.

Your eyes dipped again - traitorous, impossible to stop - landing on his mouth, his throat, the faint vein that ticked at the side of his neck. The urge surged sharp and sudden, nearly pulling you forward.

You masked it with a smirk, tilting your chin up. “Guess it’s bad luck.”

Joel huffed, low and humorless, but the sound snagged something in your chest. “Or somethin’ worse.” he muttered.

The words hung between you, heavy with implication neither of you dared name.

For a heartbeat, you thought he might move - closer, away, you didn’t know. But instead, Joel shifted his weight, gave a short nod, and stepped past you.

The brush of his arm against yours felt like a spark beneath your skin.

You stood frozen, watching him walk away, until he vanished into the thinning crowd. Only then did you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

It was unbearable, this ache. Six months of silence hadn’t dulled it - it had sharpened it, left it raw, left it hungry. And now, with him so close, it coiled in your chest like something alive.

Night was coming. And you knew - with a certainty that made your stomach flip - that this wasn’t over.

Chapter Text

The night had settled heavy over the post, the kind of darkness broken only by the sputter of fire pits and the weak glow of lanterns swinging from hooks. The noise had thinned to murmurs - traders haggling over scraps, boots scuffing in the dirt, the distant sound of laughter muffled by thin walls.

You told yourself you’d make it simple. Straight to your room. Lock the door. Ignore the pull in your chest, the restless ache under your skin.

The cot, the walls, the silence - they’d be enough to get you through until morning.

But when you reached your door and twisted the handle, it didn’t budge.

You frowned, shoved harder. The wood groaned, rattled against its warped frame. The handle slipped in your grip, and you muttered a curse under your breath. You pressed your shoulder into it, shoved again. Nothing.

The damn thing was stuck.

You kicked at the bottom, jiggled the handle again, frustration bubbling up sharp and hot in your chest. Of course. Of course tonight, of all nights.

“You plannin’ to beat it into workin’?”

The voice came low, rough, from just behind you.

You stilled. Your breath caught before you even turned, already knowing who it was. 

Joel stood a few feet back, the firelight catching in the gray threaded through his beard, his pack slung low on his shoulder. His eyes flicked from the door to you, unreadable but steady.

“I don’t see you offerin’ better ideas.” you shot back, the words sharper than you meant, covering the quick jump of your pulse.

Joel’s mouth tugged, not quite a smile, not quite anything. He stepped closer, the weight of his boots solid against the wooden floorboards. “Move.”

You hesitated, bristled automatically - but something in his tone made your body obey before your mind caught up. You stepped aside, arms crossing tight over your chest.

Joel wrapped one big hand around the handle, gave it a testing jiggle. The wood shuddered but held. He frowned, braced his shoulder against the doorframe, and shoved hard. The wood groaned again, louder this time, but didn’t give.

“Needs force,” he muttered, stepping back. His eyes cut to yours, steady, waiting. “On three.”

You blinked. “What?”

“We push together. One… two...”

On three, his shoulder slammed into the door. Yours followed, though your weight barely matched half of his. The frame creaked, dust shaking loose from the top beam. Still stuck.

Joel cursed under his breath, low and sharp. His jaw was tight when he looked at you again. “Once more.”

You nodded, though your chest was tight, your skin prickling just from standing this close, his arm brushing yours in the dim light.

“One… two...”

The shove cracked the frame with a loud snap. The door swung open an inch, then wider, rattling on its hinges before slamming back against the wall.

You stumbled forward, catching yourself on the splintered edge of the frame.

Joel caught your arm before you could right yourself, his hand hot and firm around your sleeve. For a second - just a second - neither of you moved.

The silence was louder than the door’s groan had been.

His eyes were on you, close enough to see the flicker of firelight in them, close enough to remember every place he’d touched you before.

You swallowed hard, tugged your arm free a beat too late. “Thanks.”

Joel grunted, the sound low, unreadable. He didn’t step back.

The doorway yawned open behind you, the darkness of your room stretching just beyond. But you didn’t move inside. Not yet.

Because Joel was still there. Watching. Waiting.

And suddenly, the night didn’t feel simple at all.

The doorway stretched open behind you, the thin-walled room yawning dark and empty. You should’ve stepped inside, closed the door, pretended the night didn’t feel so sharp.

But you didn’t.

And Joel didn’t move either.

The firelight licked over the lines of his face, the scar along his brow, the grit of gray in his beard. His hand flexed once at his side, as though he’d only just remembered to let go of you.

“You should get some sleep.” he said finally, his voice low, gravel caught in his throat.

Your mouth twitched, a poor excuse for a smile. “Thought that’s what I was tryin’ to do before this door tried to kill me.”

Joel’s lips pressed thin, the closest he came to amusement. But his eyes stayed steady on you, unblinking.

Silence stretched again.

You crossed your arms, leaned lightly against the doorframe. “You’re not goin’ to bed, are you?”

He grunted. “Not yet.”

“Figured.”

You should’ve ended it there, ducked into your room, shut the door. That would’ve been smart. Clean.

Instead, you stayed. Your body tilted closer without meaning to, like his weight pulled at you even when your mind screamed to step away.

Joel noticed. Of course he noticed. His shoulders stiffened, his jaw set tight, but he didn’t retreat. If anything, he shifted closer too, enough that the air between you felt charged, sharp.

“You don’t make things easy.” he muttered.

You huffed softly, heat coiling low in your stomach. “Wouldn’t be fun if I did.”

That earned you a look - sharp, almost warning - but his eyes lingered longer than they should’ve, dragging over your face like he couldn’t help himself.

Your throat tightened. You took a shallow breath, your arms loosening their cross. “You could walk away, you know.”

Joel’s mouth curved - not a smile, not exactly. “Could.” His voice was rough, steady, but the word carried a weight that made your pulse trip.

You lifted your chin, boldness sparking through the ache. “But you’re not.”

The space shrank again - barely an inch, but it was enough. Enough to feel the warmth of him roll off his body, enough to catch the faint smell of leather and smoke.

Joel’s jaw flexed. He said nothing.

And that silence - that heavy, unyielding silence - was louder than any answer he could’ve given.

You should’ve moved. He should’ve turned away. Instead, you both lingered there in the doorway, words pushing, bodies betraying, until it was clear this night wasn’t going to be as simple as either of you had sworn it would be.

The silence pressed down heavy, broken only by the crackle of fire from the pit below.

Joel’s hand flexed at his side once, slow, like he wasn’t even aware of it. Then, as though restless, that same hand rose - fingers brushing against the splintered edge of the doorframe just beside your shoulder.

The wood creaked under his weight.

Your breath caught.

His hand was close now, steady against the frame, his arm a barrier that shadowed you in the doorway. The sight of it pulled a flood of memory you’d tried to bury - those same rough fingers digging into your hips, sliding under your clothes, coaxing sounds out of you you didn’t know you could make.

Your lips parted before you could stop them, a shaky breath leaving.

All you could think about was that hand. On you. Inside you. The way he hadn’t let you come until he’d heard you beg for it, the way his grip had bruised when you clawed at him like you’d fall apart if he stopped.

Heat rushed down your spine, sharp and overwhelming.

Joel’s eyes flicked, catching the shift in your expression, the way your chest rose quicker with each breath. His jaw tightened, muscle ticking at the hinge, and still he didn’t move away.

“You should…” His voice caught, rasp rough against the space between you. “Get inside.”

The words said one thing, but his hand on the frame said another. The tension in his body, the heat rolling off him - none of it matched the command in his voice.

You swallowed, throat dry. Your voice came out softer than you meant, raw around the edges. “You gonna let me?”

His gaze darkened, dipped quick to your mouth, then back up. The hand on the frame flexed again, knuckles whitening.

Joel was fighting himself, you could see it - every line in his face pulled taut, every breath a silent battle.

And you - reckless, aching - leaned the slightest bit closer, your shoulder brushing against his chest. “Maybe you don’t want to.”

The words slipped out in a whisper, teasing on the surface but thick underneath, dragging every memory of that night back into the open.

Joel’s hand tightened on the frame. His body angled nearer, just enough that you felt the warmth of him settle against you, steady and solid, swallowing the thin air left between.

Your lips parted again, another breath trembling out, and it hung there - the space, the heat, the choice - waiting to snap.

And it broke like a string pulled too tight.

Joel’s eyes locked on yours, dark and heavy, and before you could second-guess, his mouth crashed into yours. Rough, hungry, nothing careful about it. Your back hit the doorframe, a gasp swallowed into the heat of his lips.

Your hands were moving before your mind caught up, sliding up the thick lines of his shoulders, curling at the back of his neck. The feel of him - warm, solid, familiar in the worst way - sent a rush of fire down your spine. You tugged him closer, desperate, reckless, dragging him into your space.

Joel grunted low in his chest, his free hand braced hard against the frame, the other gripping your hip like he was afraid you’d vanish. His mouth slanted over yours again, rougher this time, the scrape of his beard biting against your skin.

Somewhere between kisses, words broke loose - muffled, half-swallowed.

“...shouldn’t...” his breath caught as your fingers dug into the hair at his nape, pulling him deeper. “...not doin’ this...”

You whispered back against his lips, defiant, your voice trembling. “We’re not... we’re not...”

But neither of you stopped.

The doorframe pressed into your back as his mouth dragged to your jaw, your throat, teeth scraping before he kissed you there, hot and bruising. You bit back a sound, your hands fisting tighter in his hair.

Joel’s breath was ragged, the hand at your hip sliding lower, gripping, pulling. “This ain't... hell...” another kiss, harsh, desperate, “...not supposed to happen again.”

You gasped, your lips brushing his ear as you yanked him closer, your body arching into his. “Then stop...” a shaky laugh caught in your throat, “...stop kissin’ me.”

His chest rumbled, half growl, half broken sound, and he pushed harder into you, his mouth devouring yours in answer.

The room yawned open behind you, dark and waiting. Without thinking, you pulled, fingers locked at the back of his neck, guiding him with you as you stumbled backward through the threshold.

The door had barely shut before you shoved at his chest, breaking the kiss just long enough to catch a ragged breath. His eyes burned into yours, dark and storm-thick, chest rising heavy like he was holding himself back by sheer will.

And still, the muttered words tangled between kisses - denials and excuses breaking apart under the weight of mouths that couldn’t let go. 

“Joel...” you started, but the word broke when his mouth found yours again, swallowing it whole.

Your palms pressed flat against him, feeling the heat beneath his jacket, the solid weight of muscle and age that hadn’t dulled with time. He kissed like a man starved, and you matched it with every ounce of recklessness in you, pushing him harder until his knees hit the edge of the cot.

Joel grunted, hands braced tight on your waist, but you kept pushing, refusing to let the kiss break. One more shove, and he sat down hard on the thin mattress, your lips still tangled, breath mingling rough and uneven.

“Damn it...” he muttered against your mouth, but you only pressed harder, climbing over him until you straddled his lap.

The move startled a sound from his chest, low and guttural. His hands shot to your hips, gripping tight, like he couldn’t decide whether to push you off or pull you closer.

Your lips curved against his, the faintest trace of a smirk slipping through the heat. “Thought you said... we weren't...” you broke off with a gasp as his teeth caught your lower lip, sharp and deliberate.

Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes wild with the effort of restraint. His voice came rough, broken between breaths. “We ain’t.”

But his hands were already sliding up your sides, calloused fingers dragging over fabric like he wanted to tear it off.

You tilted your head, breathless, teasing even now. “Sure don’t feel like it.”

Joel cursed under his breath, his grip tightening, and for a second, the weight of him went still beneath you. His jaw flexed, his eyes boring into yours like he was trying to convince himself this was the moment to stop.

But your hips shifted against his, just a little, a test. And the sound it dragged out of him - low, guttural, unguarded - shattered whatever line he’d been trying to draw.

His mouth was on yours again, fiercer now, one hand sliding up to the back of your neck as though he’d never let you go. The cot creaked beneath his weight, the room thick with the sounds of your uneven breaths, the faint rasp of fabric as his thumbs dug into your skin.

It was a war, this kiss - a fight dressed as denial, both of you clinging to excuses neither of you believed anymore.

But with your body pressed to his, your hands tangled in his hair, and his grip burning through your clothes, you knew the lie wouldn’t hold much longer.

Joel’s mouth crushed into yours again, desperate, rough, like he could devour the part of him that wanted this if he just kissed hard enough. His hands gripped your hips, strong enough to bruise, pulling you tight against him even as his words muttered broken in the heat.

“Goddamn it...” his breath was ragged, his forehead pressing against yours for a moment before his lips found you again. “We said one time.”

You gasped against his mouth, your nails dragging through the hair at his nape, pulling harder. “Yeah, one time...” your voice broke as his teeth scraped your jaw, heat flooding through your chest. “Then why... why can’t you stop?”

Joel growled low in his throat, his hands sliding down, fingers digging into the curve of your thighs as though holding on was the only thing keeping him grounded. “’Cause I... fuck... I can’t.”

The words ripped out of him like they hurt.

And you hated that you understood.

Six months of pretending hadn’t dulled it. If anything, it had sharpened it. And now, with him under you, sober, steady, there was nothing left to hide behind. No storm. No bottle. Just want.

You kissed him harder, teeth clashing, mouths messy with the kind of hunger that made your chest ache. His beard scratched raw against your chin, your lips swollen from the force of it, but you didn’t care. Couldn’t.

Joel’s grip shifted, one hand sliding up your back, pressing you down against his chest as though he could fuse you there. His voice came rough, almost angry, words breaking between breaths. “This ain't... this ain’t what we said.”

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, your own lips parted, breath sharp. “Then stop me.”

The challenge hung between you like a spark in dry grass.

Joel’s chest rose hard against yours, his gaze dark, torn, every muscle in him pulled taut with restraint he didn’t believe in anymore. His hand flexed against your back, trembling with the effort of holding the line.

And then it snapped.

His mouth crushed into yours again, fiercer, hungrier, every ounce of fight burning into the kiss. You whimpered against him, your body responding before your mind could catch up, hips rolling down against his lap in a movement you couldn’t control.

Joel groaned, raw and guttural, his grip tightening like he’d break you if he let go.

And you hated it. You loved it. You wanted it so badly it hurt.

Your hands were everywhere. On his shoulders, the thick lines of his arms, the rough fabric of his jacket. You yanked at it, fumbling, and Joel let you strip it off, his mouth never leaving yours.

He tugged at your shirt in return, fingers rough against the hem, sliding it up impatiently until you broke the kiss to pull it over your head. The cot groaned beneath you both as you shifted, his hands dragging down your bare sides like he had to relearn the shape of you.

It was frantic and uneven - buttons catching, fabric twisting, your laughter breaking through once when you fumbled, but even that sound was soaked in heat. Joel cursed softly under his breath when his shirt finally gave, his chest bare beneath your palms, warm and solid, familiar in a way that made your breath stutter.

Your hands roamed over him - scars under your fingers, muscle taut and firm, a body marked by survival. You remembered how it felt, how it moved against you, but memory was pale compared to the weight of him now, alive and burning under your touch.

Joel’s hands weren’t still either, tugging, sliding, memorizing and rediscovering. They traced your spine, gripped your hips, curved around your ribs until your bra snapped open beneath his fingers. His breath caught at the sight of you bared, and you felt heat rise sharp to your cheeks.

And then it slowed.

For a moment, both of you stopped - half-dressed, breathless, bodies pressed close but not moving.

Your eyes met in the dim light, and the weight of it hit like a blow.

He knew your body. You knew his. That night had burned itself into your bones. And yet, sitting here now, sober, clear, it felt new again. Familiar and foreign all at once.

Joel’s chest rose and fell heavy under your palms, his eyes dark but caught - caught on you, on your face, as if trying to hold this moment steady before it slipped away.

Your breath trembled. The silence stretched.

Then he broke it.

Joel leaned forward, his lips brushing once against yours before dragging lower - slow, deliberate this time, his mouth trailing along your jaw, your throat. You tilted instinctively, a shiver racing down your skin as his beard scratched over the sensitive line of your neck.

And then he kissed there - not frantic now, but deep, bruising, hungry in a way that made your eyes flutter shut and your breath catch in your chest.

“Joel…” you whispered, your voice cracking, his name trembling from your lips like confession.

His teeth grazed your skin, and he hummed low against your throat, the sound vibrating through you. “Ain’t lettin’ this go. Not tonight.”

His words were rough, sure, and the last of the hesitation broke with them.

Joel’s mouth kept moving lower, tracing the slope of your collarbone, the hollow at the base of your throat, before dragging across the swell of your chest. His beard scraped, rough, and you shivered beneath it.

Your breath hitched when his lips closed over your skin, heat and pressure all at once, his tongue darting just enough to make your back arch. His hand came up, steady and broad, holding you there against him as though he owned the moment.

And all the while, you moved.

Slow, deliberate rolls of your hips against his lap, dragging your core over the hard length straining beneath his jeans. The friction was maddening through the layers, blunt but sharp enough to draw sound from your throat. You pressed harder, chasing it, taunting yourself with how close but not enough it was.

Joel groaned against your chest, the sound low, almost broken, and his hand tightened at your side. “You’re...” he hissed between his teeth, his breath hot on your skin. “You’re drivin’ me outta my damn mind.”

You bit your lip, stifling a gasp, and rocked your hips again, slower this time, savoring the way he twitched beneath you. “Maybe that’s the point.” you whispered, voice shaky but teasing, your hand sliding through his hair, tugging when his mouth found the peak of your breast.

Joel cursed against your skin, teeth scraping before he sucked deep enough to leave a mark. His other hand clamped down on your hip, holding you still for a moment, stopping the roll of your body against him.

The pause made your breath stutter, frustration curling tight in your belly. You tried to shift again, but his grip didn’t budge. His mouth moved to your other breast, slow, deliberate, his tongue circling with infuriating care.

“Joel...” you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his lips wet, his beard rough against your skin. His voice came low, a rasp that shook straight through you. “You keep movin’ like that, darlin’, and I ain’t gonna last long enough to teach you a lesson.”

And yet, his hips shifted beneath you, subtle, just enough to drag himself up against your core, proving he was just as far gone as you were.

Your breath broke into a laugh, ragged, half-moan, half-daring. “Who says I need teachin’?”

Joel’s jaw flexed, his eyes darkening, and his hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pulling you flush against him as his mouth returned to your chest, hungrier now.

The cot creaked beneath the weight of you both, the room thick with heat and breath and the sound of fabric straining as you ground against him, each movement dragging you closer to that line neither of you had meant to cross again - and both of you desperate to.

Your hands trailed down his chest, fingers dragging over the lines of scars and muscle, feeling each hitch of his breath beneath your touch. His skin was hot, damp from the heat of your bodies, and the deeper you traced, the rougher his grip grew on you.

Joel’s lips left your chest just as your hand slid lower, past the waist of his jeans. His breath stuttered, forehead pressing against your sternum for a beat, like he needed the anchor.

And then you wrapped your hand around him.

Even through the denim, you felt the thick weight of him straining, hot and solid in your palm. The pressure made your own breath falter, your hips jerking against him as though instinct pulled you closer.

Joel groaned, the sound raw, spilling from his chest like it was torn out. His hands clamped harder around your ass, kneading, pulling you flush against him until your grip tightened in reflex.

“Christ...” he hissed, his eyes squeezing shut for a beat before finding you again, blazing dark. His voice broke rough, half curse, half praise. “That’s it, darlin’. Fuck... you know what you’re doin’ to me?”

You smirked faintly, though your lips trembled, your own breath stuttering with every roll of your hand. “Maybe.”

Joel’s answer came in the form of his mouth, crushing against yours again, desperate and hard. His tongue slid deep, teeth scraping your lip, one hand gripping tighter on your ass while the other slid up your spine, grounding you to him.

The tension between you snapped like thread.

He yanked at your remaining clothes, fumbling with the waistband of your pants until you wriggled free, laughing breathlessly when the cot squeaked beneath the struggle. Joel muttered curses against your mouth, praising and impatient in the same breath.

“Pretty little thing, sittin’ on me like that...” his voice cracked when your bare skin finally met his, “You got no idea... fuck... how bad I’ve wanted this again.”

Your hands worked at his jeans, tugging until he lifted his hips and they slid low enough for you to free him. When you wrapped your hand around him fully this time, skin to skin, the size of him startled a sharp sound out of you, and you tried to mask it with a kiss.

Joel caught it, his lips curving against yours, smug and dark. “Yeah,” he muttered, his voice rough with heat. “Don’t even try hidin’ it. You feel me, don’t you?”

His words sent a pulse straight through you, your body tightening around nothing as your hand stroked him slow. His grip on your ass grew firmer, almost desperate, as though holding you there was the only thing keeping him steady.

The cot creaked louder as you shifted in his lap, both of you stripped bare now, skin on skin, and the last excuses between you dissolved into heat and need.

Joel groaned your name against your mouth, and you swallowed it, knowing you were far past the point of pretending this wasn’t what you both wanted more than anything.

Your hand kept working him, slow at first, savoring the weight of him in your grip. His head fell back for a moment, a guttural sound ripping from his throat, his chest rising hard against yours.

“Jesus...” he groaned, the word strained, half a curse, half a prayer. “You’re killin’ me, darlin’.”

His own hand wasn’t idle. Joel shifted beneath you, his palm sliding lower between your thighs, broad fingers pressing against heat already slick with want. You gasped, hips jerking into the touch, your grip faltering on him for a beat.

But Joel didn’t give you time to recover.

Two fingers pushed inside you at once - thick, unyielding, no warning. The stretch burned sharp and sweet, a sound tearing from your throat before you could choke it back.

“Joel!”

He gritted his teeth, his jaw tight as his thumb ground down against your clit. “Don’t you stop,” he rasped, glancing at your hand still wrapped around him. His voice was rough, commanding. “You keep strokin’ me, even when I make it hard.”

Your breath came ragged, broken, your body clenching around his fingers as they curled deep. You tried to keep your rhythm on him, your palm sliding up and down his cock, but every thrust of his hand into you made it falter, sloppy and desperate.

“Goddamn...” Joel’s breath hitched, a groan pulled from his chest as your grip tightened reflexively on him. His forehead pressed to your collarbone, his beard scraping your skin, his words muffled but harsh. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Keep goin’.”

You whimpered, your own body trembling under the pace he set, his fingers pumping relentlessly, thumb never letting up its rough circles. You tried to steady your hand, tried to keep stroking him like he demanded, but each thrust inside you dragged another gasp, another moan, until you were shaking on his lap.

Joel pulled back enough to see your face, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth before his words hit low and deliberate. “Look at you. Fallin’ apart already. And we ain’t even started.”

The smugness in his tone made heat coil in your stomach, sharp and unbearable. Your hand tightened harder on him in retaliation, dragging a ragged groan from his throat.

“Fuck...” he cursed, his pace on you growing harsher, his fingers spreading inside you, hitting deep. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

And still, neither of you stopped - his hand inside you, yours wrapped tight around him, both caught in a cycle of rough pleasure and stubborn need, daring each other to break first.

Joel’s fingers were merciless, driving into you deep, relentless, his thumb rubbing that raw spot until your thighs trembled where they straddled him. Every movement had your grip faltering on him, every gasp making your strokes messier, but you refused to stop.

The cot groaned beneath your shifting weight, the air thick with the sounds of breath, curses, and wet heat. His chest rumbled with every groan, his hips jerking once when you dragged your hand slower, tighter down his cock.

And then it hit.

Your climax tore through you fast, sharp, brutal. Your hips bucked against his hand, your head snapping back, a broken sound spilling from your throat as your body clenched hard around his fingers.

Joel’s mouth caught your shoulder, muffling a guttural curse, his grip on your ass bruising as he held you steady while your body came undone on his lap.

You couldn’t stop moving your hand even through it - trembling, sloppy, dragging your palm up and down his thick length while your whole body shook from release.

“Joel...” his name slipped out raw, desperate, trembling. Your forehead pressed to his, lips parting against his breath as your voice cracked. “Please. Please, I need you.”

Joel’s eyes snapped up to yours, wild, burning dark as your words landed.

You begged again, voice breaking, your body still fluttering around his fingers. “Take me. Please. Just... I can't... I need you inside me.”

The sound of it - the sight of you undone, begging with his cock still in your hand - broke something in him.

He pulled his hand from you, your body shuddering with the loss, and grabbed your face instead, kissing you hard, brutal, his beard scraping raw against your mouth. His other hand dug into your hip, grinding you down on him, letting you feel the thick weight of him poised at your core, ready.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered against your lips, voice gravel and fire. “You got no idea what you’re askin’ for.”

But the way his hands gripped you, the way his hips lifted, the way his breath tore out ragged - you knew he was already lost.

Joel’s lips pressed to yours, rough, bruising, but he didn’t give you what you wanted. Not yet.

Instead, he broke the kiss, dragging his mouth to your jaw, down your neck, slow, unhurried in a way that clashed with the sharp desperation burning between you. His beard scraped raw against your skin, his breath hot and uneven, but his hips stayed still beneath you, his cock thick and heavy against your slick folds and yet - denied.

Your whimper broke the silence, small and wrecked. You shifted, trying to sink down on him, but Joel’s grip clamped hard on your hips, holding you steady like you weighed nothing.

“Uh-uh,” he rasped against your throat, his voice a low growl that sent shivers racing through you. “Not so fast.”

You whimpered again, your thighs trembling, your core still fluttering from the climax that hadn’t been enough. “Joel... please.”

His mouth curved against your skin, cruel and fond all at once. “There it is. Knew I’d get you beggin’ again.”

He pulled back enough to look at you, his eyes dark and heavy-lidded, his lips slick from your kiss. The sight of you - flushed, desperate, your chest heaving as you tried to grind down against the iron grip of his hands - seemed to undo something in him, even as he tried to keep control.

“You don’t even know how good you sound,” Joel muttered, almost to himself, his thumbs pressing into your hips hard enough to leave marks. “Like you were made for me to hear.”

You swallowed hard, your own hands scrambling for purchase against his chest, nails dragging over his skin, scars and muscle under your palms. “I need you inside, Joel. Please. I can't... I can’t wait anymore.”

He groaned low, like your voice hit something deep inside him. His cock twitched against you, proof he was as close to breaking as you were.

But still he held back.

His hips shifted just enough to drag his length along your folds, the head catching at your entrance, teasing, sliding slick through your arousal without giving you the relief you begged for. The friction made you gasp, made your thighs shake, but he never pushed inside.

“Fuck,” Joel gritted out, his forehead pressing to yours again, sweat damp on his skin. “Feelin’ how wet you are... and you think I’m just gonna give in easy?”

You whimpered, your hands tightening against his shoulders, trying to pull yourself down on him, but his grip held you firm. “Please, Joel... I’ll say anything, I'll...”

His chuckle was low, dark, hungry. “Already soundin’ wrecked, and I ain’t even inside you yet.” His thumb stroked your hip, slow, cruel. “That’s how much you want it, huh?”

Your breath hitched, your whole body trembling, every nerve burning for him. You nodded, desperate, words spilling raw. “Yes. Yes, I want it. I need you, Joel, please, please just... ”

And that broke him.

His jaw clenched, his eyes squeezed shut for a moment like he was fighting himself, and then he exhaled sharp through his nose, muttering, “Fuck it.”

Joel lifted you, shifting your body with ease, and lined himself up, the thick head pressing at your entrance. His gaze snapped back to yours, searching, almost feral. “You asked for it, darlin’.”

And then he pushed.

The stretch stole your breath, your lips parting in a sound that was half-moan, half-cry as his cock filled you, inch by inch, unrelenting. Joel cursed loud, his grip bruising as he sank into you, his voice ragged against your ear.

“Christ... so goddamn perfect for me.”

The first thrust had your head spinning, the sheer stretch of him inside you pushing a gasp from your lungs. Joel groaned low against your throat, his hands clamped hard on your ass, holding you steady in his lap as he sank in inch by inch.

When he bottomed out, he stayed there - still, buried to the hilt, the pressure almost unbearable.

“Goddamn,” Joel muttered, voice wrecked, his breath hot on your skin. “Feel like you’re made for me. So tight around me...” his words broke into a growl, his hips giving the smallest grind, “...like you don’t want me to leave.”

A whimper tore from you, raw and shaky, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into muscle. “Joel…”

He pulled out slow, dragging every thick inch from you before pressing back in, deliberate, measured, the pace so maddeningly controlled it had tears stinging your eyes.

“You hear yourself?” he rasped, his mouth at your jaw, your throat, his beard scratching as he spoke into your skin. “Every little sound you make, pretty as hell.” He kissed your neck once, slow and firm. “Ain’t ever gettin’ enough of that.”

The praise sent heat rushing through you, sharper than the stretch, sharper than the drag of him inside you. You whimpered again, louder this time, your body twisting in his grip.

But his hands were iron on your thighs and ass, keeping you pinned to his lap. You tried to move, to rock against him, but he held you still, making you take every slow, steady thrust he gave.

“Joel, please,” you begged, your voice breaking. “Faster. I need... please.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and steady, his jaw flexing. A faint smirk curved his lips even as sweat glistened at his temple.

“Can’t even let me take my time, huh?” he drawled, though his voice was rough, strained with the effort of restraint. His hips rolled again, slow, deep, hitting you right where it made your breath stutter. “Already cryin’ for more.”

You whimpered, trying to push yourself down harder on him, but his grip only tightened, holding you still.

“Joel, I’ll do anything... just... I need it.”

His forehead pressed to yours, his breath uneven, his words low and hot between your lips. “You beg real pretty, darlin’. But you don’t get to tell me how this goes.”

And still, his hips moved slow, deliberate, dragging another desperate sound from you with every stroke.

Joel’s thrusts stayed slow, cruelly steady, every drag of his cock inside you stretching the ache sharper. Your whimpers spilled freely at first, pleading, begging, but then... 

You bit down on your lip. Hard.

The next broken sound clawing up your throat was swallowed, muffled, silenced. You forced it back, your lips trembling but sealed tight. And instead of words, you gave him your eyes. Wide. Glossy. Begging without sound.

Joel felt the shift instantly. His gaze snapped to your face, his hips pausing halfway out of you.

“What’re you doin’?” he rasped, his breath uneven, his voice low and sharp. His thumb flexed at your hip, his jaw ticking. “Don’t you go quiet on me now.”

You only shook your head faintly, your teeth still biting your swollen lip, your chest heaving with every slow thrust he gave you. Silent. Unyielding.

Joel cursed, rough and guttural, and pushed back into you deep, grinding his hips to feel the way you clenched around him. “You think I don’t know what you’re playin’ at?”

Your nails dug into his shoulders, your lips parting just enough to tremble with another sound - then you caught it, swallowed it back, your gaze locking to his.

Silent begging.

Joel’s head fell forward against yours, a rough growl breaking from his chest. “Goddamn stubborn little thing.” His thrusts grew harder, sharper, each one meant to break that silence, to tear a sound from you.

But you held it. You bit down again, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, refusing to give him what he wanted most.

“Fuck.” Joel’s voice cracked, his control fraying with each second of your quiet. His grip bruised your ass, his other hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, forcing you to look at him. His forehead pressed to yours, his eyes burning into you.

“You think I’ll let you keep that pretty mouth shut? Not a chance.”

His hips snapped forward suddenly, hard and deep, stealing a choked gasp you couldn’t catch in time. Your lip slipped free of your teeth, the sound tearing from you raw and desperate.

Joel groaned like he’d been starved. “There it is,” he muttered, his voice wrecked, his pace already picking up. “Knew you couldn’t hold it back. Knew you’d give me what I wanted.”

And now, he wasn’t slow anymore.

His thrusts came harder, deeper, each one angled to draw more of those sounds he craved, his lips catching your gasps, his beard rough against your chin as he praised between curses.

“Atta girl. That’s it. Give it to me. Wanna hear every goddamn bit of it.”

And with your body trembling in his grip, your voice finally breaking loose, you knew you couldn’t deny him anymore.

There was no slowing him down.

The second your bitten-back moan broke free, Joel snapped - hips slamming up into yours with bruising force, pace relentless, his cock driving into you again and again until the cot beneath you rattled and screamed in protest.

You clung to him, nails scoring over scarred muscle, head tipping back as every thrust dragged another raw sound from your chest. He swallowed some with his mouth, kissed others from your lips, but most he let spill free, his groans and curses tangled with your voice in the small room.

“That’s it,” Joel rasped, his voice rough and low, words breaking between thrusts. “Good girl. My good girl. Look at you, takin’ me so goddamn well.”

The praise sent heat burning through you, sharper than the pace he set, your body arching into his, chasing it, needing it. Your voice broke with another moan, your thighs trembling where he held you pinned in his lap.

Joel’s hand slid from your hip, dragging up over your back, through the damp sweat along your spine, across your ribs until it curved higher. His fingers traced the line of your collarbone, feather-light compared to the brutal rhythm of his hips.

You barely noticed at first - not until his fingertips ghosted the hollow of your throat, stroking there like he was mapping your pulse. His eyes caught yours then, dark, searching, unreadable through the blur of sweat and lust.

And when you didn’t pull back - when your mouth parted on a breathless moan instead - Joel’s fingers finally closed around your neck.

The pressure was gentle at first, testing, his thumb brushing along your jaw as though to give you an out. His grip kept you still, kept you pinned, his voice low and guttural against your ear.

“Goddamn… look at you,” he muttered, his hips pounding harder, driving you down onto him until you saw stars. “Letting me...” his grip flexed just enough to make your breath hitch, “...take every fuckin’ bit of you.”

A broken sound clawed up your throat, stifled under his hand, and Joel groaned like it was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard.

“Christ, darlin’, you sound wrecked... perfect girl.”

The cot screamed again under his thrusts, the rhythm punishing, ruthless. Your whole body shook against his, chest pressed to his, voice spilling ragged through his fingers.

And then your own hand moved. Trembling, reckless, you slid it up from his chest to cover his, pressing his palm tighter against your throat.

Joel froze for half a breath. His eyes widened, the sight of you - flushed, begging without words, holding his hand tighter against your neck - making something primal snap loose inside him.

“Fuck,” he growled, voice shaking with the force of it. “You want it like that? You want me to hold you down?”

Your only answer was the way your nails dug into the back of his hand, the way your body clenched hard around him, your mouth falling open in a silent plea.

Joel’s groan tore from his chest raw, broken. His grip tightened, firm, controlled, not cutting but claiming, his thumb tilting your chin so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him.

“That’s it, good girl. That’s it,” he praised, voice ragged, hips driving harder, deeper, until every thrust had your vision sparking. “Mine. All mine.”

Pinned in his lap, his cock relentless inside you, his hand firm around your throat, you couldn’t find words anymore - only the sounds he demanded, spilling raw and unfiltered as he fucked you harder than before.

And Joel, hearing every one of them, couldn’t get enough. 

His hand held your throat in that steady grip, fingers spread wide, the heat of his palm pressing your pulse. Not cutting, not cruel - just firm, commanding, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. His eyes never left yours, sharp even as sweat slicked his brow, his mouth open on ragged breaths.

Your body trembled in his lap, the brutal rhythm of his thrusts rattling your bones, stealing your breath. Each time his cock drove into you, his hand flexed faintly at your neck, enough to remind you that he was there, holding you, owning you in every way.

“Pretty thing,” Joel rasped, hips snapping hard, the cot shrieking under the weight of it. “Look at you takin’ it, still beggin’ for more.” His thumb brushed lazily along your jaw, his grip tightening just enough to make your next moan catch halfway up your throat.

Your eyes rolled back, tears pricking the corners, your hand tightening over his as if to say don’t stop. Joel saw it - felt it - and groaned so low it vibrated through his chest into yours.

“Fuck,” he muttered, fucking you harder, testing the tremble of your thighs around his waist. “You like it rough, huh? Like me holdin’ you down, keepin’ you right where I want you.”

The sound you managed was raw, strangled under his grip, your head tipping back into his hold, body clenching tight around him.

Joel slowed suddenly, pulling out almost to the tip, his cock dragging heavy through your soaked walls before slamming back into you, deep and hard. Your cry broke loose, muffled but sharp, and he did it again, again, each thrust deliberate, controlled, his eyes locked on the way your mouth parted uselessly under his hand.

“Yeah,” he rasped, voice shaking with restraint, “that’s it. Let me hear it, baby. Don’t you dare hold back on me now.”

But you tried - you bit back, your lips trembling shut, only your eyes giving you away. Wide. Desperate. Shining.

Joel cursed under his breath, his hips driving faster, punishing now. His hand flexed tighter at your throat, his thumb brushing your jaw as his gaze burned into you. “Fuckin’ look at me. Look at me while I ruin you.”

Your nails clawed at his shoulder, one hand still holding his at your throat, pressing him tighter, urging him on. The pressure made every thrust sharper, your breath catching in small bursts that only made Joel groan louder.

“Jesus Christ,” he growled, hips pounding you mercilessly. “You’re mine like this. You hear me? All mine.”

Your body shook, the tension snapping tighter, coiling deep in your core until your thighs quivered and your vision blurred. Joel felt it, sensed it in the way you clenched around him, the way your voice cracked even when you tried to hold it back.

“You’re close,” he muttered, his lips brushing your ear, his beard scratching your skin. His hand squeezed once more at your throat, his hips slamming deeper, rougher. “Don’t fight it. Give it to me. Want every fuckin’ bit of it.”

And you broke.

Your climax ripped through you hard, violent, your body arching into his hold as a choked scream tore free from your throat, caught under his hand but spilling raw all the same. Your walls clamped down on him, dragging every ragged sound from his chest.

Joel groaned deep, almost broken, his hips stuttering at the feel of you convulsing around him. His forehead pressed to yours, sweat dripping between you, his voice raw. “That’s it, darlin’. That’s my girl.”

He kept thrusting through it, drawing every last quake from your body, his hand firm at your throat until your tremors softened, your grip on him loosening.

Only then did he pull his hand back, cradling your jaw, kissing you hard as his hips bucked faster, losing rhythm. His breath tore ragged between curses, his cock twitching inside you.

With a sharp groan, Joel pulled free at the last moment, spilling hot across your stomach, his hips jerking once, twice, until he sagged against you, chest heaving.

For a moment, the only sound was your mingled breathing - ragged, wrecked, heavy in the close room.

Joel’s forehead rested against yours, his hand still on your jaw, thumb stroking once like an apology, though his voice when it finally came was nothing but hoarse truth.

“Goddamn… you’ll be the fuckin’ death of me.”

Chapter Text

The room was thick with heat and sweat, the air heavy, dampened by the rain still drumming on the roof outside.

You lay on your back, chest heaving, the cot’s thin mattress barely cushioning the trembling of your body. Every inch of you felt wrung out, stretched and raw in a way that had nothing to do with pain. Your throat was tender where his hand had been, your lips swollen, your skin marked from his grip.

And still you felt the ghost of him everywhere.

Joel sat at the edge of the cot, bent over, his forearms braced on his thighs, head tipped low as if he hadn’t quite caught his breath either. His shirt was half on, hanging open, his chest slick with sweat, scarred muscle rising and falling unevenly. His hands dangled loose between his knees, scarred knuckles flexing every so often, like even now he wasn’t sure what to do with them.

Neither of you spoke at first. The silence was thick, but not empty - every ragged breath you drew seemed loud, every shift of the cot ropes creaked like a confession.

Your eyes traced his back, the slope of his shoulders, the tension still etched deep in him even though the worst of the storm had passed. He hadn’t looked at you since he’d pulled out, since the heat broke.

You swallowed against the dryness in your throat. “Joel.”

His head lifted slightly at your voice, but he didn’t turn all the way. Just a grunt, low in his chest, like he was listening but wary.

You pushed yourself up on shaky elbows, the cot groaning. Your body ached, sore and satisfied in ways that made your cheeks flush even now. The words tangled in your mouth before they could form. What could you say? That it was too much? That it was everything you wanted? That you hated how much you wanted it again?

Joel finally dragged a hand over his beard, down his mouth, before glancing back at you. His eyes caught yours - dark, unreadable, but softened at the edges with something almost guilty.

“You alright?” he asked, voice rough, hoarse. It wasn’t small talk. It was the first thing he needed to know.

Your lips parted, something fluttering sharp in your chest at that. You nodded, though your voice came out thin. “Yeah. Just… still shaky.”

Joel gave a small grunt, half acknowledgment, half relief. He turned his gaze away again, staring at the floorboards, jaw tight.

The silence stretched, heavier now. You tucked the blanket higher over your chest, though it did little to erase the memory of his hands, his mouth, his voice like a brand pressed into your skin.

Finally, Joel stood. His knees cracked faintly as he straightened, his movements slower now as he grabbed his pants. He tugged his shirt properly over his shoulders but didn’t button it, and for a second, it looked like he’d leave without another word.

But he lingered.

One hand pressed over his mouth, then down to the back of his neck, fingers flexing there like he was dragging words up from a place that didn’t want to let go.

“This...” he muttered finally, voice low, almost to himself. “This wasn’t supposed to happen again.”

Your stomach twisted at the words, though you couldn’t say you hadn’t expected them. You hugged the blanket tighter, biting down on the swell of something sharp in your throat.

Still, you found yourself whispering back, “I know.”

Joel’s eyes flicked to you again, searching, heavy, like he didn’t trust what he’d find there. But you held his gaze, even as your pulse thudded in your bruised throat.

The room felt smaller for it. Closer.

He sighed through his nose, shaking his head once, like he was trying to convince himself more than you. “Nothin’ good comes from this.”

But the silence that followed between you said otherwise.

Joel shifted like a man caught between fight and flight. He gave one last look at the floor, then dragged his hand over his beard and turned toward the door.

Your stomach twisted, panic burning sharper than the ache in your body. He was really going to just leave - walk out like it hadn’t happened, like it hadn’t broken you open and rebuilt you in the same breath.

“Was it not good for you?”

The words tore out before you could stop them. They landed heavy in the small room, loud against the sound of rain tapering outside. Joel froze, his back stiff, his hand hovering near the doorframe.

You swallowed, voice trembling but sharper now, cutting through the silence. “Because it was good for me, Joel. One of the best things I’ve ever...” your throat worked, heat rising to your cheeks, “... and you’re telling me nothing good comes from this?”

He turned slowly, his eyes catching yours in the dim light. Dark. Heavy. The muscles in his jaw jumped.

“You don’t understand.” he muttered, low and strained.

“Then make me understand,” you shot back, clutching the blanket tight against your chest, your heart hammering. “Because I don’t see it. We...” your voice cracked, but you pushed on, “... we did something good tonight. Don’t you dare stand there and tell me different.”

Joel’s chest rose and fell, his breath uneven, his hands flexing at his sides like he wanted to grab hold of something and couldn’t.

“It was good,” he said finally, his voice rough, almost breaking. His eyes flicked away, then back, unwilling to lie about that part. “It was so good it scared the hell outta me.”

Your breath caught, words tangled in your chest.

Joel scrubbed a hand down his face, pacing two steps before stopping again, every part of him taut, stretched thin. “You’re young. Too young for me. And this...” he gestured sharply between you, his voice gruff, “... this don’t end well. Not in this world.”

The ache in your chest sharpened, your fingers digging into the blanket. “You think I don’t know how old you are? You think I care?” Your voice shook, raw with the sting of it. “What I care about is how you made me feel. How we made each other feel.”

Joel looked at you then, fully, the walls in his eyes cracking just enough to let the storm show.

“That’s exactly the problem,” he rasped, his voice breaking at the edges. “You make me feel too much.”

Silence swallowed the room, heavy and unsteady. Your throat tightened, your heart hammering against your ribs as you held his gaze.

And though neither of you said it out loud, the truth was already there, raw and dangerous: feeling too much in this world was a risk neither of you could afford. 

Your throat tightened around the silence, but you forced yourself to speak anyway, the words tumbling out rough, shaky.

“Then don’t make it more than it is,” you said, clutching the blanket tighter. “It’s just sex, Joel. That’s all. It’s good, so good... and we’re not hurting anyone.”

The words hung between you, flimsy, desperate, like maybe if you said them enough they’d be true.

Joel stood there a long moment, his chest rising and falling with sharp, uneven breaths. His gaze never left yours, but his eyes… they looked older suddenly, worn with something heavier than lust. Something you couldn’t name, not fully.

He shook his head once, slow.

“It ain’t just that,” he said, voice low, final. “Not for me.”

And then he turned, his hand finally pushing the door open. The hallway’s cool air spilled in, tugging the heat from the room with him as he stepped out.

The door closed with a soft click.

You stayed where you were, staring at the empty space he’d left behind, the echo of his words and his touch still pressed into your skin. 

Chapter Text

The morning after, you hadn’t waited for him.

When the first streaks of pale light slipped through the curtains, you’d pulled yourself together, stuffed your things into your pack, and left your key at the front desk of the trading post without looking back. You couldn’t face him - not after the words he’d left hanging in your room like smoke.

“It ain’t just that. Not for me.”

You carried those words like a stone in your chest all the way home, and for months afterward, they lingered. They haunted you in the quiet stretches of road, when your hands were busy and your mind had nothing else to cling to. They crept into your nights, too, into the moments when you closed your eyes and tried not to remember the way he felt inside you, the way his voice had broken when he called for you. 

You told yourself you weren’t going to think about him. And for the most part, you didn’t. Or at least, you pretended well enough. Whenever his face tried to creep into your thoughts, you shoved it down, reminded yourself that it was a mistake, that he’d said so himself.

But your body remembered. The phantom of his touch lingered longer than you’d ever admit.

And now, six months later, the same dirt road led you back to the trading post. Same walls, same heavy doors, same creaking bustle of voices bartering in the main hall. Same little rooms tucked away upstairs.

Your pack dug into your shoulders as you signed your name with the clerk, your heart hammering harder than it should have. It was supposed to be routine. A stop. Two days. In and out.

But the thought kept needling you: what if he was here?

You hated how the idea hollowed your stomach with dread and lit your chest with something sharp at the same time. Six months hadn’t dulled that ache - it had sharpened it into something you didn’t know how to hold.

You dumped your bag in your room, lingered longer than you should have, hoping the walls would steady your breathing. And then, like always, you went back down to the market.

The trading post was alive with the usual noise - boots scuffing on old wood, the tang of smoke and sweat and dried meat, voices haggling over furs, bullets, bottles. You wove through the stalls, head down, trying to disappear into it.

And then... 

You felt it before you saw him.

That shift in the air, that strange awareness at the back of your neck.

You lifted your head and your eyes found him across the crowded hall, like they were trained to do, like they’d been searching for him all along.

Joel Miller.

Older than the last time, maybe, or maybe it was just the way the dim light carved sharper shadows on his face. Broad shoulders under a worn jacket, hair longer, streaked with more gray. His eyes caught yours almost instantly, and the rest of the noise faded, like the whole room had narrowed to that one line stretched tight between you.

Your breath caught.

Six months of pretending. Six months of burying. Six months of telling yourself you didn’t want this.

And here he was.

A year.

A full year since the storm had pinned everyone inside the trading post and Joel had first kissed you like he hated you for it. A year since his hands had bruised your hips and his voice had rasped praise into your ear like he couldn’t stop himself.

And now, six months since the second time, here you were again.

The moment your eyes caught his across the crowded hall, you felt it. That same shiver, that same sharp awareness in your chest that made your skin too hot, too tight. A glance was all it took, and your body already knew how this night would end, no matter how much your head screamed against it.

You hated it. Hated the way your breath hitched, the way your pulse hammered in your throat. Hated the way he stood there, trying to look casual, jaw clenched, eyes dark and steady on you like he was already denying it in his head.

You turned away first, your hands curling into fists at your sides. Pretend you didn’t care. Pretend you didn’t want it. Pretend you didn’t remember how he felt between your legs, how his voice broke when he came undone with you.

But you did remember. Every bit of it.

And you hated him for it.

You moved through the stalls with sharper purpose, bartering for what you needed, your voice brisk, your hands shaking when no one was watching. You caught glimpses of him more than once - Joel standing near the corner table where he always traded, Joel checking over a stack of old tools, Joel talking low to another man.

Every time your eyes snagged on him, you told yourself to look away. And every time, it felt harder.

By the time the sun dipped lower, painting the edges of the hall in a softer glow, you could already feel the night clawing its way toward you. The pattern was too familiar now - avoidance, denial, hate simmering into something hotter - and the thought made you want to scream.

Because the worst of it wasn’t that you wanted him again.

It was that you knew he wanted you too.

Even from across the room, you saw it in the way his hand flexed on the table edge, in the way his gaze lingered too long before jerking away. A denial written in the tense line of his shoulders, in the way he carried himself like he was fighting the same battle you were.

And you hated him for that too - for pretending. For acting like he didn’t feel it when it was so damn obvious he did.

The sun slipped lower. The hall began to quiet as traders shuffled off toward the rooms upstairs, the common fires burning low. And still you felt it, crawling closer: the weight of the night pressing down on you both.

One glance. That was all it had taken.

And already you knew - this night would end like the others.

Even if he denied it. Even if you hated him for it. Even if you tried your hardest to act like you didn’t care.

It was only a matter of time.

The hours crawled.

The hall grew quieter as the sun sank, but you felt louder inside your own skin. Every step, every word exchanged with strangers sounded too sharp in your ears, your focus drifting no matter how you tried to ground yourself in the rhythm of bartering.

And every time, without fail, your eyes found him.

Joel leaned against the far wall at one point, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze somewhere over the crowd. But when someone passed between you, breaking the line of sight, you realized with a jolt he hadn’t been staring at the room. He’d been staring at you.

Later, you caught him at a stall, thumbing through a box of rusted screws and bolts like it mattered. But the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders hunched just so, told you he wasn’t seeing the box at all. His hand paused mid-shift when he noticed you in the corner of his eye. He didn’t look up, but he didn’t move either. Not until you forced yourself to walk away.

It was torture, this dance. Torture because neither of you spoke, neither of you crossed that invisible line. You moved through the trading post like strangers, and yet the current between you buzzed so sharp it made your throat tight.

The air itself felt heavier as the evening stretched on.

You found a seat near the fire pit when the hall grew thin, resting your hands in your lap as you watched the flames gnaw at old wood. Joel was across the way, seated at another bench, boots planted firm on the floor. His head was bent low, but you could see the flicker of the fire in his eyes when they flicked up, catching yours.

Just a glance. No words, no movement, no shift of expression.

But it was enough to set your chest burning, your palms damp.

You hated that he could do that without even trying.

You hated more that you wanted him to.

The fire popped, sending sparks into the air. Joel shifted, the sound of his boot scraping on wood louder than it should’ve been in the hushed hall. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and for a moment you thought he’d stand, that he’d come to you.

But he didn’t. He just sat there, staring into the fire like it could answer the questions eating both of you alive.

And you stayed on your side, fingers twitching against your thigh, your own body humming with the weight of unsaid things.

By the time people started drifting upstairs, one by one, the trading post felt like it was closing in on you both. Every step on the creaking stairs, every door shutting above, made the tension sharper, made the silence stretch.

You rose from your seat slowly, brushing ash from your pants, and when you lifted your eyes... 

There he was, already watching.

And you couldn’t look away.

Not even when you turned toward the stairs, your pulse racing with every step, knowing without a doubt he would follow.

Chapter Text

The stairs creaked beneath your boots, the low murmur of the hall falling away behind you. The corridor stretched long and dim, lanterns flickering weakly against peeling walls. Doors lined either side, most already shut, muffling the soft sounds of others settling in.

You rounded the corner, your breath tight in your chest, and froze.

Joel was there.

Standing by his door, his hand resting on the knob, his shoulders broad in the low light. He hadn’t gone inside yet. Like he was waiting.

His eyes lifted at the sound of your step, locking with yours instantly, and everything in you went still.

For a beat, neither of you moved. The world shrank to the narrow corridor, to the rough wood under your boots and the weight of his gaze dragging over you like it knew every inch already.

And in that moment you both knew.

It was happening again.

Your throat worked as you swallowed, your voice a whisper when it finally broke the silence. “Just one night.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, his nostrils flaring like the words stung even as they steadied him. He nodded once, curt, as though agreeing to a contract neither of you could possibly keep. “One night. Nothin’ more.”

But the way his hand fell from the doorknob, the way his body leaned almost imperceptibly toward yours, gave him away.

You stepped closer, your pulse a drumbeat in your ears. He didn’t back away.

The corridor was too quiet, the air too heavy with the weight of it, and before you could stop yourself, you breathed, “We keep saying that.”

His lips twitched, the barest hint of something like a grim smile, though his eyes were dark, storming. “And we keep provin’ ourselves liars.”

Your stomach dropped, heat curling low in your belly.

One step, then another, and suddenly you were standing close enough to feel his warmth radiate against your skin. Close enough that your breath hitched when his gaze flicked to your mouth.

The silence crackled, charged, ready to split wide open.

The moment his fingers brushed your wrist, the tension snapped like a wire stretched too far.

Joel’s hand closed firm around yours, pulling before you could even think to resist. His stride was sure, purposeful, dragging you down toward his room. The lantern light shifted across the hard planes of his face as he pushed his door open with his shoulder, tugging you inside.

The door clicked shut, the world outside falling away.

Then his hands were on you.

Quick. Rough. Desperate.

He crowded you back against the wall, the heat of his chest pinning you there as his mouth found the edge of your jaw. His beard scraped rough against your skin, his breath hot, uneven. “Told myself I wouldn't...” his voice was ragged, breaking between teeth against your throat, “...told myself... fuck.”

Your fingers fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer even as your back hit the wall harder. His hands were already working your clothes loose, fumbling with urgency, dragging fabric out of the way. The scrape of his palms over your skin was rough, unrelenting, as though he needed proof you were real under his hands.

You gasped when his mouth traced the sharp line of your jaw, his lips parting to suck against the tender spot below your ear. His teeth caught lightly, and you felt the answering ache pulse low in your stomach.

“Joel...” it left you half a moan, half a plea.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, his expression unreadable except for the hunger etched deep in the lines of his face. “Don’t say my name like that,” he rasped, his thumb dragging across your ribs. “Don’t... hell, don’t make me want more than tonight.”

Your chest heaved, your body trembling under the weight of him. “It’s just tonight.” you whispered, though even you didn’t believe it.

Joel didn’t answer, not with words. His mouth crushed against yours instead, lips hard and urgent, the kiss a clash of teeth and tongue. You tasted fire and whiskey and everything you’d tried to bury for six months, now spilling out with no restraint.

His hands roamed down, over your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise as he pulled you flush against him. You felt the thick press of him through his jeans, your own body reacting instantly, a low whimper caught in your throat as you arched toward him.

“Goddamn tease.” he growled into your mouth, dragging the hem of your shirt upward. You raised your arms without thinking, and he stripped it off quick, tossing it aside. His mouth was back on you before the fabric even hit the floor, teeth scraping over your collarbone, his breath hot against your chest.

Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, desperate to get to his skin, to feel the heat of him beneath your palms. Joel’s hands didn’t wait - he tugged at the waist of your pants, cursing low when the fabric caught.

“Too fuckin’ slow.” he muttered, his voice like gravel.

You laughed breathlessly, tilting your head back as his mouth found the curve of your throat again. “Not my fault you can’t handle buttons.”

He pulled back just enough to pin you with a look, one brow cocked, his breath ragged. “Careful,” he warned, voice low and dark. “You know what happens when you run that smart mouth.”

Heat flared in your belly at the memory, your pulse stuttering. You wanted it. You hated how much you wanted it.

And Joel saw it in your eyes.

His smirk was grim, dangerous, before his mouth was on yours again, harder this time, swallowing the sound you made as his hands shoved your pants down your thighs.

You stepped out of them clumsily, the wall rough against your back as he pressed in again, his hands already finding the bare skin of your hips.

“Mine,” he rasped against your lips, voice breaking. “For tonight. Mine.”

And you didn’t argue. You couldn’t.

Not when his mouth, his hands, his heat were all over you - claiming, taking, undoing you with every rough, hungry touch.

The kiss was a tangle of teeth and tongue, messy and unrelenting. Your fingers clawed at his shirt, desperate, tugging until the buttons finally gave way one by one, clattering faintly as the fabric pulled loose. Joel grunted into your mouth, half irritation, half hunger, shrugging out of it even as his hands slid up your torso.

His palms were rough against your skin, calloused thumbs brushing up over the swell of your breasts. He caught one in his hand, squeezing hard enough to make your breath hitch before his mouth followed, closing around your nipple with a heat that made your knees threaten to buckle.

A moan slipped from your lips, sharp and unfiltered. His beard scratched against your skin as he sucked, teeth grazing lightly, and it had you arching into him, pressing yourself against his chest.

But then - maybe because you couldn’t help yourself, maybe because you liked testing him - you let a breathless laugh slip out, tilting your head back against the wall.

“That all you’ve got, old man?” you teased, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging lightly as though daring him.

Joel froze for half a second, his breath hot against your chest. Then his mouth left your skin with a wet pop, his gaze dragging up to yours.

The look he gave you made your stomach twist, dark and warning. “Say that again.” he rasped, his voice low, gravel rough.

You smirked despite the pulse of heat between your legs, the brat in you rising bold. “I said...” your words hitched as his hand pinched at your other nipple, sharp enough to sting, “that maybe you’re slowing down. Must be an age thing.”

His hand flattened against your chest, holding you there, his lips curving in something not quite a smile. “You’re diggin’ your own grave, darlin’.”

Your pulse jumped, your smirk wobbling into a shaky grin. “Guess I’ll see if you’re man enough to prove me wrong.”

Joel huffed a sound that wasn’t quite a laugh, more a growl, low in his chest. His mouth claimed yours again, hard and punishing, his hands sliding down to your thighs, gripping with a force that made you gasp.

In one quick move, he lifted you, your back slamming lightly against the wall again as your legs wrapped around his hips instinctively. His mouth never left yours, devouring every sound, every breath as he pressed himself against your core, thick and unyielding through his jeans.

You whimpered, trying to roll your hips against him, but his hands tightened, holding you still. His kiss broke just long enough for him to rasp against your lips, “Careful, sweetheart. You wanted to play? I’ll play. But I promise, you won’t win.”

The bratty retort you meant to give died in your throat when his mouth latched back onto your chest, sucking hard, his teeth scraping just enough to leave your skin burning.

And you realized, with a sharp twist of heat and want, that maybe you hadn’t thought this through.

Joel shifted, pulling back just far enough to make you gasp for air before he moved. In one rough sweep, he turned, carrying you the few steps across the room until you met solid wood.

The dresser groaned under the sudden weight as he set you down, the edge biting into your thighs. He caged you in immediately, one broad hand pressing against your sternum, urging you to lean back until your palms found purchase against the cool surface.

Then he stilled, just long enough for your eyes to flick up and meet his.

“Right here,” Joel said, his voice low, steady, cutting through the ragged rhythm of your breath. He took your wrists, one at a time, and guided them flat against the dresser’s surface, palms open, spread wide. “Don’t move ’em. Not unless I tell you.”

The weight of his gaze made the command sink deeper than the pressure of his hands. He didn’t have to growl or shout - his voice was enough. His eyes were enough.

Your pulse hammered in your throat, your lips parting, a shiver chasing down your spine. And still, that spark of defiance lit up in your chest. “And what if I do?” you whispered, testing.

Joel leaned in close, his mouth brushing your ear, his breath hot and rough. “Then you’ll learn quick how bad I can make you beg.”

The warning settled deep, heat flooding through you. Your fingers twitched against the wood, itching to move already, but the way his eyes dragged over you - heavy, consuming - rooted you in place.

Joel’s hands moved then, slow and purposeful, sliding down your torso. His mouth followed, tracing the path with wet, open-mouthed kisses. Over the curve of your chest, across your stomach, each scrape of his beard leaving your skin burning.

Your hips jerked when he nipped just above your waistband, and he chuckled low, dark, a sound that vibrated against your belly. “Settle down.”

You swallowed hard, your fingers curling tight against the dresser’s edge.

Joel sank to his knees before you, his hands firm on your thighs as he pushed them wider. His eyes flicked up once more, pinning you in place. Stay. The command was there, silent but sharp, before his mouth lowered again, trailing fire down toward the heat you could no longer hide.

The anticipation had your whole body trembling, every nerve lit as you forced yourself not to break his command, not to move your hands from the dresser.

Joel didn’t waste time.

His mouth was on you immediately, hot and merciless, his tongue dragging through your folds like he was a man starved. A guttural sound rumbled in his throat - half a groan, half a curse - vibrating against you as if even he hadn’t meant for it to slip out.

Your hands clawed uselessly at the dresser, knuckles white as you tried to obey, to stay where he’d told you. But fuck, he was relentless. His beard scraped rough against your thighs, his mouth devouring you with no rhythm but urgency, like he was trying to make up for all the months in one breathless rush.

“Joel!” his name broke from you high and shaky, your hips jerking forward without your permission.

He growled into you, the sound reverberating sharp and hot. His tongue flicked harder, faster, coaxing whimpers from your lips until you were trembling, chest heaving. His hands pressed down on your thighs, pinning you wide, making it impossible to shy away from the assault.

It was too much, too good, and you couldn’t stop the heat coiling fast, pulling you higher. You bit down on your lip hard, desperate not to move, not to give in to the urge to grab him, to hold him right where you needed him.

And then his tongue shifted, pressing just right, and the world blurred. Your hips bucked, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as your hand shot out, burying in his hair.

The reaction was instant.

Joel’s mouth pulled away just long enough for him to land a sharp smack against your ass, the sound cracking in the dim room. You gasped, jerking from the sting, your eyes snapping open to find his gaze on you from between your thighs - dark, commanding, his mouth wet with you.

“Didn’t I tell you not to move?” His voice was gravel, low and dangerous, even as his lips glistened with the proof of how badly you’d needed him.

Your chest rose and fell, breathless, your fingers still tangled in his hair.

“I...” you tried, but your voice faltered.

Joel’s hand tightened on your thigh, his thumb pressing hard enough to bruise. “Hands. Back where I put ’em.”

The authority in his voice shot through you like lightning. Your hand trembled as you pulled it away from his hair, setting it flat against the dresser again.

Joel smirked faintly, shaking his head. “That’s better.”

Then he lowered his mouth again, merciless as ever, like the interruption had only fueled him more. His tongue lapped at you with brutal precision, dragging you higher and higher until you were half-sobbing, fighting to keep your palms against the dresser as your whole body begged to hold onto him, to anchor yourself against the storm he was tearing through you.

And all the while, his eyes flicked up, watching you break for him, watching you struggle to obey.

Like he’d missed it. Like he’d missed you.

And you were right there.

Your whole body trembled, strung tight as the fire coiled low in your belly, threatening to break you open. His mouth was unrelenting, his tongue hitting that spot over and over until your legs quivered and your fingers curled so hard against the dresser your nails ached.

And then... 

He pulled away.

The sudden loss of him made you choke out a sound that was more a sob than a gasp, your hips jerking forward in desperation.

The crack of his palm against your ass came quick, sharp, making you jolt with a strangled whimper.

“Joel!” Your voice was broken, caught somewhere between outrage and pleading. “What the hell?”

He leaned back just enough to glare up at you, his mouth glistening, his beard damp, his eyes dark as sin.

“That’s on you,” he rasped, his drawl rougher, thicker now. “Told you not to move, and you couldn’t listen.”

Your lips parted, words tumbling out too fast. “I couldn’t help it... you... God, you...”

Another sharp smack landed on your ass, your protest cut off with a gasp. Joel’s mouth twisted, the hint of a smirk ghosting his face.

“Excuses...” he said simply, his voice flat, heavy with authority.

You groaned, dropping your head back against the wall, your body trembling with need. “Please...”

Joel’s thumb traced lazily along the inside of your thigh, dragging higher, higher, but never where you needed. He waited until your breath hitched before speaking again, low and gravelly. “Gonna teach you patience, darlin’. Gonna make you feel every damn second.”

And then his mouth was back on you.

Not fast, not rough like before - this time it was slow. Torturously slow. His tongue licked broad, deliberate strokes that left you gasping, whining, every nerve on fire.

It wasn’t enough. It was everything.

Your hips tried to twitch forward again, instinct begging for more pressure, more speed, but his hands pinned your thighs wide, his grip like iron. You couldn’t move. Couldn’t chase what he refused to give.

“Stay still,” he murmured against you, his words vibrating where you were most desperate. “Let me take my time with you.”

Your whole body was trembling now, your fingers digging into the dresser so hard they hurt. Every drag of his tongue was maddening, too measured, too careful. You wanted to scream, to cry, to beg - and you did, your voice breaking with the words.

“Joel, please...”

But he only hummed low, slow, steady, as if savoring your desperation. As if the sound of you begging was sweeter to him than your climax could ever be.

You knew it the moment his pace didn’t change.

No matter how hard your hips twitched, no matter how desperately your breath stuttered, Joel stayed steady. Slow, deliberate licks that kept you strung up but never gave you the edge you were chasing.

“Joel, please.” you begged, your voice already wrecked, high and thin.

He hummed against you, the vibration making you shiver, but his tongue never sped up, never shifted.

“Fuck... don’t... don’t do this...” your voice broke as your thighs trembled. “Please, I’ll be good, I swear...”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his lips slick, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. His hands still gripped your thighs tight, pinning you in place like you weighed nothing at all.

“You’re already good,” he rasped, eyes dark, unreadable. “That ain’t the point.”

And then he was back on you, still slow.

The ache built sharp and hot, but it wasn’t enough. It wouldn't be enough, not at this pace. You were burning alive, body straining, and it felt like drowning just out of reach of air.

“Joel,” you cried again, your voice raw, head falling back. “Please... please, I need you.”

His tongue traced a long, lazy circle, your whimper caught in your throat as your hands clawed the dresser edge. You tried again, frantic now.

“I’ll do anything, just... just let me...”

A low chuckle rumbled against you, infuriating, devastating. He wasn’t even pretending to hide how much he enjoyed this.

“You sound real pretty beggin’ like that.” he murmured, not lifting his mouth this time, the words sinking right into you with every slow stroke of his tongue.

You whimpered, your thighs trembling so hard you thought you’d collapse. Every nerve in your body screamed for release, but he just kept going - teasing, deliberate, savoring.

Your pleas turned incoherent, a string of whimpers and half-words, your hips trembling with the effort of staying still even as your body begged to buck against him. You promised him anything, swore you’d listen, cursed him, praised him - all of it spilling out in a desperate mess, and still he stayed slow.

Joel was enjoying the show. Every twitch of your thighs, every crack in your voice, every desperate noise you made - he ate it up, his eyes flicking up to watch you break while his tongue moved steady and unhurried.

“Keep beggin’,” he rasped low against you. “Ain’t nothin’ sweeter.”

You didn’t even know what you were saying anymore. The words tumbled out in fragments, half-begging, half-prayers, your chest heaving as your body trembled under his unrelenting control.

But then - something slipped.

Not desperate, not bratty. Just broken.

“Please, Joel,” you whispered, voice cracking, soft and bare in a way you hadn’t meant it to be. “I need you... I need you.”

His movements stilled. Just for a second.

The words hung there, heavy, undeniable. And for the first time, his mask faltered - just a flicker in his eyes, something sharp and dangerous giving way to something softer, something that cut deeper than any teasing ever could.

Then he growled, low and guttural, and snapped.

His mouth sealed around your clit, sucking hard, relentless. The sudden rush of sensation ripped a cry from you, your knees buckling as you clawed the dresser for balance.

And then his hand was moving, one thick finger sliding inside you in one smooth push, curling just right.

“Fuck!” you sobbed, your voice breaking.

He didn’t let up. His tongue and lips worked your clit with ruthless precision, his finger pumping steady, curling deep until every nerve in your body lit up like fire. The change was so violent, so sudden after his teasing, that you couldn’t hold back - you were shaking, gasping, your vision blurring with the force of it.

“That’s it,” Joel rasped against you, his words muffled by your body, rough and low. “Take it. Give me every fuckin’ bit.”

Your thighs quivered uncontrollably, your hips rocking without thought, chasing him, no longer caring about disobedience or rules. All that mattered was him, his mouth, his hand, the way he finally - finally - let you have it.

The coil inside you snapped.

You shattered with a strangled cry, your whole body buckling as wave after wave tore through you. Joel held you steady, his mouth unrelenting, his finger curling deeper as if he wanted to wring every drop of release from you, to keep you breaking as long as your body could take it.

It was too much, it was perfect - it was Joel.

When you finally slumped forward against the dresser, panting, boneless, his mouth pulled back just slightly, his lips wet and swollen. His finger slid from you slowly, purposefully, and he kissed your thigh like a man claiming his prize.

“You sound fuckin’ wrecked,” he muttered, his voice a husky rasp that only made your chest tighten more. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever heard.”

You barely had time to breathe before Joel was on his feet, pulling you into him. His mouth crushed yours, messy and hot, tasting of you, his beard scraping your skin as his tongue slid against yours with the same hunger he’d just buried between your thighs.

It wasn’t a kiss, it was a claiming - desperate, bruising, everything you’d been denied until now.

He didn’t break it as he hauled you toward the bed, his grip on your arm firm, his body crowding yours until your knees hit the edge. He pushed, and you fell back onto the mattress with a gasp.

But you didn’t hesitate.

The moment your body hit the bed, you twisted, rolling onto your stomach, pressing your cheek to the sheets. Your arms stretched out lazily, boldly, and you arched your hips up just enough to make your meaning clear.

It was a dare.

The silence that followed was thick. Joel stood over you, chest heaving, his breath hot and heavy in the dim light. You didn’t need to see him to feel the way his gaze seared into you, the weight of it dragging over every inch of your body.

“Christ…” he muttered, his voice rough, wrecked.

Your lips curved against the sheets, smug, even as your heart hammered. “What’s wrong, old man?” you teased, breathless but still sharp. “Too much for you?”

There was a beat of silence, heavy, dangerous.

Then the sound of his belt unbuckling. The scrape of denim being shoved down.

And then Joel’s hands were on you.

One gripped your hip, hard enough to bruise, the other dragging down your spine, fingers rough and calloused as they mapped every ridge, every curve. He leaned down until his mouth was hot at your ear, his beard scratching your skin.

“You got no idea what you just asked for.” he growled, low and dangerous, his accent thick enough to shiver through you.

His hips pressed against your ass, his cock heavy and hard against you, and you couldn’t help the sound that broke from your throat.

Joel chuckled darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin. “Bold little thing… layin’ yourself out like this. Don’t you dare think I won’t take advantage.”

His teeth grazed your shoulder, sharp enough to sting, and his hand slid under you, finding the heat between your thighs again, stroking once - slow, deliberate - just to hear the noise you made.

“Gonna ruin you, darlin’,” he rasped. “Gonna make you forget your own name before I’m through.”

You felt his palm press flat against your stomach, rough and steady, his heat searing through the thin layer of your shirt.

Before you could even register what he meant to do, Joel’s strength pulled you up, your body shifting under his command. His hand guided you with effortless control, forcing your hips under him until you were on your knees, hands sinking into the mattress.

“All fours.” he murmured, low and rough, like an order more than a suggestion.

Your breath caught. The sheets bunched beneath your fists as your back arched, your ass pushing back into him without thought. Instinct. Need.

You gasped at the contact, the feel of him pressing hard and heavy against your bare skin, his cock hot and insistent against your ass. Your body moved closer, desperate to close the gap, to take him inside before you lost your nerve.

Joel chuckled behind you, low and dark, the sound curling hot in your belly. His hand slid from your stomach to your hip, gripping hard enough to make you whimper.

“Look at you,” he drawled, his voice thick, every syllable dripping heat. “Couldn’t even wait a second, could you?”

Your chest heaved, your cheek pressed to the sheets, but you still found the voice to answer. “Maybe I know what I want.”

Joel’s grip tightened, his thumb digging deep into your hip bone. He leaned down, his mouth grazing the shell of your ear, hot breath rolling over your skin.

“That so?” he rasped. “’Cause last I checked, I was the one decidin’ how this goes.”

He shifted his hips deliberately, dragging the thick length of his cock along your folds, slow and unyielding. The tease made your knees shake, your body twitching as you bit back a moan.

Joel groaned low, like the contact was as much torture for him as it was for you. “Goddamn, you’re so wet,” he muttered, voice wrecked. “Drippin’ all over me, beggin’ without even usin’ your words.”

His free hand slid up your back, fingers spreading between your shoulder blades before curling into the nape of your neck, steady, claiming. He pressed just enough to remind you who held the control, who set the pace.

“You stay right here,” Joel growled, pushing his cock against you again, slower this time, the head nudging at your entrance but not pushing in. “Don’t you move ’til I say.”

Your body trembled, need clawing at your insides, every nerve screaming to shove back, to take him now.

But his hand at your neck was firm. And God help you - you liked it.

Joel stayed still at first, the blunt head of his cock nudging just barely at your entrance, the promise of him making your whole body quake.

Then he dragged it back.

Slow. Torturous. Sliding through your folds, wet and aching, until the length of him pressed along your slick skin. His groan filled the room, low and guttural, his hand tightening at your hip.

“Jesus Christ…” he muttered, almost to himself. “You’re so fuckin’ ready for me.”

Your fingers clawed at the sheets, your chest heaving as you bit back a whimper. Every pass of him over your clit made you twitch, every drag through your slick folds left you gasping.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice raw, shaking. “Please.”

He gritted his teeth, groaning again as he dragged himself back, pressing the swollen head against your entrance once more - just a taste, just the edge - and then sliding up again, slick and slow, like he was torturing both of you on purpose.

Your hips trembled, instinct fighting against the command he’d given. You wanted to push back, to take him inside, but his hand at your neck and hip held you in place, his grip iron.

“You hear yourself?” he rasped, his voice tight, almost breaking. “Fuckin’ whinin’ for it. Barely touched you.”

You whimpered, breathless. “Because I need you.”

Joel swore under his breath, his control slipping. His cock twitched against you as he dragged again, slower this time, almost cruel. His jaw clenched, every line of his body strung taut like a bowstring.

And then - he lost it.

With a guttural groan, Joel drove forward, burying himself inside you in one deep, rough thrust.

The shock of it knocked the air from your lungs, a cry tearing from your throat as you clenched around him, your arms nearly buckling under the weight of it. He filled you so completely, so suddenly, that your vision blurred, your body straining to take him.

“Fuck,” Joel grunted, his head dropping forward, his breath ragged. His hand at your hip clamped down tighter, pulling you back onto him until he was seated to the hilt. “Goddamn.. so tight...”

You gasped, trembling, your body stretching around him, every nerve lit up with pleasure and pain and overwhelming fullness.

Joel held there a moment, his chest heaving, his cock pulsing deep inside you as if even he needed to catch himself. His hand flexed at the back of your neck, not pushing, just steady, grounding you to him.

“You feel that?” he rasped, voice thick, wrecked. “That’s me inside you. Right where I fuckin’ belong.”

The stillness didn’t last.

Joel’s hips drew back only halfway before he slammed into you again, hard enough to shove you forward on the bed. A strangled cry ripped from your throat as he found his rhythm fast - relentless, brutal, the sound of his hips slapping against you echoing through the room.

There was no pretense now. No patience, no punishment. Just the raw, urgent need to take.

His hand at the back of your neck pressed firm, not choking, but holding you steady, forcing you down into the mattress as he pounded into you. The weight of it was grounding and possessive, reminding you exactly who was in control even as you gasped and writhed under him.

“Goddamn it,” Joel grunted, his voice ragged, every thrust driving his words deeper. “Six fuckin’ months... and you’re still this tight around me.”

Your nails clawed at the sheets, the fabric tearing under your grip as you moaned, broken, incoherent. He was too much, too good, his cock dragging against every place inside you that made your vision go white.

Then his other hand tangled into your hair.

Slow at first - his fingers threading through the strands - before he closed his fist, gathering it tight at the base of your skull. He tugged, hard, yanking your head back so your neck arched, your moan tearing from your chest.

“That’s it,” Joel rasped, leaning close enough that his breath burned hot against your ear. “Take it. Take every inch of me.”

Your eyes squeezed shut, your mouth open in a silent cry as he fucked you harder, deeper, each thrust making the bed creak beneath you. The pull of your hair sent shocks down your spine, blending sharp pain with unbearable pleasure.

“Good girl,” he growled, his voice wrecked but steady. “My good fuckin’ girl.”

The praise broke you, your whole body quivering as you clenched around him, the heat pooling low in your belly threatening to explode.

Joel’s rhythm only grew harsher, faster, the sound of his grunts and your cries tangling together, filling the room like a storm. His grip on your hair tightened, his hips pistoning into you until you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but fall apart around him.

And he didn’t stop.

It hit you all at once.

The heat that had been building in your belly snapped, bursting like wildfire through your veins. Your whole body seized around him, your thighs trembling, your vision going white as your climax ripped through you with brutal force.

Your cry broke, raw and helpless, muffled against the sheets as Joel’s grip at the back of your neck tightened. He held you down, steady and unyielding, the weight of his hand grounding you as wave after wave crashed over you.

But he didn’t stop.

Joel’s hips kept driving into you, hard and fast, each thrust punching another sound out of your throat. The overstimulation hit sharp, your body quivering violently as your climax stretched, dragged out by the relentless pace of his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it,” Joel grunted above you, his voice wrecked, gravelly. “So fuckin’ tight when you come… squeezin’ the life outta me.”

Your fingers clawed uselessly at the sheets, your mouth open in a silent sob as his cock kept pounding deep, dragging you through the high until it was almost unbearable.

“Joel, I... please...” your voice cracked, your body twitching, but you weren’t sure if you were begging him to stop or begging for more.

He groaned low, his fist tightening in your hair, his other hand pressing harder at your neck until you could feel the power of him in every nerve.

“You can take it,” he rasped, his thrusts never faltering. “I know you can. Look at you... fallin’ apart for me, still takin’ every inch.”

Your body shook violently, overstimulated and raw, but the way he said it - like it was the only truth that mattered - made your walls clamp down around him all over again. Another wave rushed through you, weaker but still sharp, and you choked out a sob, collapsing against the mattress.

Joel groaned deep in his chest, his pace still brutal, as if he couldn’t bring himself to stop, couldn’t let the moment end. His cock slid in and out of you slick and fast, his breath ragged, his words thick with hunger.

“Good girl,” he growled, his voice low and broken. “Give me every last drop.”

And he just kept going.

Even as you trembled, your body still spasming from the high he’d dragged out of you, his hips never faltered. The steady slap of his skin against yours filled the room, his cock pounding deep, relentless, his hand on the back of your neck keeping you pinned like he refused to let you escape.

Your sobs turned into broken whimpers, your nails clawing at the sheets, every thrust shoving you higher against your will. It was too much, unbearable - yet your body betrayed you, clenching tight around him, the fire coiling low again.

Joel’s breath hitched at the feel of it, his groan guttural. “Goddamn...” he rasped, voice breaking, “you’re gonna come again for me. I can feel it.”

You shook your head, whining, but it was useless. His pace was merciless, every thrust hitting so deep it stole the air from your lungs. His grip on your hair yanked your head back, forcing you to arch, forcing you to take.

“Do it,” Joel growled into your ear, his words sharp and ragged. “Give me another one.”

And you did.

The second climax ripped through you harder than the first, brutal in its intensity. Your body seized around him, choking his cock tight, your cry breaking raw in the back of your throat as the pleasure scorched through your nerves.

Joel groaned loud, wrecked, his rhythm finally faltering as he felt you convulse around him. His hips stuttered, thrusts turning sloppy, desperate.

“Fuck...” he bit out, voice strangled, “I... fuck.”

He pulled out fast, chest heaving, his fist wrapping tight around himself, pumping quick, rough strokes. His other hand pressed against your back, holding you down as he hovered behind you, trembling, close - so close.

But before the heat of it could spill, you moved.

Twisting, breathless and spent but determined, you shoved yourself up on shaking arms and turned toward him. Joel’s eyes widened, startled, as you leaned down, your hand wrapping around his wrist and shoving it away.

And then your mouth was on him.

The blunt, swollen head of his cock slid past your lips before he could even comprehend what was happening, your tongue circling him in one slick, eager stroke. His groan tore out of him, raw and guttural, his hand instinctively tangling in your hair - not to push, not to stop, just to hold.

“Jesus Christ...” he gasped, his whole body jerking as your lips closed around him, sucking hard, your mouth swallowing his broken moan.

For the first time that night, Joel wasn’t in control. 

His hand flexed in your hair, his knuckles white, his breath sawing out of him ragged and uneven.

“Sweetheart, fuck, wait...” he tried, voice wrecked, but you ignored him, pressing lower, inch by inch, your throat straining as you fought to take more of him.

His cock was thick, heavy, your lips stretching wide, the weight of him choking you as you forced yourself down further. Your eyes watered, your chest heaving, but you didn’t stop. Not when his hips twitched, not when his groans deepened into something raw and guttural.

When your nose brushed his skin, when you finally had him buried fully down your throat, Joel swore loud, a broken string of curses tearing from his chest.

“Goddamn... Jesus fuck...”

His head tipped back, eyes squeezed shut, his chest rising hard and fast. The fist in your hair trembled, not pulling, not guiding - just holding on for dear life.

And then you pulled back just slightly, your throat easing, your lips sealed tight around him as you sucked hard.

Joel’s eyes snapped open.

The sight of you nearly broke him - your lips swollen around his cock, your eyes glassy but locked on his, steady, daring, not letting him look away.

That was all it took.

A strangled groan ripped out of him, deep and wrecked, as he spilled hot and thick down your throat. His body jerked, shuddering, his grip on your hair tightening as if he could anchor himself against you.

You swallowed as much as you could, but he was too much, spilling past your lips. Drops slid down your chin, hot streaks catching on the corners of your mouth, glistening as you kept him in your mouth, still sucking, still working him through the aftershocks.

Joel’s breath hitched violently, his legs trembling, his eyes locked on yours as if the sight alone might undo him all over again.

“Fuck...” he rasped, voice broken, “look at you...”

And you didn’t let go.

Even as his cock twitched, even as his groans turned ragged and desperate, your lips stayed sealed, your tongue moving slow, deliberate, drawing every last drop from him. Your gaze never faltered, even as tears streaked your cheeks, even with the mess dripping down your chin.

Joel’s hand trembled where it tangled in your hair, his chest heaving, his eyes dark and wide with something he couldn’t name. Something more than lust, heavier, scarier.

But you didn’t stop. You kept him in your mouth, soft and steady, until his whole body slumped, undone by you in a way he hadn’t let himself be undone by anyone in years.

And for the first time, Joel Miller had nothing to say.

You held his gaze, your lips still stretched around him, his cock softening against your tongue as you gave one last, slow drag of suction. Joel shuddered, groaning low in his chest, his hand still trembling in your hair.

And then, with deliberate slowness, you let him slip free.

Your mouth released him with a wet, obscene pop, a string of his release stretching between your lips and the flushed tip before breaking and falling, joining the mess already smeared across your chin. Drops slid lower, staining your throat, glistening in the low lamplight.

Joel’s breath hitched sharp at the sight.

“Jesus Christ...” he rasped, voice raw and disbelieving. His chest heaved, sweat gleaming at his temples, his eyes locked on yours like he couldn’t look away even if he tried.

You swallowed what you could, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, but it didn’t matter - you were still a mess, flushed and wrecked and staring at him with those bright, daring eyes.

Joel’s hand cupped your jaw, his thumb swiping over the corner of your mouth, smearing the slick instead of cleaning it. His gaze softened, dark and reverent, even as his voice shook.

“Good girl,” he whispered, the words breaking out of him unbidden. “Fuckin’ hell... you’re somethin’ else. Took me so goddamn good.”

Heat curled in your belly at the praise, at the way his tone had shifted from rough to almost tender, like he couldn’t help himself.

His thumb traced your swollen bottom lip, slow, his eyes still burning into yours. “So pretty like this. So fuckin’ perfect with my cock in your mouth.”

You shivered, thighs clenching, your body still humming from the aftermath of what he’d done to you moments ago. And Joel kept going, the words spilling out of him now, unstoppable.

“Didn’t think I’d ever see that.” he admitted hoarsely, shaking his head like he didn’t believe it even as it sat in front of him. 

His forehead pressed briefly to yours, his breath hot and uneven, his thumb still stroking your lips like he couldn’t stop touching you.

And you realized - Joel Miller, who had spent months fighting this, denying it, who had tried to walk away more times than you could count - couldn’t stop himself from praising you when you were like this. Couldn’t stop himself from giving you the thing you craved most.

Chapter Text

Your body felt heavy, boneless, every muscle still trembling with the aftershocks of what Joel had wrung out of you. You barely registered the mattress beneath your back, the sheets cool against sweat-damp skin, or the fact that you’d somehow ended up sprawled in his room instead of your own.

What you did feel was him.

Joel leaned over you, his broad frame blotting out the lamplight, his chest still heaving, sweat dripping from his hairline. His hand, big and warm, brushed over your cheek, his thumb swiping lazily across the mess you hadn’t cleaned. He didn’t seem to care.

“Christ...” he muttered, voice rough and low, like gravel. His lips brushed your temple in a fleeting kiss, almost accidental. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

You groaned faintly, your head turning against the pillow. “Don’t start...”

But he didn’t stop.

“Pretty thing,” Joel whispered, his thumb sliding to trace your jaw. “So goddamn good for me. Couldn’t look away. Couldn’t stop watchin’ you.”

His words washed over you, sinking deep. Too much. Too close. And yet, you found yourself leaning into the heat of his palm, your eyes fluttering closed against your will.

“Joel…” you mumbled, half protest, half plea.

He hushed you, his mouth ghosting over your damp hairline. “Shh. Just listen. You got no idea how perfect you were, takin’ me like that.”

Your heart stuttered, and you tried to hold onto his words, but your body had its own plans. The weight of exhaustion pulled you under - your limbs leaden, your mind fogged. You realized, dimly, that you were still in his bed, not across the hall where you should’ve been. That you’d promised yourself this would be nothing more than stolen moments, not… this.

Not lying here, skin still tingling from his touch, listening to him whisper things he’d never admit in daylight.

Joel shifted beside you, lowering himself slowly until the mattress dipped with his weight. His arm draped heavy over your waist, a tether you hadn’t asked for but couldn’t pull away from.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured against your hair, voice already softening with fatigue. “Nothin’ but trouble.”

You wanted to argue, to remind him it was his hand that had dragged you into his room, his mouth that had whispered praises until you melted. But your lips barely parted before sleep claimed you, pulling you under with the warmth of his body still wrapped around you.

Joel stayed awake a while longer, his hand rubbing absent circles against your hip, his gaze fixed on the dark ceiling. He told himself he should’ve made you leave, that this was crossing a line he couldn’t afford to.

But then your breath evened, soft and steady against his chest, and he knew he wouldn’t. Couldn’t.

Not tonight.

The first thing you felt was the shift of the mattress.

Your eyes cracked open to a pale wash of early light filtering through the cracked blinds. The air was cooler now, the damp heat of last night gone, and the space beside you was empty.

Joel’s silhouette stood a few steps away, his back turned to you as he tugged on his shirt. The fabric stretched over the broad lines of his shoulders, the muscles moving as he worked it down. His hair was damp at the edges, combed back with nothing but water and his hands, and his boots were already laced.

You blinked, your mouth dry, your body sore in all the places he’d left his mark. The memory of his hands, his mouth, his voice - all of it - settled like hot coals under your skin.

Joel noticed you stirring before you could say anything. His head turned just slightly, enough for you to catch the edge of his profile, the crease of his brow.

“Mornin’.” he said. Rough, but not unkind.

You swallowed, pushing yourself up onto your elbows. “Mornin’.”

Silence stretched between you, taut as a rope, until Joel bent to grab his pack from the floor. He slung it over his shoulder with practiced ease, the motion almost too casual.

“You sleep all right?” His voice was softer now, maybe even cautious.

You nodded, though the truth was you felt like you hadn’t slept much at all. Not with the memory of his voice praising you echoing in your head, not with the weight of his arm across your waist until it finally slipped away. “Yeah. You?”

“Fine.” A pause, then a half-shrug. “Didn’t get much, but… I’m used to that.”

Your eyes dropped to your hands, fidgeting in your lap. The urge to say something real - to ask if he meant last night, if he regretted it - sat heavy on your tongue. But you swallowed it down.

Instead, you muttered, “Guess the rain didn't come this time. People’ll be leavin’ soon.”

Joel grunted, adjusting the strap on his pack. “Yeah. Roads’ll be clear. Oughta make the most of it.”

The words were safe. Too safe. Like the two of you hadn’t just clawed at each other in the dark, hadn’t lost yourselves in the kind of heat that still burned behind your ribs.

You wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but instead you just nodded, eyes darting everywhere but him.

Joel lingered at the door, his hand on the knob. For a moment, it looked like he might say something else - something heavier, truer. His mouth parted, his shoulders tense.

But what came out was simple. “Get some food before you head out. You’ll need it.”

The click of the latch was louder than it should’ve been when he stepped into the hall, leaving you alone in his room, your pulse still uneven.

You sat there a long while, staring at the empty space he’d left behind, your chest aching with everything he hadn’t said - and everything you hadn’t dared to.

The silence pressed in, heavier than his hands had been the night before, heavier even than the ache that still throbbed deep in your bones. Joel was gone. You knew you couldn’t linger here, not with the smell of him on the sheets and the way your mind replayed every rasp of his voice.

So you forced yourself up.

Your legs trembled when they touched the floor, a reminder of how thoroughly he’d taken you apart. You grabbed the first piece of clothing within reach - your shirt from last night, wrinkled and half inside out - and tugged it over your head. Your underwear was nowhere in sight, lost somewhere on the floor, and the thought of wasting time looking for it made your stomach knot. You didn’t dare risk running into him again, not like this, not when you could still taste him in the back of your throat.

Pants. That was all you needed. You found them bunched near the dresser, dragged them on clumsily, your hands shaking more than they should’ve. No socks, no boots on - just enough to get you across the hall.

You eased the door open. The corridor was empty, thank god. Only the faint groan of wood settling under the old structure, the hush of voices somewhere far below.

You slipped out, bare feet silent against the floor, your heart hammering as if you were doing something wrong. As if anyone who saw you now would know.

It was only a few steps to your door, but each one felt stretched out, like the hallway itself conspired to expose you. When you finally slipped inside your own room, closing the door with a soft click, you exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for hours.

Leaning back against the wood, you pressed your palms to your face.

This was getting dangerous.

You forced yourself to move, to tidy up, to change into fresh clothes before heading downstairs. Maybe if you looked normal enough, if you acted normal enough, no one would see the tremble in your hands, the way your lips still felt swollen from his mouth.

Breakfast smells drifted up - something fried, something warm. Your stomach growled, but your chest still felt hollow.

He didn’t go far, not at first.

Joel had left the room with every intention of walking straight out, of putting as much space between himself and you as the day would allow. But his boots slowed at the bottom of the stairs, his hand curling tighter around the strap of his pack.

He should’ve gone. Should’ve made for the stables, the gate, anywhere but here.

Instead, he stood in the quiet, watching the flicker of the oil lamps against the wall, his jaw tight. He could still feel the press of your skin against his palms, the burn of your breath against his throat. The memory of your eyes locked on his, his throat dry.

It had been too much. Too reckless. And worse - it had been too good.

Joel ran a hand over his face, exhaling hard. What scared him wasn’t what had happened, but how easy it had been to let it happen. Again. No hesitation, no pause. Like his body had known what it wanted before his mind could remind him of the rules he’d drawn for himself.

You were dangerous. Not because of what you could do to him, but because of what you already had.

The sound of a door clicking upstairs reached him faintly. His eyes lifted toward the ceiling, his chest going tight again. He knew it was you. Slipping back into your room like you’d never been in his.

Joel gritted his teeth, forced himself to move, and finally walked out into the morning air.

The cold hit him sharp, and for a moment he thought maybe it would clear his head. But the truth was, no matter how far he walked today, no matter how much work he buried himself under - he knew he’d still hear your voice when he closed his eyes tonight. He’d still feel your hands on him. He’d still wonder what would’ve happened if he’d stayed.

And that was the part he couldn’t afford.

The trading post’s dining room was already half full when you came down. Rough wooden tables, mismatched chairs, bowls and mugs clattering as people shoveled in quick meals before setting out. The air was heavy with the smell of fried potatoes, weak coffee, and too many bodies crammed into one room.

You kept your head down, tray in hand, telling yourself you’d find a corner seat, eat quick, and be gone before anyone had a chance to look too closely. Before he had a chance.

But when you slid into the seat at the far wall, you caught movement in the corner of your eye.

Joel.

He was already there, sitting a few tables over, hunched slightly with a mug between his hands. His plate was half-finished, his pack leaned against the leg of his chair. He hadn’t shaved, his hair was mussed from the cold morning air, and yet he looked… steady. Solid. Like Joel always did.

Your stomach flipped.

For a moment, you thought maybe he wouldn’t notice. But of course he did. His eyes flicked up, catching yours across the distance. Not sharp. Not heavy. Just… there. Quiet.

And somehow that was worse.

You looked down fast, pushing your fork through the pile of food on your plate. But it didn’t matter - you heard the scrape of his chair, the steady tread of boots against wood. By the time you dared glance up, Joel was there, setting his mug down on your table before he sat opposite you.

He didn’t ask. He just did it.

“Food’s better than it looks,” he said finally, voice low. His eyes flicked to your plate. “You’ll wanna eat most of it. Don’t know when the next decent meal’ll be.”

You almost laughed, because of all the things he could’ve said, he chose that. Something plain. Something easy.

So you played along. “Better than it looks, huh? That’s a low bar.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. “Fair.”

Silence settled for a beat, the noise of the room buzzing around you both, until Joel leaned back a little, cradling his mug in both hands. “Roads should hold clear for a while now. Sun’s out, ground’s firm.”

“Good,” you murmured, stabbing a piece of potato with your fork. “Means everyone’ll be eager to get moving.”

“Mm.” He took a sip, his gaze steady but softer than it should’ve been. “Safer when the groups stick close.”

It was small talk. That’s all. Weather, food, travel. But the longer it went, the more it shifted. Joel’s voice evened out, yours loosened. The words stopped feeling like shields and started sounding like… conversation. Real conversation.

You asked about the trade routes he’d been running, and he told you about a collapsed bridge that had forced him two days off course. He asked about your community, and you found yourself describing a new patch of crops you’d helped plant in the spring.

It wasn’t heated. It wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t anything but two people sitting across a table, sharing the kind of talk you’d never expected from him.

And it felt - dangerously - like something you could’ve gotten used to.

You realized too late that you were smiling at something he’d said. Joel saw it, his eyes lingering a fraction longer than they should have, the corner of his mouth tugging again like maybe he wanted to return it.

But then his gaze dropped to his plate, and the moment passed.

The scrape of chairs around the room signaled others leaving, and soon enough, you’d both have to do the same. Joel stood first, his hand curling around the strap of his pack, the weight of it slung easily over his shoulder.

He looked at you once more, and though the words that left his mouth were simple, his tone wasn’t.

“Safe travels.” he said.

You nodded, your throat tight. “You too.”

And just like that, it was over. Mundane, ordinary. And yet it left a warmth in your chest you couldn’t shake, even as you shouldered your own bag and walked out in the opposite direction.

Chapter Text

The fourth time came without warning.

The familiar creak of the trading post’s heavy doors, the faint tang of wood smoke and stale ale, the clamor of voices haggling over goods - it all washed over you as you stepped inside. You’d told yourself this trip would be quick. In, out. Straight business.

And then you saw him.

Joel.

Leaning against a counter near the back, his shoulders broad under his worn flannel, a small stack of goods laid out before him. He hadn’t noticed you yet - his head was bowed slightly, listening as a trader rattled off prices. But it didn’t matter. The sight of him was enough to set your pulse skittering, to drag every memory you’d spent six months burying back to the surface.

You forced your feet to move, jaw tight. You weren’t going to let him ruin this. Not again.

Keep your head down. Focus. Ignore him.

That became your mantra as you wove through the narrow aisles, your pack heavy on your shoulder. Every time you caught a flicker of movement at the edge of your vision, you shut it out. Every time your body tensed, waiting for his eyes to find you, you reminded yourself you had no reason - no reason - to give him even a glance.

You bartered harder than usual, quicker, sharper. Your voice clipped, your hands steady as you traded away your goods for the essentials your community needed. Bandages. Dried beans. Ammunition. You should’ve felt proud at how efficient you were, how little your gaze wandered.

And yet... 

The memory of his hand on the back of your neck, of his voice rasping praise in the dark, burned through every thought like a brand. The rare softness of his words over breakfast - ordinary, human - echoed louder than you wanted to admit.

You clenched your jaw tighter, pretending not to notice the way your heart beat faster every time boots scraped against wood behind you, every time the air shifted with the weight of someone tall passing close.

Joel was here. You knew it. You felt it.

But you were determined: this time, you wouldn’t let him in.

And the day stretched long inside the trading post.

People came and went, voices overlapping in the crowded market, the floor creaking under boots, the smell of smoke and bodies and old wood clinging to everything. You kept your head down, your pack lighter with each exchange, your ledger of trade goods steadily filling.

And you avoided him.

Every time you caught sight of Joel - an elbow leaning against a stall, his hand gesturing for a price, his voice low and rough as he bartered - you turned your eyes elsewhere. You walked a longer path to another table, feigned interest in something you didn’t need, bent too long over your own notes just so you didn’t risk looking up.

It worked, mostly.

Until it didn’t.

Mid-afternoon, as the crowd thinned, you turned from one vendor with a small sack of beans in hand, only to find him right there. Close. Too close. His broad frame filled the narrow space between tables, the line of his jaw shadowed with stubble, his eyes locking on yours with the kind of weight you’d felt in your bones before.

For a moment, your throat tightened, your breath catching like it always did.

But then you forced yourself to move. You brushed past him, muttering a quick, neutral “Excuse me.” without even looking up.

No teasing. No spark. Nothing.

You didn’t see his brow furrow as he turned, his eyes following you as you slipped into the crowd again. You didn’t see the way his shoulders stiffened, like your distance cut sharper than the insults you used to throw at him.

He hadn’t expected this.

For months he’d told himself it was better this way. Hell, he’d told you enough times. No good would come of this. One night, that’s it. No more.

And yet - watching you now, darting away every time his path crossed yours - he found himself unsettled.

Joel wasn’t blind. He saw the way you looked down too fast, the way your jaw tightened when you turned your back to him, the way your voice stayed clipped and short if you couldn’t avoid speaking altogether.

It wasn’t indifference. It was… deliberate.

You were ignoring him.

And for the life of him, Joel couldn’t understand why that sat so wrong.

He’d been the one to keep his distance before, to walk out before dawn, to set the rules neither of you ever managed to follow. But something about the way you wouldn’t even meet his eyes now - like he wasn’t worth the breath - made his chest ache in a way he didn’t have words for.

By the time dusk crept through the old windows, Joel realized he hadn’t bartered half the things he meant to. His attention kept slipping, his focus scattered. Every sound in the hall made him turn, searching for you, even when he told himself he shouldn’t.

And when he finally saw you heading toward the stairs with your bag slung over your shoulder, he stayed rooted to the spot. Watching. Confused.

For the first time, Joel Miller didn’t know what he wanted more - another night in your bed, or just a single word from your mouth.

Evening settled over the trading post like a heavy blanket, pressing shadows into every corner. The long day of haggling and exchanging wore everyone down, so as usual, the common room filled with people lingering before bed - cups of weak ale in their hands, tired voices rumbling through the air.

Your group claimed one end of the long table, half the benches already packed. It was easier to sit than to pace, easier to keep your head down and your hands busy than to risk the chance of colliding with him again. You’d made it through the day with only the barest interactions - short words, clipped tones, nothing to give him even a crack to slip through.

And then, of course, Joel’s group sat down at the same table.

It was inevitable; there weren’t many seats left, and nobody cared about your private storms when the end of the world demanded cooperation. You felt him before you saw him, the weight of his presence hitting you like a bruise blooming deep inside your chest.

You didn’t look. Didn’t dare.

Instead, you focused on the person beside you, asked questions you barely listened to the answers for, nodded at a story you didn’t register. Your laughter - forced and sharp - came a beat too late. Every muscle in your body screamed with the effort of pretending you didn’t feel Joel sitting just across the table.

And God, you felt him.

The scrape of his chair legs against the floor when he shifted. The low rumble of his voice when he finally joined in the conversation. The occasional sound of his cup hitting the wood.

You didn’t let yourself glance up, didn’t let your eyes trace the curve of his hands around the mug or the flex of his jaw when someone said something that made him smirk. You stayed locked into your performance - distant but polite, careful but deliberate.

Because you couldn’t let him close again.

Yes, every night with him had been heaven - an overwhelming, blinding rush that made the rest of the world fall away. But every morning after had been a slow agony. His silence. His refusals. His insistence that none of it meant anything.

And the months between? That was the worst of all.

The waiting. The wondering. The ache of knowing you’d have to pretend it never happened.

It wasn’t sustainable. You weren’t willing to break yourself over him anymore.

So you kept your head down, even when his voice deepened, cutting close to your side of the table. Even when your name slipped from his lips in some practical, group-directed question, you answered with a clipped word, no eye contact.

And Joel noticed.

He watched the effort.

He saw the way you leaned too far toward the person beside you, your shoulders angled sharp as if you could turn your whole body into a wall. He noticed the way your eyes skipped the table whenever his hands moved, the way you kept your cup raised to your lips a moment too long just to avoid speaking.

Joel wasn’t a fool. He’d been the one pushing you away before, putting up walls between every stolen night. He’d told himself it was for the best - that you deserved someone younger, freer, someone who wouldn’t leave you to carry months of silence like stones in your chest.

But now?

Watching you deliberately shut him out - no teasing, no sparks, not even a damn glare - it twisted something inside him he didn’t have words for.

This wasn’t indifference. He could tell. This was a choice.

And it confused the hell out of him.

He found himself quieter than usual, slower to join the chatter around the table, his gaze betraying him every time it drifted your way. When one of his own companions cracked a joke that had the table laughing, Joel’s chuckle came late, half-hearted - because he was too busy tracking the way you didn’t even smile.

By the time plates were cleared and people started peeling off toward their rooms, Joel still hadn’t figured out why the sight of you shutting him out cut sharper than your teasing or your heated bickering ever had.

And yet, as you stood and excused yourself - still without looking his way - Joel’s hand twitched on the table, like it wanted to reach out, stop you.

He didn’t.

Instead, he sat there in silence, his chest tight, the taste of unanswered questions bitter on his tongue.

Joel lingered long after most had gone upstairs.

The common room had thinned to just a handful of stragglers, their quiet talk and the scrape of chairs echoing too loud in the open space. His mug sat empty before him, untouched for the better part of an hour, his hand resting heavy on the table.

He told himself he was waiting for the room to clear. Told himself he didn’t want to deal with sidelong looks or whispered assumptions if anyone saw him head up the stairs at the same time as you.

But deep down, Joel knew better.

He was waiting.

Not that he’d ever admit it. Not that he even understood what, exactly, he was waiting for.

But when the last pair of men finally pushed through the doors and the post quieted to its nighttime hush, Joel finally stood. His knees cracked as he did, the weight of age reminding him of itself with every step. He climbed the stairs slow, boots dragging, the creak of wood too loud in the narrow hall.

The corridor stretched dim, lit by a lantern at one end. Doors lined both sides, some closed tight, others with the faint sound of sleep behind them. Joel counted down the steps to his own, that dull sense of resignation gnawing at him with each one.

Maybe the pattern had finally broken.

Maybe she’d meant it this time - no more nights, no more mistakes.

And hadn’t he wanted that? Hadn’t he spent a year telling himself no good could come of it? Shouldn’t he feel relief instead of this hollow ache in his chest?

His hand curled around the latch of his door, ready to shove inside and close it on the empty quiet... 

And then he froze.

Because just a few feet down the hall, another door opened.

You stepped out, the dim lantern light spilling across your face, catching the shadows under your eyes. Your hair was mussed from the long day, your jacket half pulled on like you weren’t even sure why you’d bothered.

And for a long, breathless second, neither of you moved.

The air between you stretched thin, thrumming with the weight of everything unsaid - the restraint of the day, the unspoken denial of the nights before, the ache that hadn’t dulled even after months apart.

Your eyes met his.

And Joel felt something in his chest shift.

Not sharp like the fights. Not desperate like the sex. Just… inevitable.

He swallowed hard, fingers still tight on the latch of his door, forcing himself to speak - but his voice came out lower, rougher than he meant.

“…Headin’ somewhere?”

Your answer caught in your throat, softer than you wanted. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Joel’s jaw worked, the muscle ticking as he searched your face. And for once, he couldn’t bring himself to look away.

Chapter Text

Joel took your words - couldn’t sleep - as the opening they really were.

His hand slipped from the latch of his door, boots already carrying him down the narrow hallway toward you. His shadow stretched long in the lantern light, his gaze locked on yours in a way that made your chest tighten.

And for a moment, you let him come.

Until something in you snapped. 

“Stop.” you said, sharper than you meant, your hand flying up between you like it could ward him off.

Joel’s steps slowed, but they didn’t halt. His brows pulled low, that familiar furrow digging deep into his forehead as he looked at you like you’d just spoken another language.

“Stop?” he repeated, his voice rough, colored with disbelief.

“Yeah. Stop.”

The silence stretched taut between you, voices from another corridor carrying faintly through the walls. And for the first time all day, you forced yourself to hold his eyes.

And it was like a match striking dry tinder.

“What’s all this then?” Joel asked, his tone edged now, a frustrated rasp. He took another step toward you, close enough now that you had to tilt your chin up to meet his stare. “What’s the problem all of a sudden?”

You laughed, bitter and thin. “You really don’t know?”

Joel’s jaw ticked, his hand flexing at his side, his voice low. “You’re actin’ like I shot your damn dog. What’s got you...”

“You.” you cut in, the word escaping before you could stop it. It landed sharp between you, heavier than either of you expected.

His mouth shut, the weight of the single word pinning him in place.

Your breath came hard, chest tight, but once it was out, you couldn’t stop yourself. “It’s you. That’s the problem.”

The corridor had emptied but for the two of you, the silence in its wake almost suffocating. And then the creak of another door made your stomach drop. A man shuffled out from the far end, his boots dragging on the warped floorboards, eyes heavy with exhaustion. He barely glanced your way, but the sound of his steps coming closer was enough to send panic flaring in your chest.

The last thing you wanted was someone catching you and Joel, voices sharp, standing too close in the dim hall.

“Inside.” Joel muttered, already reaching past you for the door. His voice left no room for argument, and though you bristled at the command, you didn’t fight him - not with footsteps drawing nearer.

You slipped inside first, Joel following a beat later, the door clicking shut just as the other man walked past.

And suddenly, it was only the two of you again.

Your back pressed against the wood, your arms folded tight across your chest like armor. Joel stood in the middle of the room, broad shoulders tense, his hands curling into fists and then loosening again like he was fighting the urge to reach for you.

His voice came low, almost a growl. “Say it again.”

Your throat tightened. “It’s you.”

Joel’s brows furrowed deeper, his chest rising and falling as he took in your words. “That all?”

You shook your head, bitter heat flooding your veins. “You’re the problem because every time it’s the same thing. Every damn time, Joel. You pull me in, you make me feel...” Your voice cracked, and you looked away, pressing the heel of your hand against your eye. “And then you walk out like it didn’t happen.”

The silence that followed was heavy, filled with the sound of both your breaths, uneven and harsh.

Joel didn’t move, but his voice came softer, steadier, even as the frustration bled through. “…I told you before. Ain’t nothin’ good comes from this.”

“Bullshit.” The word left your lips sharp, venomous. “It’s good, Joel. You know it is. It’s the only damn thing that feels good anymore.”

That landed between you like a confession, raw and dangerous.

And Joel’s eyes - dark, conflicted, full of something that looked too close to hunger - didn’t leave yours.

The silence sat between you for a beat too long, heavy as the years neither of you wanted to name. Joel stood in the center of the room, your words circling him like a snare, and you - back to the door, arms folded tight - were bracing for the impact of what you’d just let out.

And then it came.

“You don’t know what you’re askin’.” Joel said, low but sharp, like a blade cutting too close.

“I know exactly what I’m asking.” Your arms fell away, your voice rising in a way that startled even you. “I don’t want another night of pretending, Joel. I don’t want you in my bed just to watch you walk out at dawn like I’m a goddamn mistake.”

Joel’s shoulders stiffened, his jaw clenched. “That’s not what this is.”

“Really? Then what is it?” You pushed off the door, stepping closer, every word hot with months of bitterness. “What am I supposed to call it? Because it sure as hell isn’t nothing, no matter how hard you try to act like it.”

“It’s survival,” Joel bit back, his voice rising now. His hand gestured wide, sharp. “It’s two people findin’ a way to feel good for a few hours in a world that don’t give a damn if we’re breathin’ tomorrow. That’s all it is.”

You laughed, but it cracked, brittle and hollow. “God, listen to yourself. You really think I can just… take pieces of you and then forget the rest? Pretend I don’t see you every time I close my eyes?”

His eyes darkened, his mouth pulling tight. “Better that than draggin’ it into somethin’ it ain’t meant to be.”

“And who decides that?” Your voice pitched up again, raw now. “You? Just you? Because you’re older? Because you think you get to decide what’s best for me?”

Joel flinched, almost imperceptible, but you caught it.

He stepped closer, his tone dropping, low and rough but louder than it should’ve been. “You don’t get it. You don’t know what it means when I...” He cut himself off, shaking his head, his hand raking through his hair. “If I let this be more than a night, if I let you in, there’s no puttin’ it back in the box. And I can’t...”

“You can’t or you won’t?”

That landed like a blow, your words hitting sharp enough to make his chest rise faster.

“Don’t push me.” Joel warned, voice hoarse, but there was more plea than threat in it.

You stepped right into his space now, your chin tilted up, your voice breaking against the volume you’d reached. “You think I haven’t already been pushed? You think these last months haven’t been hell, knowing what it’s like to have you, and then living like I don’t? You don’t get to stand there and tell me it doesn’t mean anything. Not to me. And sure as hell not to you.”

The room rang with it. Too loud, too raw.

Joel’s chest heaved, his fists curling tight at his sides, his face caught between anger and something darker. His voice cracked when he finally forced the words out. “I never said it didn’t mean somethin’. I said it can’t mean more.”

The air went heavy, suffocating.

You stared at him, your pulse thrumming in your ears, your voice breaking softer now but no less sharp. “Then you’re a coward.”

Joel’s jaw locked, his eyes flashing. “And you’re too damn naive to know what you’re askin’ for.”

That one cut deep, enough that it made you stagger back a step, your mouth parting, breath catching.

And in the silence that followed, you realized your voices had been raised enough that anyone passing by the hall could’ve heard. But neither of you cared.

The truth was out now, jagged and loud, and there was no taking it back.

Your chest burned from the weight of his words. Too damn naive. It echoed in your head like he’d struck something raw and unhealed, something he knew would hurt. You could barely breathe through the heat of it.

“You think I don’t know what I want?” you shot back, your voice cracking with the sharp edge of desperation. “It’s been two years, Joel. Two years since that first night. Do you really think I don’t get it by now?”

Joel’s brows furrowed deep, his mouth pressing thin as he turned from you, pacing one sharp step before spinning back around. His voice came low but heated, each word deliberate. “Two years don’t mean a damn thing when you’re this young. You’ll wake up one day and realize what a mistake this is. That I’m a mistake.”

Your laugh was short, broken, more bitter than you’d ever meant it to sound. “You keep saying that like it’ll be true if you repeat it enough times. Like you’re protecting me. But you’re not. You’re just...” you jabbed a finger into his chest as your breath heaved, “scared.”

Joel’s chest rose sharply under your touch, his eyes flashing with something that was more than just anger. His hand shot up, catching your wrist before you could jab again, his grip firm, calloused, trembling faintly with restraint.

“Scared?” he ground out, his voice almost a growl. “You think I’m scared?”

“Yes!” The word ripped from you, harsh and loud, your throat burning with it. “You’re scared of feeling anything that isn’t just the quick and dirty. Scared of what it means if you let someone stay. Because it’s easier for you to walk away and pretend it never happened than admit you want it to.”

His grip on your wrist tightened, not painfully, but enough to pin you there, his face dropping closer to yours, his voice so rough it made your skin prickle. “Don’t act like you know what I want.”

“I do,” you hissed, pushing against him, closing that last inch of space between your bodies without even realizing it. “You want me. And you hate that you do.”

Joel’s jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle twitch, his chest pressing against yours now with every ragged breath. “You think I hate it? You think I don’t...” He cut himself off, his voice strangled in his throat, his eyes dark and wild.

“Say it,” you pressed, your free hand flat against his chest, heat searing through the fabric of his shirt. “Say you don’t want me. Say you can go months without thinking about me.”

His silence was deafening.

You could feel his breath on your lips now, your noses almost brushing, the tension stretched to a breaking point so thin it felt like the whole room might shatter with it.

And still you pushed, your words tumbling out low, raw, trembling. “You can’t. Because I’m not the only one lying awake at night, Joel. I’m not the only one stuck with this ache.”

Joel’s eyes locked on yours, fire burning through the dark, his hand sliding from your wrist to your shoulder, gripping like he didn’t know whether to shove you back or drag you closer.

“You don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about.” he rasped, but the words lacked conviction, shaking under the weight of the truth between you.

And that was when you both realized how close you’d gotten - so close your lips brushed when you breathed, so close every ragged word vibrated between your mouths.

Neither of you had noticed the steps narrowing, the orbit pulling tighter with every accusation, every confession disguised as anger.

Now there was no space left.

No more room to run.

It happened without thought, without plan - like breathing after being held underwater too long.

One second, you were glaring up at him, daring him to speak, his hand still heavy on your shoulder. The next, your mouths crashed together, teeth clashing, lips bruising, the kiss tasting of every unsaid word, every swallowed ache.

You gasped against him, but it wasn’t surrender. Not yet. Your hand fisted in his shirt, dragging him closer, almost shoving as much as pulling.

“...goddamn stubborn...” Joel muttered against your mouth, his lips moving rough, unyielding, each word broken by another kiss. His beard scraped your skin, hot and scratchy, and it only fueled the fire in your chest.

“You’re the one...” you bit back, your words muffled as your teeth tugged at his lower lip, sharp enough to make him hiss. “Always running. Always pretending...”

Joel growled low, swallowing your protest with another punishing kiss, his hands finding your waist, squeezing hard enough to bruise. “Pretendin’? You’re the one actin’ like you don’t...” His words cut off in a harsh inhale as your hand slid under his shirt, nails dragging across the heat of his stomach.

Your breath shuddered, the air between your lips damp, heated, your voice broken as you shoved the words into him. “I don’t want just your hands, Joel. I want you.”

His response was another bruising kiss, his hand sliding up your side to your jaw, holding you in place like he couldn’t decide whether to shake sense into you or keep you tethered there. He pulled back just enough to spit out, “That’s the problem.”

You glared up at him, your lips swollen, chest heaving, and then you shoved him back a step - only to follow immediately, catching his mouth again like the fight had no end.

The two of you stumbled across the room, a mess of mouths and hands, anger fueling every touch. Your back hit the dresser, the edge biting into your spine, but you didn’t care - you just hauled him closer, your nails digging into his shoulders, tearing at the fabric of his shirt.

Joel cursed against your lips, his hips pressing into yours, his voice breaking rough as he muttered, “This ain't... this ain’t what you think it is.”

You bit his lip hard enough to make him grunt, your voice spilling hot between kisses. “Then stop. Stop coming back. Stop wanting me.”

His hand slammed against the dresser beside your head, the other gripping your hip tight, and his forehead pressed to yours as he growled, “Don’t tempt me.”

But his mouth was already back on yours, his hands already dragging you closer, his body already betraying every word he tried to throw like a weapon.

It was messy, clumsy with anger, every kiss more like a battle than a surrender. But God - it was the most honest either of you had been in months.

Your mouths crashed again, your hand fisted in his shirt collar and tugging until the fabric strained. His teeth caught your lip, not gentle, and you groaned against him, the sound halfway between a curse and a plea.

“Goddamn it, Joel,” you hissed, tearing your mouth from his just enough to spit the words, your forehead still pressed against his. “Two years.. two fucking years of this... and you still want to tell me it’s nothing?”

Joel’s breath came hot and heavy, his jaw tight, eyes dark with something more dangerous than anger. “It is nothin’,” he growled, though the way his hands gripped your hips, pulling you flush to him, betrayed him. “That’s what it’s supposed to be.”

You barked a laugh that wasn’t funny at all, your hand sliding beneath his shirt, nails scraping up his ribs, making him flinch. “Then stop touching me like this,” you shot back, dragging your palm down his chest, nails leaving red tracks. “Stop kissing me like you mean it.”

That was the crack in the dam. His mouth slammed onto yours, a brutal press that stole the breath from your chest, his beard scratching your chin as his tongue shoved into your mouth like he had to silence you before your words gutted him.

You groaned, clawing at his back, your body arching into his despite everything. You bit his lip, tasted copper, but instead of pulling away, Joel groaned, low and wrecked, pressing harder, grinding you against the dresser edge.

Your voice broke between kisses. “Say it... say you don’t want me.”

He pulled back, chest heaving, face inches from yours. His hand slid up your ribcage, palm rough and steady until it wrapped around your jaw, tilting your face up to his. His eyes burned into yours. “Don’t make me lie to you.”

That admission - low, jagged, unwilling - was almost worse than denial. You sucked in a sharp breath, your body trembling, and shoved him back, only to lunge forward again, kissing him harder, angrier, like you wanted to consume the words before he could take them back.

The fight dragged with every move. His hands yanked at your shirt, not tender, not careful - just hungry. You shoved at his shoulders, but your hands caught in the fabric and pulled him closer instead. His teeth grazed your throat, sharp enough to make you gasp.

“Stop running,” you whispered, your words broken as his mouth dragged along your skin. “Stop acting like you don’t...”

“Stop makin’ me want what I can’t have.” Joel snapped against your neck, his grip on your hips punishing, as though he could hold you still and stop time all at once.

You shoved him back just enough to see his face, both of you panting, both of you flushed and wrecked already. “Take it,” you challenged, your voice trembling but fierce. “Take me. Or if all it is is nothin’, prove it.”

His eyes darkened, his jaw twitching, his chest heaving like he’d just run miles. For a second, you thought he’d walk out. You thought he’d leave you hanging there, raw and shaking.

But then his hands were on you again - ripping, dragging, claiming. His mouth crushed yours, swallowing your gasp, and the fight burned hotter, spiraling past the point of no return.

It wasn’t just kissing anymore. It was biting, it was shoving, it was your back hitting the wall, your legs parting instinctively when he crowded closer, and Joel cursing low against your mouth as though he hated how much he needed you.

Every piece of anger, every word you’d spat at each other - suddenly it was pressed into skin and fabric, into the frantic push of hands tugging clothes aside, into the undeniable truth of how badly you both wanted this.

Your hands were shaking as you pushed at his shirt again, not satisfied this time with tugging it halfway off before his mouth stole your focus. No - this time you shoved hard, tearing it down his arms, and when he tried to resist, you bit his lower lip until he let go.

The fabric hit the floor, forgotten, and suddenly there was nothing between you and the heat of his bare chest. You sucked in a breath like you’d been starving, eyes drinking him in even as anger still roiled in your veins.

Joel glared down at you, chest rising and falling fast, his jaw hard as stone, but he didn’t move when you lifted your hand. Your fingertips touched his jaw first, trailing over the coarse line of his beard, down the thick column of his neck.

He shivered, barely noticeable, but you felt it. You smirked, leaning closer to press a kiss at his jawline before your lips started moving down the path your fingers had taken.

Joel’s hand twitched at his side, and he let out a low, warning growl. “Don’t start somethin’ you don’t plan on finishin’, darlin’.”

You ignored him, your mouth dragging down the hollow of his throat, your nails scratching faintly across his chest as you followed the ridges of muscle, the faint scars. The taste of his skin - salt and heat - settled on your tongue, making your breath quicken.

His breath hitched, his body tense under your touch, and still you kept going lower, slower, taking your time. For once, he wasn’t leading. For once, he was forced to stand there, hands twitching, as you made him feel.

You felt his stomach tighten as your lips brushed the line between ribs and waist, your tongue tracing along a scar before your mouth dipped lower. His head tipped back, just slightly, a quiet curse slipping out.

And then - without giving him a chance to stop you - you sank to your knees.

Joel’s eyes snapped down to you, his chest heaving, his hands fisting at his sides like he didn’t trust them to touch you. The sight of you kneeling there - angry, bold, eyes dark with fire - knocked the air from his lungs.

You looked up at him through your lashes, your voice low, taunting. “Still nothing, huh?”

His jaw tightened, his breath a sharp hiss. “You’re playin’ with fire.”

Your hands slid up his thighs, slow, deliberate, your touch squeezing, claiming. You leaned forward, lips brushing the waistband of his pants before you started working at the button. “Maybe I want to burn.”

Joel’s control snapped in the sound of his growl, his hand darting to the back of your head, not forcing - yet - but holding, trembling with restraint. His eyes bore down into yours, dark and torn between anger and need.

And still, you smirked, fingers dragging the denim down just enough to free him.

The heavy fabric slid down his legs, pooling at his feet with a muted thud. He kicked free of them impatiently, like he was waiting - expecting - you to go where he wanted, to give him the release his body was already begging for.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you sat back on your knees, your hands curling around the hard muscle of his thighs. You let your nails scrape a slow, deliberate path upward, sharp enough to make him hiss, but careful enough to keep from giving him what he needed.

Joel’s breath hitched when your lips followed, hot and soft against his skin, tracing just above the ridge of his knee before climbing higher. You pressed a kiss there, then another, biting lightly into the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his hand flexing against the back of your head, not pulling yet, but his grip tightening. His voice dropped low, gravel and warning. “Don’t you play games with me.”

You hummed against his skin, a wicked little sound, and your teeth scraped along another inch of his thigh. “What’s the matter?” you murmured, your voice sticky-sweet, mocking. “Don’t like bein’ teased?”

His laugh was harsh, humorless, but the way his hips twitched betrayed him. “You’re askin’ for trouble.”

Your mouth dragged higher, slow kisses, wet nips, but you stopped just short of where his body strained for you. Close enough that your breath made him groan, but not close enough to touch.

You looked up at him then, eyes wide and guileless, lashes fluttering as if you were some innocent thing kneeling there. 

Joel’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he stared down at you. His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, and for a moment he looked like he might snap - grab you by the hair and force you where he wanted you.

But he didn’t.

He stood there, trembling with restraint, every line of his body taut as a bowstring, while you kissed the other thigh, your nails dragging just above his knee.

“Sweetheart,” he said finally, his voice ragged, low and dangerous. “Don’t test me.”

You smiled then, slow and sinful, your mouth grazing the inside of his thigh again, teeth biting just hard enough to leave a mark. You let your tongue soothe over it, looking up through your lashes with that same mock innocence.

“Why not?” you whispered, your lips so close now, the heat of your breath brushing the place he wanted you most. “You love hearin’ me beg, Joel. Maybe I wanna hear you for once.”

His hand tightened in your hair, his head tipping back with a muttered curse that vibrated deep in his chest. He was close to breaking - you could see it in the way his stomach clenched, the way his thighs trembled under your touch, the way his cock strained, heavy and aching, right in front of you.

But you didn’t move yet. You just dragged your nails higher, almost - almost where he wanted you, then retreated again, your mouth leaving another sharp bite on his thigh before soothing it with a kiss.

When your eyes flicked back up, Joel’s face was a storm - rage and want tangled into something dangerous, something that made your pulse quicken.

And still, you just blinked at him, all wide eyes and parted lips, as if you weren’t deliberately torturing him with every second.

He growled, low and ragged, and tugged hard at your hair until your neck craned back, your lips parting on a gasp. His eyes burned into yours, voice rough and ruined as he ground out:

“Last chance. You keep pushin’ me... an’ I swear... you won’t be walkin’ straight tomorrow.”

You tilted your head, lips parted, still kneeling in front of him with your hand light on his thigh. Joel’s grip in your hair tightened when your fingers slid closer to his cock - so close the heat rolled off him in waves - but you didn’t touch.

Your palm skimmed past instead, brushing along his hip, then dragging down the side of his thigh again, nails scratching faintly. The muscles under your hand jumped, tense, but you only looked up at him, blinking those sweet, wide eyes that you knew drove him crazy.

“Sweetheart,” Joel growled, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts, “don’t fuckin’ toy with me.”

You hummed, feigning innocence, your fingers ghosting just shy of his cock, so close the air seemed to crackle between skin and skin. Your lips curved into a small, sinful smile. “I’m not.”

And then - before he could spit another warning - you leaned forward, your mouth falling open as you took him in your mouth where he least expected.

Joel sucked in a sharp breath, his body jerking when your tongue traced over the sensitive skin of his balls. His hand fisted hard in your hair, holding you in place as his head tipped back.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ...” His voice came out wrecked, low and broken in a way you’d never heard before.

You hummed around him, satisfied with the way his thighs trembled, with the way his jaw went slack as he stared down at you. You swirled your tongue, sucking lightly, savoring the rough groan that tore from his throat.

His hips twitched forward instinctively, his cock brushing against your cheek. The sound that left him then - half growl, half plea - was enough to make your pulse stutter.

“Goddamn tease,” Joel rasped, his eyes burning into yours as you looked up at him, mouth full, lips stretched around the weight of him. “You think this is funny?”

You pulled back slowly, letting your tongue linger, your mouth wet and shining as you blinked up at him again with that same feigned innocence. Your hand finally came up - not to stroke him, not yet - but just to rest at the base of his cock, circling without pressure.

“Not funny,” you whispered, your voice sweet, dangerous. “Just… fair.”

Joel’s laugh was jagged, wrecked, nothing close to amusement. He leaned down, his grip on your hair near-painful.

“Fair?” His voice was a growl, dark and low. “You ain’t got a clue what fair feels like, darlin’.”

His hips shifted, pressing forward until the head of his cock grazed your lips, smearing wetness across them. His hand guided, just enough to remind you who was still in control - even if you’d managed to crack him wide open.

Joel shifted his stance, his hand fisting tighter in your hair, his hips angling forward with the clear intent to take back the reins. You felt the press of his cock nudge against your lips, heavy and hot, his grip urging you to open, to yield.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you planted one hand firmly on his thigh, the other braced at his hip, and resisted the pressure. His brows furrowed, his growl cutting low and dangerous, but you only tilted your head slightly, your lips curving into a smug little smile.

“Not so fast.” you whispered, breath hot against him.

And before he could snap back, your tongue slipped out, the flat of it dragging slow and deliberate from the base of his cock all the way up.

Joel’s curse broke sharp in the air, his hips jerking despite himself.

You smirked, eyes flicking up to meet his. His jaw was tight, his eyes burning with warning - but his body was betraying him, twitching, trembling under your touch. You traced him again, slower this time, savoring the taste of salt and skin, your tongue swirling lazily over the head before gliding back down.

His hand tightened, trying to guide, but you shook your head just enough to break the angle. “Uh-uh,” you murmured against him, your lips brushing light and teasing. “My turn.”

You licked him again, up and down, unhurried, never quite giving him the relief he needed. Your tongue circled, traced, flicked, savoring every twitch, every hiss that escaped him no matter how hard he tried to bite it back.

“Jesus,” Joel groaned, his head tipping back as his hand flexed uselessly in your hair. His chest rose and fell heavy, his voice gravel and frayed. “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.”

You hummed against him, the vibration making him grunt, and your tongue slid up the underside once more, tracing the vein there with languid precision. His thighs tensed, the muscles jumping under your hands, his breath hissing through his teeth as he tried - and failed - to stay still.

Looking up, you caught the storm in his eyes, the way control and need warred inside him. You held his gaze as your tongue lapped slow over the swollen head, your lips parting just enough to tease before pulling back again.

The sound that left him - half-growl, half-groan - was wrecked, raw. He leaned down, his voice a rasp at your ear, desperate and warning all at once.

“Don’t you fuckin’ stop now.”

But you only smirked, your tongue tracing down again, slow and sweet, making him shudder as you drew it back up in one long, unbroken stroke.

You let your tongue drag back to the tip, your lips brushing lightly, ghosting over him, before you pulled back just enough to breathe.

Joel’s hand in your hair tightened, guiding, pushing, but you resisted again. Instead, you lifted your gaze, locking onto his, your lips still parted, lined perfectly with the thick weight of him.

And then you whispered it, soft but sharp enough to cut the air clean in half.

“Beg.”

The word dropped between you like a stone, heavy and merciless.

Joel froze. His jaw tightened, his chest heaving, every line of his body tensed like you’d just aimed a gun at him. His hand clenched at your hair, his other fist curling at his side.

“What’d you just say?” His voice was low, gravelly, incredulous.

You held his stare, your tongue flicking against the head of his cock in deliberate contrast to the steel in your voice. “You heard me.”

His throat worked, his brows furrowing, that stubborn defiance flashing in his eyes. He’d never begged you for anything. He was too proud, too controlled, too fucking stubborn to give you that.

But your lips brushed him again, your hand circling just at the base without stroking, and his hips twitched, betraying him. You could feel how badly his body wanted this, how close he was to breaking.

And you smiled, cruel and sweet. “It’s not just about this,” you murmured, your hand giving him the faintest squeeze. “You want me. Say it.”

Joel’s breath stuttered, his forehead falling forward. His voice came out rough, jagged, as though it was being torn from him. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re askin’.”

“Yes, I do.” Your tone sharpened, no hesitation in your voice even as your mouth lingered just shy of taking him in. “I want you to admit it. Just once. For me.”

His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw working, a curse breaking low in his throat. His grip on your hair trembled, his chest heaving as though the effort of holding it back might kill him.

And then - ragged, broken, almost a growl - he gave in.

“Please.” The word was ruined, guttural, dragged out of him like it hurt. His eyes snapped open, burning into yours, as he added, “Please, baby. Need you.”

That was all it took.

Your lips parted, your mouth sliding over him slow at first, savoring the weight, the heat, the way his entire body shuddered the moment you took him in. His groan was wrecked, torn straight from his chest, his hand in your hair no longer guiding, just clinging.

And you smiled around him, because this wasn’t just about release anymore. You’d won. You’d made Joel beg.

You let him slide deeper, inch by inch, savoring the way his breath fractured above you. The air was heavy with the sound of it - Joel, undone, his groans thick and ragged, his hips twitching despite the restraint he clung to with white-knuckled fists.

Your tongue traced every vein, every ridge, working him as your lips sealed tighter. Slow, deliberate, unhurried. You wanted him to feel it - to feel you claiming him with every languid stroke of your mouth.

Joel’s hand trembled in your hair, holding but not forcing. His chest was a wall of heat, rising and falling with the effort of holding still. His voice dropped low, ruined, words rasping out like he didn’t mean to let them slip.

“Jesus, darlin’… your mouth… fuck, you’re gonna kill me.”

The praise rolled through you, heady and sweet, and you hummed around him, the vibration making him buck despite himself. You swallowed him deeper, your throat tightening as his curse tore loose above you.

Then - softly, deliberately - you reached up, your fingers curling around the back of his hand tangled in your hair. You pressed it firmer against your skull, looked up at him with wide, glassy eyes, and gave the smallest nod.

Permission. Invitation. Gratitude.

Joel’s jaw clenched, his breath catching like he’d been punched. His eyes locked on yours, searching, dark and questioning - until you nodded again, firmer this time, your lips still wrapped around him.

That was all it took.

His groan came out guttural, wrecked, and then his grip tightened. Not cruel, not careless - just sure. His hips thrust forward, sinking himself deeper into your mouth, the pace shifting sharp and raw.

Your nails dug into his thighs as you adjusted, choking once, but you didn’t pull away. You gave. You let him guide you, let him take what he’d been starving for, tears pricking your eyes as your throat stretched to take him deeper.

Joel muttered curses through clenched teeth, broken with praise spilling between them.

“Good girl… fuck, so good… takin’ me so fuckin’ sweet…”

Each thrust was careful but relentless, his control barely hanging by a thread. You could feel his body trembling, the way his stomach tightened, the way his grip in your hair grew almost desperate.

And still, you looked up at him, eyes wet, lips stretched wide around him, your hand holding his to your head - reminding him this was allowed, that you wanted it.

Joel’s expression broke then - something raw, something close to reverence flashing through his eyes before his head tipped back, a guttural groan shaking through him.

You swallowed him down again, your body humming at the way he shuddered, at the way his voice cracked open with your name.

This wasn’t just you giving in. This was you choosing it - hand in his, mouth full, your body offering him the one thing he’d never dared to take without permission.

And God, he was wrecked by it.

You let your head move with his hand, falling into the rhythm he set. Each thrust of his hips pushed him deeper, thick and hot on your tongue, and every groan above you was another victory you could taste. Your jaw ached, your throat protested, but the rough command of his voice, the way he muttered “yeah, just like that, don’t you fuckin’ stop” - it drowned out everything else.

You wanted to keep him there, undone in your mouth, trembling under the weight of how good you made him feel. But Joel was a man who’d never learned how to take pleasure without guilt, who always tried to leash himself before he unraveled completely. And when he felt your throat clench around him one time too many, his grip faltered.

“Enough... fuck, that’s enough.”

His hand tugged sharply at your hair, pulling you back before you could protest. You gasped, lips wet, chin slick, and his cock glistened in the low light as he dragged in a broken breath. His thumb brushed across your swollen bottom lip, wiping away spit, though his eyes stayed fixed on the sight of your mouth.

“Christ...” he rasped, voice low and rough. “You’re gonna ruin me if I let you keep doin’ that.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him he already looked ruined - hair disheveled, chest heaving - but before you could, his mouth was on yours. Desperate. Consuming. He kissed you like he needed to steal back what he’d almost given away.

His hands were relentless now, sliding down, fumbling with your clothes like patience was a luxury he didn’t own. He shoved fabric aside with a growl, pulling at seams, peeling layers from you until cool air kissed your heated skin. His palms branded every inch they touched, rough and insistent, as though he couldn’t stand another barrier between you.

You whimpered into his mouth, and that sound only made him faster, hungrier. His calloused hands skimmed your ribs, cupped your breasts, tugged at your waistband until he had you bare and trembling beneath him.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout this,” he muttered against your lips, every word hot and ragged. “Thinkin’ about you, every damn time I close my eyes. An’ I fuckin’ hate it.”

But his hands didn’t stop. Neither did his mouth.

You laughed breathlessly, though it broke halfway through. “You don’t hate it.”

He growled low, biting gently at your jaw as his fingers hooked the last of your clothes down your thighs. “Hate that I want it this bad,” he corrected, voice shaking with the admission. “Hate that I can’t stop.”

And then you were bare, his gaze searing as it swept over you - hungry, reverent, furious with himself for all of it. His hands came back to you fast, as though he couldn’t stand the sight of you without touching, without holding, without claiming.

His hands didn’t leave you for a second as he pulled you away from the dresser, lips never breaking from your skin. His mouth traced a furious path along your throat, your jaw, your shoulder, nipping hard enough to mark, and then soothing with his tongue before the sting could settle. Every step he took backward dragged you with him until the back of his legs hit the edge of the bed.

Joel sat first, heavy, pulling you down with him like you weighed nothing. You landed between his thighs, his arms looping immediately around you to keep you there. Your back pressed into the solid wall of his chest, the warmth of him seeping into your skin until it was hard to tell where you ended and he began.

“Stay right here.” he muttered, voice rough against the shell of your ear, the command melting into something almost tender. His breath fanned over your neck, and you shivered, every nerve alive under his mouth.

Your thighs were already falling open against his, spread wide by the position, leaving you exposed - helpless - and you swore you heard him smirk against your skin.

“That’s it.” he murmured, almost to himself, like he was drinking in the sight. His arms held you firm, one crossing your chest, palm flattening over your breast. His thumb brushed lazily over your nipple, teasing, circling, until your hips shifted restlessly.

The other hand… slow. Too slow. His fingers ghosted over your ribs, down your stomach, trailing lower with an agonizing patience that had your breath catching, your body arching despite yourself. He stopped just above where your pussy ached for him, the heel of his hand pressing against your hip, keeping you pinned in place when you tried to wriggle down.

“Joel...” you breathed, your voice sharp, already breaking.

He hummed low in your ear, a sound that was half amusement, half warning. “Always in such a rush, darlin’. Thought you liked playin’ games.”

His hand on your breast squeezed, fingers pinching just enough to pull a gasp from your throat. Then his palm slid lower, finally - finally - finding the heat between your thighs. He didn’t rush this part, either. He traced you with maddening precision, dragging his fingers over your folds, slick already, but refusing to give you more than that light pressure.

Your head dropped back against his shoulder, a frustrated sound spilling from you, and he caught it with a kiss just under your ear.

“Look at you,” he rasped. “Already soaked. Just from sittin’ here with me.” His fingers slipped lower, finally parting you, stroking where you needed it most. He drew lazy circles, slow enough you thought you’d lose your mind.

You clawed at his forearm, nails dragging against the veins and rough hair there, trying to pull his hand harder, faster. But Joel only chuckled, a dark rumble against your spine.

“You’re not in charge tonight,” he said, the words brushing hot against your skin. “Not after the way you teased me.”

The hand between your legs moved deliberately now, two fingers pushing inside you, filling you deep and sudden. You jolted, breath caught in your chest, and he bit down gently at your shoulder when you cried out.

“Good girl,” he muttered, lips pressed into your skin as he worked his fingers inside you, curling just right. “That’s it. Take it. I’ve got you.”

Your thighs spread wider on instinct, body betraying every ounce of resistance you thought you had. His other hand still toyed with your chest, squeezing, pinching, rolling until every nerve in your body was begging.

He pressed his cheek to yours, forcing you to look down, to see what his hand was doing to you - fingers working deep, knuckles slick with your arousal, your body clenching around him as if you couldn’t bear to let him go.

“Watch,” he said low, voice cutting right through you. “Watch how pretty you come apart for me.”

And with his mouth against your jaw, his hand commanding every inch of you, your body began to obey.

Joel’s mouth stayed hot against your shoulder, teeth scraping over damp skin, while his hand moved with a merciless rhythm between your thighs. His two fingers were already filling you deep, curling, dragging over that spot that made your whole body shudder - but when he slid a third inside, stretching you open, your gasp tore through the room like a plea.

“Joel!” His name cracked in your throat, half-moan, half-broken warning.

“I know,” he muttered, breath ragged against your neck. “I know, darlin’. You can take it.” His voice was that same drawl that drove you wild - steady, commanding, steadying even as he unraveled you.

Your hands shot down, grasping at his forearm, nails biting into his skin. You didn’t even know what you wanted - whether you were pulling him closer, begging him to give more, or trying to stop before the wave could crash too hard. Either way, Joel didn’t let up.

He angled his hand, thick fingers stroking and curling inside you with devastating precision, until your hips bucked helplessly against his. “That’s it,” he whispered, his lips dragging down your jaw. “Ride my hand. Show me how bad you need it.”

Your climax hit sharp and sudden, a scream pulled from your throat before you could stop it. Your walls clenched around him, fluttering tight, but Joel didn’t stop - not for a heartbeat. His fingers kept pumping inside you, his palm grinding against your clit, dragging you through every ounce of it until your vision blurred and your body seized.

“Good girl,” he praised, voice gravel and heat in your ear. “So fuckin’ pretty when you fall apart for me.”

You squirmed, thighs trembling against his, your body trying to twist away from the relentless pace. But Joel’s arm across your chest held you firm, pinning you against him, while the other hand never faltered between your legs. He didn’t give you room to retreat - only to feel.

“Joel, I...” Your voice broke into another moan, your hips jerking without control. “Too much...”

“Shhh,” he soothed, though his fingers pressed harder, deeper. “You can take it. I’ve got you.” His mouth brushed your ear, tender in contrast to the merciless rhythm of his hand. “Don’t you stop now. Let me hear it. Let me fuckin’ hear you.”

The overstimulation cracked through you like lightning, your body bucking, shaking, your nails clawing deep into his forearm as if to anchor yourself. Every thrust of his fingers was fire, too much and not enough all at once, until the line between pleasure and pain blurred and melted into something unbearable and intoxicating.

Your head dropped back against his shoulder, mouth open, no sound coming out at first until finally a strangled cry tore free. Joel groaned at the sound, at the feel of you clenching around him again, and pressed kisses into your damp temple, his voice a steady stream of praises.

“That’s my girl. That’s it. Keep goin’, I got you. Nothin’ else in this world matters but this... look at you, fallin’ apart on my hand.”

Your second climax came just as violent as the first, body convulsing against him, thighs squeezing around his hand as you tried to twist away. Joel wouldn’t let you. He held you tight, steady, guiding you through it, his hand unrelenting. He made sure you couldn’t run from the way he dragged you into ruin.

By the time your sobs turned into gasping breaths and your nails had left half-moons carved into his arm, he finally slowed. His fingers eased their pace, still moving, still pressing deep inside you, but softer now. Stroking. Coaxing.

“You did so good,” he whispered, lips grazing your damp skin. “So damn good for me. Don’t you forget it.”

And even as your body trembled, spent and overwhelmed, you couldn’t stop clinging to his arm, his chest, the solid weight of him behind you. Because God help you - you still wanted more.

Joel didn’t let you come down easy. His fingers slowed, but they didn’t leave you - still inside, still filling you, moving with deliberate strokes that had your body twitching and your throat catching on every breath.

“You feel that?” His voice was husky, low, every word sinking straight into your chest. “That’s mine. This right here...” he curled his fingers inside you, dragging another moan from your lips, “...ain’t nobody else gonna know you like this. Only me.”

Your head fell back against him, neck bared, mouth open as his praises poured like honey and gravel into your ear.

“Good girl,” he murmured, again and again, each repetition slower, deeper. “Takin’ every bit I give you. So damn perfect. Nothin’ better.” His hand withdrew at last, leaving you empty, trembling, only for his arm to circle around your waist tight.

Before you had a chance to breathe, Joel shifted beneath you. He moved you from where you’d been straddled between his legs, lifting and adjusting with that easy, unyielding strength of his until you were sitting on his lap properly - your back still pressed against his chest, his thighs spreading yours wider. You were already gasping, body pliant from the wreckage of your release, when you felt the hard, insistent press of his cock against your slick core.

The sound that left you was half-plea, half-whimper. Joel groaned low, dragging you forward along his length, slow, sinful friction that left his breath shuddering hot against your ear.

“Feel that?” His words rasped as he ground you down again, the thick weight of him slipping through your folds, nudging at your entrance without quite pushing in. “That’s what you do to me. Been achin’ for you all goddamn night.”

You shivered, pressing your palms against his thighs as if that would anchor you. Joel didn’t stop - he rocked you forward and back, dragging your soaked pussy along every ridge of his cock, forcing you to feel just how hard, how thick, how ready he was.

“Joel... please...”

He hushed you with a kiss pressed into the damp curve of your neck. “Not beggin’ now, are you? Thought you liked playin’ stubborn.”

His hand came down over yours, guiding your trembling fingers to wrap around the base of him, showing you the contrast between your delicate touch and the heavy steel of his length. Then he slid his hand lower again, gripping your hip, holding you still as he finally angled himself at your entrance.

“Watch,” he ordered, his tone leaving no room for hesitation. With his free hand, he took your chin, tilting your head down so your eyes fell on where his cock pressed against you, so slick and needy it made you burn. “Keep your eyes open, sweetheart. I want you to see what you’re doin’ to me.”

And then - he pushed.

The stretch made your breath catch, your whole body seizing as he filled you inch by inch. Joel groaned harshly against your skin, his jaw clenched tight, but he didn’t falter, didn’t stop until you were sinking down completely, his cock buried to the hilt inside you.

“That’s it,” he ground out, voice strained. “Goddamn, you’re squeezin’ me so tight. Look at that... every bit of me inside you.”

Your mouth fell open, eyes wide and glassy as you obeyed - watching the way his length disappeared into you, slick and obscene, your body taking him whole.

Joel’s arm wrapped across your chest again, pinning you back against him, his hand splayed over your pounding heart. He nuzzled into the side of your face, breath hot, words breaking through the haze like fire.

“You’re mine when you’re like this. Say it.”

Your hips twitched, already trying to move against him, but his grip on your waist held you steady. He wasn’t letting you set the pace.

Your body trembled against him, his cock thick and unforgiving inside you, stretching you until your thoughts blurred. His words - low, rough, insistent - coiled around your spine like chains, holding you still.

“Say it.” Joel growled again, the demand vibrating through your back.

Your lips parted on a gasp, your eyes still fixed on the sight of him disappearing into you, the obscene, slick glide of every inch. Shame and hunger tangled in your chest, and when the words finally broke loose, they came ragged, helpless.

“I’m yours,” you whispered. Your voice shook, your throat raw from moans, but the words were there - bare, unguarded. “When I’m like this… I’m yours.”

A sound tore from Joel’s chest, something between a groan and a curse. His arm tightened across your stomach, pulling you flush against him, and he buried his face into your neck, inhaling like he could breathe you in.

“That’s it,” he muttered, his drawl frayed with hunger. “Knew you’d fuckin’ say it. Knew you’d feel it.”

And then he moved.

The first thrust dragged a broken cry from you, his cock pulling out slow before slamming back in, deep enough to knock the air from your lungs. His arm locked around your waist, holding you in place as his hips began to work - steady, brutal strokes that made your whole body quake.

“Jesus Christ,” Joel rasped, his teeth catching your skin. “You’re squeezin’ me so tight I can't... fuck, can’t think straight.”

Your hands clawed at his arm where it pinned your stomach, desperate for something to hold onto. But Joel wasn’t giving you room to hide.

His other hand slid up your chest, calloused fingers curling around your throat. He pulled your head back sharply, forcing your eyes up, forcing you to see the reflection in the faintly polished steel of his knife lying discarded on the bedside table - or maybe just to feel the weight of his gaze as it burned into the side of your face.

“Look at me,” he demanded, his grip firm, unyielding. His fingers flexed against your throat, not closing all the way but enough to make your pulse thunder against them. “Don’t you dare shut those eyes.”

You gasped, your vision swimming as his cock drove into you again and again, each thrust harder, deeper, until your body was nothing but heat and trembling muscle wrapped around him. The hand at your throat held you there, made you open yourself to him even as your hips bucked, even as your voice broke into shameless sounds you couldn’t bite back.

Joel groaned low, his mouth brushing your temple, his words rasping hot against your skin.

“Good girl. That’s my good fuckin’ girl. Watch what you do to me. Watch how I lose myself in you.”

And even as your body begged for release, as your walls clenched tight around him with every punishing thrust, his hand at your throat kept you right there - his to take, his to break, his to worship in the only way Joel knew how.

Joel’s thrusts were steady and merciless, his hand at your throat keeping you upright against him, his chest a wall of heat at your back. Every time he pushed inside, his cock bottomed out so deep you swore your vision blurred, and still - still - he forced your head up, forced your gaze open.

“Eyes,” he rasped. His voice was gravel, wrecked. “Don’t look away.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. His dark, storm-heavy stare pinned you just as much as his hand did, every ounce of him demanding that you meet it, match it, surrender to it. The air between you was tight, charged, every breath shared, every moan swallowed by the space where your lips almost touched.

Your hands scrambled for purchase, sliding over his forearm where it cinched your stomach, then climbing higher to grip the one holding your throat. You clutched at him like you could fuse yourself to his skin, your nails biting crescents into muscle and vein, trying to hold him there - because God help you, you didn’t want him to let go.

And then - your mouth found his.

It was clumsy at first, desperate, your body jolting with every hard thrust, but the second your lips pressed to his, Joel groaned deep into the kiss. His hips faltered, then surged harder, his teeth catching your bottom lip as though kissing you cost him control.

Your fingers dug harder into his arm, holding him to you, gluing yourselves together in that kiss. The taste of him, the heat of him, the brutal rhythm of his cock splitting you open - it all blurred until the only thing that existed was Joel. His hand flexed against your throat, not loosening, not tightening, just holding you in that place where your pulse thundered under his palm, a reminder that he had you completely.

He broke the kiss only to press his mouth along your jaw, panting, groaning, his voice shredded.

“Goddamn you,” he muttered, every word crashing hot against your skin. “Goddamn you for makin’ me want this.”

But he didn’t stop kissing you. Didn’t stop holding you. Didn’t stop moving inside you like he’d never forgive himself if he did.

And with every slam of his hips, every slip of his tongue against yours, the space between anger and devotion narrowed until it disappeared entirely - leaving only the two of you, bound together in a way that felt closer to breaking than either of you dared admit.

The kiss was everything - teeth clashing, tongues tangling, every breath shared like oxygen was scarce. Joel devoured you with the same hunger he drove into your body, his cock slamming deep, stretching you, filling every place inside that ached for him. His hand at your throat kept you tethered, his arm across your stomach anchoring you down, forcing you to take every thrust.

But no kiss could last under that kind of fire.

You felt it first in the way your body coiled - tight, desperate, trembling against his. Your hips tried to move faster, tried to meet his punishing rhythm, your breath breaking into sharp whimpers against his mouth. He swallowed every one, groaning as your lips slipped against his, wet and needy, until the taste of him overwhelmed everything else.

And then - you couldn’t hold on.

Your mouth tore free with a gasp, your lips wet, swollen, falling open as the sound ripped out of you. You tried - tried - to keep your eyes on his, but the sheer force of pleasure raked through your body, pulling your head back. Your throat strained against his fingers as your vision went hazy, stars pricking the edges.

“Joel... oh, fuck...”

Your head fell against his shoulder, back arching, body convulsing as your climax slammed into you. His hand tightened on your throat, not crushing, not cruel, but enough to remind you that you belonged right there - trembling, utterly at his mercy.

“That’s it,” he groaned, voice jagged and raw in your ear. His hips never slowed, grinding deeper, harder, dragging you through it until you were writhing against him. “Good girl... such a good fuckin’ girl for me. Take it all. Don’t you dare stop now.”

Your hands clawed at his arms, clutching at the muscle, the veins that pulsed beneath your fingers, like maybe if you held him hard enough, he’d feel every quake in your body, every scream that wouldn’t leave your throat because his grip kept you teetering on that edge.

He kissed your temple, kissed the damp hair clinging to your face, his words a feverish prayer against your skin.

“You’re perfect like this. Mine. Every sound, every shiver. You’re mine.”

Your body bucked, thighs trembling as another wave rolled through, smaller but just as sharp, and Joel’s hand never faltered. He held you steady, his cock driving you open, his fingers flexing at your throat with every pulse of your climax. The mix of pain and pleasure blurred until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

By the time your moans broke into sobs, Joel eased - just enough to let you breathe, to keep you from slipping too far. His hand softened on your throat, thumb stroking along your jaw even as his hips kept working, slower now, deeper, dragging you into the aftershocks.

“Look at me.” he whispered again, softer this time, coaxing.

Your head lolled, heavy, but you forced your eyes open, dragging your gaze to his. And there it was - the storm in him, the rage and the need and the reverence he could never say out loud.

And you knew, even before his mouth brushed yours again, that Joel would never let you go - not in this room, not in this bed, not in this lifetime.

Your body was molten, every nerve stretched thin, every breath trembling out of you as though your lungs had forgotten how to work. You thought maybe this was the end - that Joel had finally wrung everything from you, left you writhing and boneless in his arms. But Joel never let you be finished, not when he knew you had more to give.

The hand pressed firm against your stomach shifted, his palm dragging lower, fingers spreading until he found the heat where your bodies joined. The rough pad of his fingertips brushed slick over your clit, and you cried out - a sharp, desperate sound that made him groan against your neck.

“Joel... please, can't...”

He ignored your plea, lips ghosting over your damp skin, beard scraping along the curve of your jaw as he buried himself deeper inside you. His cock drove through your trembling walls, every thrust calculated, dragging out the ache, feeding the fire. And his fingers started moving in slow, purposeful circles, teasing, coaxing, setting your nerves alight.

Your hands flew to his wrist, gripping, trembling. You didn’t push him away, though - never. You held him there, holding yourself open to his mercy, to his torment. Your head shook, tears catching at the corners of your eyes as the pressure started winding in your belly all over again.

“Shhh,” Joel murmured against your ear, voice dark and low, the kind of voice that left no room for doubt. “You got one more in you. Know you can give me one more.”

“Joel...” Your protest came out broken, strangled, more like a sob than a word.

“Yeah, that’s it. Already so fuckin’ close. Don’t you lie to me.” His hand on your throat flexed just enough to remind you he was still in control, and the roughness of it made your thighs shake, your cunt clench tight around him. “Know this body better than you do, ain’t finished yet. You ain’t finished yet.”

Your hips bucked helplessly against his hand, seeking relief, even as you tried to twist away from the burn of overstimulation. Joel held you there, caging you with his body, his legs braced under yours, his chest hard against your back. He had you pinned, unable to move anywhere except where he wanted.

“You feel that?” His words were hot against your ear, his breath ragged from holding back his own release. “So wet for me, squeezin’ me like you’re beggin’ for it.”

The coil snapped tighter, sharper, building until you couldn’t tell if the sound leaving your throat was a moan or a cry. Joel pressed his mouth to your shoulder, biting down, grounding you as his fingers rubbed harder, faster, cruel and merciless.

“Don’t fight it,” he commanded, growl thick in his voice. “You give it to me. Right fuckin’ now.”

And you did.

Your scream ripped through the room, muffled against his shoulder as your body shattered again, convulsing in his arms. The orgasm tore through you like lightning, brutal and consuming, every muscle seizing as your vision went white. Joel’s hand never stopped, working you through it, his cock still pounding, dragging every last tremor out of you until you collapsed back against him, shaking and sobbing his name.

He didn’t let go.

Even as you trembled in his lap, even as your nails left half-moon marks in his arms, Joel kept you open, kept you trembling on his cock, fingers slick with your release as he praised you low and steady.

“Atta girl… my good girl. Knew you had it in you. That’s it, that’s it. Every last drop for me.”

And though you could barely breathe, though every inch of you screamed for mercy, you held his hand tighter against your cunt, wordless and broken but still giving, still his.

Joel was unraveling. You felt it in the way his hips lost their rhythm, the way his thrusts - so sharp, so punishing - started slipping into something messier, deeper, needier. His forehead pressed hard against the side of your head, his breath heavy and ragged in your ear, his body trembling with the strain of holding himself back for so long.

And you knew.

You knew what was about to happen because it was the same every time - Joel Miller and his walls, Joel Miller and his control. The man who gave you his body but never all of himself. You’d seen it in his eyes when he pulled out before, felt the emptiness afterward when the warmth of him never stayed inside you.

But this time - you couldn’t let him go so easily.

The moment his thrusts turned sloppy, his hand squeezing just a little tighter on your throat, the low groan breaking free from his chest - you clamped down, hard, forcing yourself to milk him, to hold him in place. And then you used everything you had left, all the force your trembling thighs could manage, slamming yourself back down onto him, burying him to the hilt.

“Don’t,” you gasped, voice broken, raw. “Not this time... Joel, please, just stay...”

His growl was guttural, ripped from somewhere deep inside him as he fought you, fought himself. His grip on your hips turned bruising, trying to wrench you off even as his body betrayed him, grinding up into you, cock twitching inside your soaked heat.

“Goddammit... don’t make me...” His voice fractured, the words almost pained, almost a plea.

You shoved back again, tears prickling at your eyes from the sheer burn of it, the desperation coiled in your chest. You wanted him, all of him, not the scraps he allowed himself to give.

“Please,” you begged again, a cracked whisper. “Just... want all of you.”

For a heartbeat, you almost thought he’d give in. His cock throbbed inside you, his jaw clenched hard against your shoulder, his whole body stiff with the fight to hold the line. His breath shuddered out, heavy and broken, and he stayed - just long enough to make you think he might actually surrender.

And then, with a ragged curse, Joel’s strength surged.

He ripped himself free, dragging you off him with a force that left you gasping, empty, crying out at the sudden loss. His hand pressed firm between your shoulder blades, bending you forward on the mattress before you could claw him back. And then - heat. Hot, wet ropes of his release spilled across your back, painting your skin as he groaned your name into the space between your neck. 

It was messy, primal, and angry in its own way - the stubborn refusal, the breaking of your plea - but underneath it all, there was desperation too. His chest heaved, his breath harsh as he held himself there, cock still twitching against your ass, his seed dripping down the small of your back.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was both of you breathing. His weight hovered above you, one hand braced tight on the mattress, the other still firm at your hip as though if he let go, you’d vanish. You felt the tremor in his fingers, the strain in the way he tried to steady himself.

And you - still trembling, still aching - turned your head just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. Your eyes were wet, lips parted, chest heaving with what felt like a thousand unsaid words.

“Why won’t you let me have you?” Your voice was hoarse, thin, almost lost to the quiet.

Joel shut his eyes, jaw working, face carved with something between pain and regret. His hand slid away, slow, reluctant, leaving your skin cold where his heat had been.

“‘Cause you don’t know what you’re askin’ for,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “And I ain’t the man who should give it to you.”

The ache in your chest was worse than the ache in your body, worse than the emptiness between your legs. You wanted to scream at him, wanted to claw at him, wanted to force him back inside you until he broke the way you were breaking. But you only pressed your forehead to the sheets, swallowing down the knot in your throat as his warmth dripped down your spine.

He stayed behind you for a long beat, silent, before pulling back altogether, leaving you trembling and smeared with his refusal.

For a long time you didn’t move. The sheets clung to your skin where his release had streaked across your back, the air in the room thick and humid from the heat of both your bodies. Joel was still sitting, half turned away, head in his hands. His back rose and fell with slow, measured breaths, every line of his body rigid with restraint.

You stared at his broad shoulders, at the streaks of gray in his hair, at the hands that only minutes ago had held you down and coaxed you apart. He’d been so big, so sure, so unshakable in the moment - but now, sitting like that, he looked almost… tired. Worn.

Your heart was hammering. You felt exposed, stripped not just of your clothes but of everything you’d tried to build up over the last year - the walls, the snide remarks, the playful mask. All of it had burned away in the heat of him. And what was left was a question you’d been carrying for months, maybe since the very first night.

You rolled onto your side, slow and careful. Your body ached everywhere, hips sore, throat raw from the noises he’d pulled out of you. But you needed to see his face when you said it. You needed him to look at you.

He didn’t.

You sat up, tugging the sheet around your shoulders, feeling suddenly small. Your voice was soft, hoarse, but it cut through the silence anyway.

“You said…” Your fingers tightened on the edge of the sheet. “You said I’m yours when we’re like this.”

Joel’s hands stilled in his hair.

You swallowed, forcing the words past the lump in your throat. “Why aren’t you mine?”

For a heartbeat, nothing. No sound but the wind at the window, the faint creak of the bed as Joel shifted. Then he turned his head, just enough for you to see the hard line of his jaw, the flicker of something dark in his eyes.

His mouth opened, closed again. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a growl but with no heat behind it - just exhaustion.

“‘Cause that’s not how this works.”

You blinked at him, stung. “Then how does it work, Joel? Tell me.”

He exhaled through his nose, rough and uneven. “It works like this. We get a night. We get… whatever the hell this is. Then we go back to our lives.” He dragged a hand down his face, still not looking at you. “I can give you that. I can give you my hands, my mouth. But you don’t want what’s in my head. You don’t want what comes with me.”

Your chest ached. “You don’t get to decide that.”

Now he did look at you, finally, his gaze sharp and pained. “I do. ‘Cause I know exactly what I am. And I know exactly what it’ll do to you.”

Your lips trembled. You wanted to shout at him, wanted to claw at his chest until he gave you something real, wanted to make him understand how much you’d already given. Instead you sat there, wrapped in the sheet, staring at him across the bed like he was a stranger.

“You’re a coward...” you whispered.

Joel flinched, but didn’t move. His eyes softened just enough for you to see the truth behind them: regret, guilt, longing. “Maybe,” he said quietly.

You turned away, lying back down, staring at the ceiling. You didn’t cry - not now. You just listened to him stand up, pull his clothes back on, and pause at the door like he always did.

For a second you thought he might come back to the bed.

But he didn’t.

The door clicked shut, and you were alone with the ghosts of his hands on your skin, and the question still hanging in the air.

Chapter Text

The hallway was quiet, too quiet for how loud his chest felt. Joel shut the door behind him and stood there, eyes closed, jaw tight, his hand still gripping the handle like he had to hold himself steady or else his knees might give.

Your voice echoed in his skull.

You said I’m yours… why aren’t you mine?

He cursed under his breath, pushing off the door, forcing himself to walk. One step, then another, boots heavy on the old wooden floor. His shirt clung to his damp back, half buttoned, his belt hanging loose at his waist. He looked like a man who hadn’t finished something he should’ve, and maybe that was true.

But he couldn’t let himself think that way.

He needed to keep the walls up.

He’d built them high, stacked them stone by stone since the world ended. They kept people out, kept him safe. And more importantly - they kept them safe from him. Because Joel didn’t have anything left to give except his fists and his gun and the little slivers of himself he carved out for nights like this. Nights that weren’t supposed to matter. Nights that weren’t supposed to feel like they did. 

This girl - no, this woman - hadn’t been meant to slip past his guard. But you had. Somehow, between the sharp tongue, the way you bristled at him, the way you looked at him like he was more than the scraps of a man left standing - you’d gotten under his skin.

And Christ, he hated it.

Joel turned the corner, the glow of lanterns casting long shadows along the walls. He tried to set his jaw, tried to think about anything else - the trade goods he had to check in the morning, the route back, the weather. But his mind kept circling back to you. The sound of your laugh when you teased him. The way your nails had dug into his arms when you begged. The look in your eyes when you asked that damn question.

Why aren’t you mine?

He rubbed at his face, sighing hard. The truth was ugly, bitter as the whiskey he sometimes drank to fall asleep. He wanted you. He wanted to claim you, wanted to sink into you and stay, wanted to say the words you deserved to hear.

But wanting was dangerous.

Wanting led to attachment. Attachment led to weakness. And weakness, in this world, got people killed.

He’d lost too much already - his girl, his brother for years, pieces of himself he’d never get back. He couldn’t lose you, too. And if he gave you what you thought you wanted - if he handed over the black, broken thing that beat in his chest - he would. He’d ruin you.

So he told himself the lie again. The one that kept him walking.

She’s better off this way. Better off keepin’ me at arm’s length. Better off rememberin’ me for the nights, not the days.

Joel stopped at his door, resting his hand on the knob. For a moment he imagined turning back, imagined opening yours again, imagined lying down and pulling you into his arms and just… staying. Just letting himself have something good, even if only for the night.

But he couldn’t.

So he went inside, sat down on the edge of his bed, and buried his face in his hands.

And when he finally lay down, staring at the ceiling in the dark, he didn’t sleep. He only replayed your voice, that quiet crack in your question, until dawn started to creep in through the window.

The morning light came harsh and unkind, breaking through the cracks in the boarded-up window. It painted long bars of gold across the room, across the tangled sheets, across your skin. You blinked against it, groggy and sore, every muscle reminding you of the night before.

For a long time, you didn’t move.

The smell of him still lingered, sweat and cedar and the faint burn of whiskey. The sheets were a mess, damp and wrinkled, clinging to your skin. Your hair was tangled, your throat raw, and the ache between your thighs was a deep, steady throb. All of it - evidence. All of it - Joel.

You pushed yourself upright, wincing when the sheet slipped and your bare skin met the chill in the air. The room looked like a storm had ripped through it. Clothes scattered, your boots kicked off haphazardly, the dresser still pushed a few inches out from the wall.

And then you saw it.

His flannel.

Crumpled on the floor, one sleeve twisted, buttons catching the light. The same one you’d clutched at when you straddled him, the same one he’d tugged off when his mouth couldn’t get enough of you. It felt heavy just looking at it.

You moved slow, like if you rushed it might shatter something inside you. Kneeling, you picked it up, the fabric rough and familiar against your fingers. You held it for a moment too long, breathing in the faint trace of him still clinging to the cotton, before folding it and tucking it deep into your pack.

Maybe you’d give it back. Maybe not.

You cleaned what you could, dragging the sheets straight, tugging your clothes back on, wiping the mess from your skin with an old rag you found in the corner. But no matter how much you tidied, the room still felt like him. Still felt like something had happened here that couldn’t be erased.

By the time you slung your bag over your shoulder and stepped out into the corridor, the building was buzzing. Traders loading up their packs, people calling to each other, boots heavy on the creaking floors.

You made your way downstairs, expecting... you weren’t even sure what. A glimpse of him, maybe. That stiff set to his shoulders, the way he’d glance at you without meaning to. Maybe you’d argue again. Maybe you wouldn’t speak at all.

But the common room was already half empty.

You scanned every corner, every face. No flannel, no broad shoulders, no gray-streaked hair.

And then one of the women sweeping near the door caught your eye. She jerked her chin toward the open road outside. “Your friend left at first light.”

Your chest tightened, a sharp ache blooming behind your ribs. You nodded once, forcing your voice steady. “He’s not my friend.”

The woman only shrugged, going back to her broom.

You stepped outside, the cool morning air biting at your skin, and for a moment you just stood there, watching the line of trees sway in the breeze. Somewhere out there, Joel was already miles away.

And you couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than if he’d stayed.

So you adjusted your pack, squared your shoulders, and started walking toward your own group. But deep inside your bag, the weight of his flannel pressed against your things like a secret you weren’t ready to let go of.

Chapter Text

You hadn’t meant to arrive so early. The run was supposed to take longer, and part of you had counted on that - on the buffer of a few extra days before facing the possibility of seeing him again. But routes had been clear, trades smooth, and suddenly you found yourself back at the post with time to spare.

So you worked.

You spent the mornings at the market stalls, bartering harder than you usually did, as if the math of trading could quiet the ache in your chest. You picked up small runs from others - hauling goods from one side of the outpost to the other, ferrying supplies for people too tired or too busy to do it themselves. It was pointless work, menial and repetitive, but it kept your hands moving.

Kept you from thinking.

Or so you told yourself.

Because the truth was, Joel’s absence had become a presence of its own. Every time you walked the halls, your eyes flicked up before you even realized what you were searching for. Every time the door creaked open, your stomach clenched. You caught yourself touching your bag in quiet moments, your fingers brushing the worn fabric of the flannel tucked inside.

It had been six months since you’d seen him last. Six months since he’d left you with nothing but the sound of that door closing behind him. You told yourself you wouldn’t let it happen again - that if he was here, you’d ignore him. Shut him out. End the cycle.

But deep down, you knew better.

By the third day, you were so busy running goods back and forth that you almost didn’t notice the change in the air. A ripple through the common room, traders calling greetings to new arrivals, the heavy sound of boots on the wood floor.

And then you looked up.

And there he was.

Joel Miller.

Same broad shoulders, same weary set to his jaw, same eyes that locked onto yours the second he stepped through the door. As if he’d been looking for you too.

The rest of the room fell away. Your chest tightened, your palms went slick, and you hated yourself for the way your pulse jumped just from the sight of him.

You turned back to your work, heart hammering, pretending the weight of his stare didn’t burn holes through you.

You didn’t see him again until later that afternoon, when you were balancing a crate against your hip, trading out dried jerky for a stack of cloth. He was there, at the other end of the table, speaking low to another trader. You didn’t mean to look at him - your eyes just slid to him on their own.

And in that glance, every memory came rushing back. The scrape of his beard against your throat. The bruising grip of his hands. The sound of his voice. 

Heat flushed your cheeks, and you snapped your gaze away.

Still, the aftertaste lingered.

You left the table quicker than you needed to, carrying the crate with stiff arms, jaw tight. And yet, every corner you turned seemed to put him in your path again - Joel haggling with a merchant, Joel passing in the hall, Joel pausing to sip from his canteen as if he had all the time in the world.

Each time, your eyes caught his before you could stop them. Each time, something low and sharp twisted in your belly.

And each time, you told yourself not again.

Not this time.

But even as the sun dipped low, painting the sky in streaks of red and gold, you felt it - the old familiar pull between you, winding tighter with every accidental brush, every lingering look.

Like no matter how many walls you tried to build, the two of you were still circling the same fire.

Joel had seen the mess he’d left you in last time.

The way your voice had cracked when you asked him why he wasn't yours. The way your eyes lingered, looking for something he didn’t dare give. He’d carried that look with him for six long months, like a splinter he couldn’t dig out.

And when he walked into the outpost and his eyes found you - like they always did - his chest ached with the want he knew better than to indulge.

So he set his jaw and made a choice.

Distance.

Not a word to you. Not a glance, if he could help it.

He told himself it was for your sake. That you deserved better than a man who only knew how to touch and leave. That his hands, his hunger, his weakness - they’d already hurt you enough.

So Joel kept his focus sharp. When you passed near him at the trading tables, he kept his head down, talking to merchants as if you weren't even there. When you brushed shoulders in the hall, he muttered a gruff “’scuse me” and kept walking. When your laugh - bright and fleeting - rose above the din one evening, he swallowed hard and stared into his drink instead of looking for you. 

He wanted. God, he wanted.

But wanting was what had gotten you two here.

For you, the silence was deafening.

You’d braced yourself for Joel - the glances, the draw, the inevitable collision that always followed. You’d told yourself you’d resist, that you wouldn’t let him break you down again.

But he wasn’t even trying.

No lingering looks. No sharp words spat in passing. No deliberate nearness that made your body hum before you could think to stop it.

Nothing.

And that nothing hit harder than you ever expected.

The first day, you thought maybe it was coincidence. The second, you started noticing the patterns - how he always found another path when you were near, how he turned conversations just before they might involve you, how he seemed to have perfected the art of vanishing right when you thought you’d cross.

By the third day, the sting had set in.

Because Joel ignoring you wasn’t easier. It wasn’t clean. It wasn’t freedom.

It was a burn just under your ribs, steady and sharp, a reminder of everything that had passed between you. Every rough, desperate, stolen night. Every whispered word. Every look that had promised more than he’d ever let himself give.

You hated it.

Hated that you wanted him to look. To say something. To acknowledge that you were still there, that what happened between you hadn’t been some fever dream.

And when his silence stretched on, you felt the ache in your chest curdle into something else.

Something reckless.

Something that whispered maybe it was your turn to break through his walls.

The trading hall was loud enough to drown out most thoughts, but your mind wasn’t in it anyway. You’d been trying - God, you’d been trying - to stay busy, keep your hands full, keep your eyes anywhere but on Joel. 

You’d already stacked crates, counted bags of dried beans twice, run errands for people you didn’t even know just to stay moving. It was either that or sit still long enough for the ache in your chest to crawl up into your throat.

So when a merchant called out for help, you were on him before he’d even finished asking. He needed cuts of dried meat portioned and wrapped. Easy enough. You rolled up your sleeves, grabbed a knife, and set to work, thankful for something sharp and simple to focus on.

Across the room, Joel was doing what Joel always did - shoulder to a wall, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the space between people instead of anyone in particular. From where you stood, you could just make out the edge of his jaw, the flick of his fingers against the rim of a tin cup.

He hadn’t looked at you once.

You forced your attention back to the slab of dried venison under your hand, pressing the knife down. The blade skated across the tough meat. You pressed harder, the muscles in your arm tensing, your jaw set.

And that’s when it slipped.

A hiss escaped your throat before you even registered what had happened. The knife clattered to the wooden table, the sound sharp enough to cut through the murmur of trade around you.

You stared at your arm. A deep, clean gash ran across the inside of your forearm, just below the elbow. Red welled up fast, beading before spilling over, hot against your skin.

The room tilted a little.

“Shit.” you breathed. You grabbed a rag, pressing it against the wound. It was deeper than you’d thought - messy, angry, pulsing under your palm.

The merchant muttered something about fetching bandages and bolted. Around you, people moved back to give you space, their faces blurring.

And then you heard boots.

Heavy, purposeful boots cutting through the noise, the way they always did when they were his.

Joel.

You didn’t have to look up to know he was moving fast - crossing the meters between you in seconds, the cup abandoned somewhere behind him. His shadow fell over you before you felt his hand, big and rough, closing over yours where it pressed the rag to your arm.

“Move.” he said - low, steady, but tight. You obeyed without thinking, letting him take over. His palm replaced yours, clamping down firm but not cruel, his other hand already reaching for his pocket, pulling out a clean bandana.

“What the hell were you doin’?” His voice wasn’t soft; it cracked with something between anger and panic. “Christ, you’re cut to shit.”

You blinked up at him, disoriented. This long he’d been stone, and now he was right here, close enough to smell the soap on his shirt and the leather of his jacket.

“I...” Your voice came out thin. “It slipped.”

Joel cursed under his breath, folding the bandana into a pad and pressing it hard to your arm. His eyes never left the wound, his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break.

“You should’ve called someone,” he muttered, even as he was already someone. “Don’t just sit there bleedin’ out.”

You almost laughed, a small, shaky sound that didn’t match the tears pricking your eyes. “Didn’t know you were looking.”

His gaze flicked up, sharp. For a heartbeat you saw it - all the things he’d been holding back, all the nights, all the want. And then it was gone, buried under that same stone wall.

“Couldn’t not look.” he said quietly.

Your stomach twisted.

Joel tightened the bandage and shifted his grip so he could support your elbow with one hand, your wrist with the other, keeping the cut elevated. His hands were warm and firm, steady even as you saw the tremor in his knuckles.

“We’re goin’ to get this cleaned,” he said. Not a suggestion. “Now.”

You wanted to say something - anything - but the words stuck. The only thing you managed, breathless, was: “Why do you care?”

Joel’s mouth opened, but no sound came. He just stared at you for a second, his thumb brushing unconsciously against the back of your wrist, smearing a bit of your blood across his skin.

Finally, rough and quiet, he said, “Don’t ask me that right now.”

And before you could push, he was guiding you out of the hall, his arm a barricade around you, his head ducked close to yours as if shielding you from the world.

For the first time in months, you weren’t sure if you wanted to fight him off or lean into him.

Joel didn’t give you much choice. His grip was firm on your wrist, the bandana pressed tight enough to keep the bleeding controlled but not enough to cut circulation. You could feel his pulse against your skin, steady as a drumbeat even if his jaw was set and his eyes were storm clouds.

The walk through the narrow halls felt longer than it was. A few people glanced up as he passed, but Joel’s face - hard, unreadable - was enough to keep anyone from asking questions. His body stayed close to yours, steering you like a shield, like nothing and no one would get near until he had you safe.

He stopped at one of the far rooms, fumbling a key from his pocket. He shoved the door open with his shoulder, guiding you inside before letting it slam shut behind you.

“Sit.” he ordered, nodding toward the edge of the bed. His voice was low but clipped, leaving no room for argument.

Your legs obeyed before your brain caught up, lowering onto the worn blanket. The cut throbbed under the bandana, your arm heavy in your lap. Joel crouched in front of you, his knees creaking, his eyes already scanning the wound as if nothing else existed.

From under the bed, he pulled a metal box - military issue, dented at the corners. He popped it open with practiced hands, revealing a neatly organized first aid kit: gauze, alcohol, a half-empty bottle of peroxide, even a small sewing kit with curved needles and thread.

Of course Joel Miller had a surgeon’s drawer tucked away in his pack.

He peeled the blood-soaked bandana back slowly. You hissed at the sting, and his head tilted just enough to catch the sound. His eyes flicked up at you for half a heartbeat before going back to the wound.

“It’s deep,” he muttered, almost to himself. His thumb rested gently against your wrist, steadying you as he leaned in. “Lucky you didn’t hit a vein. Needs cleanin’. Stitches, too.”

You swallowed hard. “Stitches?”

Joel shot you a look - stern, steady, but not unkind. “Ain’t gonna sugarcoat it. It’ll hurt. But if I leave it, you’ll end up with an infection. You don’t want that.”

You almost said something smart - something to cut through the thick air between you. But the words died in your throat. Because here he was, Joel Miller, who hadn’t looked at you in months, whose silence had been colder than winter, now cradling your bloody arm in his hands like it was something precious.

His hands moved with precision, not hesitation. A strip of cloth under your arm to keep the bed clean. A bottle of alcohol twisted open with his teeth before he poured it over the wound. You gasped, jerking despite yourself.

“Hold still,” he said firmly, his hand tightening around your wrist. Not rough, but grounding. “I know it burns. Just a second.”

You bit your lip, the metallic taste of blood mixing with the copper already thick in the room. Joel dabbed the wound dry, his eyes never straying, his whole body taut with focus.

When he reached for the curved needle, threaded it with dark string, your stomach twisted. “Joel…”

His hand paused, just for a second. His eyes lifted to yours.

“Trust me.” he said, and it wasn’t a command this time. It was quiet, almost pleading.

You nodded.

The first puncture burned like fire. You gasped, your free hand clutching the blanket beneath you, but Joel’s hand was steady, his thumb brushing along the back of your wrist. He worked in silence, pulling the thread tight, neat stitches closing you up one by one.

You hated how close his face was to yours, hated how your chest ached with something more dangerous than the pain in your arm. Every time his breath brushed your skin, every time his fingers shifted to hold you steady, your body remembered things you’d been trying to forget. His mouth on your neck. His voice in your ear. His weight pinning you down like gravity itself.

“Almost there.” he muttered, his voice rough.

You let out a shaky breath. “You’re good at this.”

He didn’t look up. “Done it enough times.”

“For yourself?” you asked softly.

His jaw flexed. “Me. My brother. Anyone who needed it.” His shoulders shifted, pulling the final stitch, knotting it off with deft fingers. “You learn fast when nobody else is gonna do it for you.”

You studied him. The scar on his eyebrow. The rough edge of his beard. The way his eyes darted up at you, then back down, like if he looked too long he’d slip.

When he finally set the needle down and tied off the last knot, Joel sat back on his heels. His knees popped, his hands flexed, but his gaze lingered on your arm, scanning his own work like a craftsman.

“All right,” he said, clearing his throat. “Bandage’ll hold. Keep it clean. Don’t pick at it.”

You nodded, but your eyes never left his. “Joel.”

The way his name left your lips - soft, searching - made his shoulders stiffen. He started gathering supplies, wiping blood from his hands with a cloth, refusing to look at you.

“Joel.” you said again, firmer this time.

“What?” His voice was tight, but when he finally looked at you, you saw it - fear, guilt, want, all tangled into something heavy and unspoken.

“Why?” The word came out cracked, but steady enough to hold weight. “Why do all this if you don’t want... if you don’t want me?”

The question hung between you like smoke.

Joel’s jaw worked. His hands flexed uselessly at his sides. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Then, low and almost broken, he said:

“’Cause I can’t not.”

And that was it. That was the whole truth, packed into four words, and it nearly undid you.

You adjusted the fresh bandage, fingers brushing along the tight wrap Joel had left around your arm. It stung, sure, but the ache wasn’t nearly as sharp as the confusion twisting in your chest.

“Doesn’t make sense...” you muttered, shaking your head.

Joel was crouched over the open kit still, putting things back into place with that same meticulous precision he gave to everything. He didn’t answer - not right away. Just kept his hands busy, shoulders tight, as if silence would keep the words you wanted from clawing out.

But you were done with silence.

You pushed yourself up from the bed, ignoring the way your head swam at the motion. The room tilted, and you stumbled, catching yourself against the nightstand with your good hand.

Joel was on his feet instantly, eyes snapping to you, a step forward like instinct. “Careful,” he said sharply. “You lost blood. Don’t...”

“I’m fine.” You cut him off, waving him back, though your chest was fluttering, your legs not quite steady. “I’m fine, Joel. Don’t... don’t do that thing where you act like you care one second and then pretend none of this exists the next.”

His jaw tightened. He looked like a man staring down the barrel of something far more dangerous than a gun.

You took a step toward him anyway, because your body was buzzing, because your arm ached, because your heart hadn’t stopped racing since his hands were on you.

“It doesn’t make sense,” you repeated, softer this time. “You say you don’t want this, don’t want me. But every time, Joel, every damn time, you’re right there. You look after me. You fix me up. You…” Your throat closed, words cracking. “You care. You can’t tell me you don’t.”

His eyes flicked to yours, dark and heavy, then down to the floor as if the wood would swallow him whole. He muttered, low and rough, “You don’t know what you’re sayin’.”

You huffed, the frustration bubbling over. “I do. I know exactly what I’m saying. I’m not stupid, Joel. I feel it every time I look at you. Every time you look at me.”

The silence after was suffocating. His chest rose and fell, heavy. His hands flexed at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you and force himself not to in the same breath.

So you made the choice for him.

You closed the space slowly, one step, then another, until you were right in front of him. Your head still felt too light, your arm throbbed, but none of it mattered when his presence filled the room like this.

“I just want you to be honest,” you said quietly, tilting your head up to catch his eyes. “With me. With yourself. Just once.”

Joel finally looked at you, and the storm in his gaze nearly knocked the air from your lungs. His lips parted like he had a thousand words fighting to get out. None came.

And then, softer than you expected, he whispered: “You don’t know how dangerous that is.”

You did. God, you did. And still, standing in front of him, heart pounding, you couldn’t make yourself step back.

You exhaled hard, your body fighting the dull throb in your arm and the strange lightness in your head. His words lingered, dangerous and sharp, but you weren’t going to let him leave it at that.

“Then make me understand.” you said, voice low but steady. You turned and eased yourself back onto the edge of the bed. Your legs felt untrustworthy, wobbly, like they might give out if you tried to keep standing. So you sat, elbows resting loosely on your thighs, eyes fixed on him.

Joel stayed where he was, just a few feet away. His hands were still half-curled at his sides, his chest rising and falling in that slow, measured way that told you he was keeping himself on a leash. He looked at you, then past you, then at the wall, like anywhere else was safer than your face.

“You don’t want me sayin’ it...” he muttered finally.

You shook your head, hair brushing your cheeks. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t.”

The air between you thickened. You could almost hear the weight of it pressing down on him, on you, on the narrow room itself.

Joel scrubbed a hand over his face, his palm dragging down his beard, his jaw clenched. He stepped closer - not all the way, but close enough that you could feel the shift in the room. He stared down at you, torn between speaking and swallowing the words back into his chest.

“You make me forget.” he said finally, his voice so low it was almost a growl.

Your brows furrowed. “Forget what?”

“Everything,” he snapped, the word spilling out sharper than he meant. He sucked in a breath, steadied himself, but his eyes burned with it. “What I done. What I lost. Who I am. When I’m with you, I don’t...” His jaw flexed again. He shook his head. “I don’t remember all the shit I oughta. And that’s dangerous. For me. For you.”

Your stomach twisted, but not from fear. From the rawness of it, the truth clawing out of him like it hurt.

“That’s not dangerous, Joel,” you said, softer now. “That’s human.”

His laugh was humorless, bitter. He shook his head, took a step back as if he could put distance between you and the weight of his words.

“You don’t know what it means, havin’ me in your life,” he muttered. “Every time I let myself… every damn time I let it happen, I’m just settin’ you up to hurt worse later. You deserve better than that.”

Your heart clenched, your arm throbbing in its bandage as if it agreed. Still, you leaned forward on the bed, eyes locked on him.

“And what if I don’t want better? What if I want this?”

His whole body stilled.

You pushed yourself up again, ignoring the way your body protested. You weren’t going to let him keep hiding behind walls and excuses, not when the truth was so close to breaking through.

But you moved too quickly. The blood loss caught up with you in a dizzy rush, and your knees nearly buckled. Before you could fall, your good hand shot out, catching solid ground - his chest.

Joel’s palm was already at your elbow, steadying you. His chest was a furnace under your fingers, rising in sharp, uneven breaths.

“Dammit,” he muttered, his arm tightening around you, pulling you upright before you could crumple. “Told you, you need to sit.”

“I don’t...” Your voice cracked. You shook your head, swallowing down the spinning in your skull. “I don’t want to sit. I want to look at you. Without you runnin’ off in your head.”

His eyes locked on yours then, sharp and dark and unblinking. His hand was still braced at your elbow, the other hovering near your waist like he was ready to catch you if you slipped again. The heat of him pressed into you, steady, unavoidable.

You realized your palm was still flat against his chest, right over his heart. It beat hard and steady beneath your touch, faster than he’d ever admit.

“You shouldn’t be standin’.” he said, voice low, but there was no real force in it now.

“And you shouldn’t be pretending you don’t feel this.” you shot back, your words trembling but certain.

Joel’s jaw worked, his lips parting like he might argue, but no words came. His eyes flicked from yours down to your mouth, then back again, and that was all the answer you needed.

The room felt heavier, smaller, his body caging yours without even trying. You could smell him - leather and soap, the faint tang of whiskey that clung to his breath.

“Say it.” you whispered. Your hand pressed a little firmer against his chest, feeling the hammer of his heartbeat. “Just once. Say you want me.”

Joel’s breath shuddered, his hand tightening at your arm as if it was the only thing anchoring him. He leaned in, close enough that his beard scraped your temple, his lips brushing the shell of your ear when he finally rasped, almost broken.

“You don’t know how bad I do.”

The words stole the last of your air.

And for the first time, Joel didn’t step back.

Your lips hovered over his, breaths mingling, the tension between you pulled so taut it was ready to snap. His eyes burned into yours, every unspoken word flickering there - want, guilt, need, fear - all tangled into something that made your heart ache.

You leaned that last inch, chasing the inevitable, but Joel shifted at the last second. His mouth didn’t claim yours, not the way you expected, not the way your body screamed for. Instead, he pressed his lips gently - achingly gently - to the corner of your mouth.

The kiss was too kind. Too careful. It was a kiss that held back the storm instead of unleashing it. A kiss that said more than words ever could, even as it denied you what you wanted.

Your breath hitched, your hand tightening against his chest, nails dragging lightly over the fabric of his shirt. He lingered there for a beat, his lips brushing against your skin, before he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes again.

“C’mon.” he murmured, voice rough but quiet. His hand slid from your elbow down to your wrist, holding carefully around the bandaged arm as if you were breakable. His other hand found your waist, steadying you as though you’d collapse without him.

And maybe you would.

He guided you backward, step by slow step, until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. Joel’s hands never left you, one at your waist, one bracing your wrist, his body close enough to keep you upright.

You sank down onto the mattress, breath shallow, head tipped back to keep your eyes locked on him. Joel hovered above you, still standing, his broad frame casting a shadow that made the room feel smaller. His hand lingered at your jaw, rough thumb brushing against your cheek like he couldn’t decide if he was touching you to reassure you - or himself.

The weight of his gaze pinned you in place. He looked at you like he was memorizing every line of your face, like he might never see it again.

And then, slowly, as if he’d already lost the battle, Joel lowered himself to sit beside you. His knees spread, his hands braced on either side of him, his head bowed for a moment like he was gathering himself.

When he finally looked back at you, the storm was still there in his eyes, but so was something softer. Something that made your chest squeeze.

“You sure you know what you’re askin’ for?” he rasped, voice low, heavy with warning.

You swallowed, your pulse loud in your ears. “I’ve never been more sure.”

Joel let out a long breath, his shoulders slumping as if the fight had finally drained from him. Then his hand reached for yours - the good one - and he pulled it gently into his lap, his thumb running slowly across your knuckles.

The storm wasn’t gone. But for the first time, he wasn’t hiding it.

His thumb kept tracing over your knuckles, slow and almost absentminded, like he didn’t even realize he was doing it. The silence stretched between you, not awkward, not heavy like before - just… full. Like both of you were listening to something that couldn’t be spoken.

You leaned back against the headboard, watching him. His shoulders were hunched, his body turned slightly toward you but still angled like he was ready to retreat if needed. His eyes stayed on your joined hands, that careful thumb still moving.

“You’re real quiet when you’re not barkin’ orders.” you said softly, trying to cut through the thickness of the air.

Joel huffed out a faint laugh, his lips twitching into almost a smile. “Always been that way. Don’t see much use in fillin’ the air just to hear myself talk.”

You tilted your head, studying him. “So what do you fill it with then? In your head, I mean.”

That made him glance at you, eyes narrowing just a touch. He seemed to weigh whether to answer, then finally said, “Memories. Things I shouldn’t still be holdin’ on to. Plans for what comes next. Mostly keepin’ the people I care about alive.”

The way he said it - flat, matter-of-fact - still made your chest ache. You nodded, letting the quiet fall again for a moment before you offered, “I… think too much about the past, too. Even the little things. Dumb things. Like… when I first learned how to braid my own hair. Or how my mom used to hum while she cooked. None of it matters now, but I can’t let go of it.”

Joel’s gaze softened at that, his thumb still moving over your skin. “Don’t reckon you should let go. Those are the things that make you, you.”

The gentleness in his tone made your breath catch, and you looked away for a moment, staring at the bandage on your arm just to ground yourself.

“Guess you’re softer than you look, Joel Miller.” you teased lightly, though your voice betrayed a little too much truth.

That got another ghost of a smile, his eyes dropping back down to your hand in his. “Don’t spread that around.”

The warmth that curled through your chest at his words surprised you. You let it linger a moment before letting your lips curl mischievously. “Speaking of spreading things around…”

Joel raised a brow, suspicious. “What’re you about to say?”

You tilted your head, biting back a grin. “The shirt.”

His brow furrowed. “What shirt?”

“The one you left last time. The flannel. You just tossed it on the floor like it meant nothing.” You gave a little shrug, feigning innocence. “I… might’ve kept it.”

Joel blinked at you, silent for a beat too long. Then his lips parted in a dry chuckle, and he shook his head, looking down like he didn’t know whether to laugh or curse. “You kept it.”

“Well, yeah. It’s a good shirt. Comfortable.” You leaned in a little, dropping your voice, a playful glint in your eye. “Smelled like you, too.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, and you swore you saw a flicker of heat pass through his gaze before he rolled his shoulders like he could shake it off. “You’re trouble.” he muttered, though his voice was softer than the words.

You grinned, savoring the way he couldn’t quite hide the way his thumb pressed harder against your knuckles, like he needed that little anchor.

And for once, there was no fight, no denial - just the two of you, sitting there with the storm held at bay, learning each other in the small, human ways that felt almost more dangerous than the rest.

Minutes later, you felt your body relaxing, sleepy, but you didn't want this moment to end. Couldn't. Not yet. 

"So, what's your favorite color?" You say, poking his arm. 

Joel’s lips twitched at your words, though his eyes stayed on you like he was measuring how serious you were. “Favorite color?” he echoed, his voice carrying that low rasp that always made you shiver.

“Yeah,” you said, shifting a little against the pillows, curling one leg under yourself. “You know… really dangerous stuff. Gonna pry all your darkest secrets out of you.”

He huffed, shaking his head, but there was the faintest glimmer of amusement there. “Don’t think I’ve had a favorite color since I was a boy.”

“That’s not an answer,” you shot back, your voice playful but soft. “C’mon. Everyone’s got one. Even if it’s stupid.”

Joel sighed, leaning back, one arm resting on his thigh. He looked at the floor for a moment, like the question was heavier than it had any right to be. Finally, he muttered, “Used to be blue.”

“Used to be?” you pressed, raising a brow.

He hesitated. “Sarah, my daughter... she had this sky-blue shirt she wore ‘til it fell apart. Used to joke that she was more stubborn than the thread holdin’ it together.” His voice faltered just slightly, but he cleared his throat, pressing on. “Guess the color stuck with me.”

You swallowed, your chest tight, the weight of his words sinking deep. You wanted to reach for him, to put your hand on his again, but instead you asked quietly, “Do you still see it? That shade of blue?”

Joel’s eyes flicked to you, then away, his jaw working. “Not much. Not anymore.”

The silence that followed wasn’t sharp this time - it was gentle, like a blanket laid over both of you. You wanted to hold it forever, to wrap him in it and keep him safe from the world clawing at him.

“Green.” you said suddenly.

Joel’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“My favorite color,” you said with a small smile. “Not that you asked, but… feels unfair to make you share and not give something back.”

“Green.” he repeated, testing the word like it was foreign.

“Yeah. Like moss after the rain. Like...” You stopped yourself, realizing you were rambling, but Joel’s eyes softened in a way that made your pulse jump.

He leaned forward just a little, elbows resting on his knees. “You always talk like that?”

“Like what?” you asked, tilting your head.

“Like you’re tryin’ to paint somethin’ I can’t see anymore.” he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent.

That hit harder than you expected. You gave a half-smile, though it trembled a little. “Maybe I am.”

Joel shook his head, glancing at the floor again like he couldn’t hold your gaze without unraveling. “You should rest.” he said finally, softer than before.

You curled back against the pillows, though your eyes never left him. “Maybe later,” you said, your voice lighter, teasing to disguise the ache in your chest. “Still got a whole list of deep questions. Favorite food. Favorite season. Maybe even...”

“Go to sleep.” Joel interrupted, though there was no bite in it.

You laughed softly, letting your eyes slip shut, though you weren’t ready to give in to the quiet just yet. You only knew one thing: you weren’t ready to let him slip away either.

You reached out before your body could think twice, your good hand closing gently around Joel’s forearm where it rested on his thigh. His skin was warm, solid, the muscle underneath tensing at the sudden contact. You didn’t care - you just wanted to keep him tethered close.

“Okay,” you murmured, your voice slow, softened by the heaviness weighing down your eyes. “Next question.”

Joel exhaled, half an amused huff, half a sigh. “Darlin’, you can barely keep your eyes open.”

“Shh.” You squeezed his arm lightly, ignoring the way his gaze flicked to your hand as if deciding whether to pull away. “Favorite… weapon.”

His brows rose, but he didn’t pull back. “Weapon?”

“Mm-hm,” you said, blinking slowly at him. “You’ve got one. Everyone does.”

He leaned back a little, thinking it over. “Knife.” he muttered after a beat.

“Figures,” you whispered, smiling lazily. “You look like a knife kind of guy.”

Joel shook his head, lips twitching. “And what’s that mean?”

“It means…” Your words trailed as you fought off a yawn. “Means you’re quiet. Precise. But also stubborn as hell. A gun runs out of bullets. A knife doesn’t.”

He tilted his head, his eyes softening despite himself. “You really think that much about it?”

“’Course I do,” you said with a sleepy grin. “I think too much about a lot of things.”

Joel made a sound low in his chest. He didn’t comment further, and for a moment, the only sound was the soft rhythm of rain dripping outside, a steady metronome against the wood.

“Okay,” you mumbled, squeezing his arm again, fighting to stay anchored in the moment. “Next question.”

Joel’s mouth quirked. “There more?”

You nodded, though your head lolled against the pillow. “Mm… favorite season.”

Joel looked at you for a long beat, as if the question was heavier than it should’ve been. Finally, he said, “Fall. Always liked when the air started coolin’. Leaves changin’ color. Felt like somethin’ new was comin’.”

“That’s a good answer,” you whispered, your lashes brushing your cheeks now as you blinked slower. “Mine’s spring. Everything growing again. Even after… even after winter.”

The last word faded almost into a sigh, your lips barely forming the sound.

Joel didn’t move. His eyes stayed on you, his jaw tense but his shoulders slouched forward like he couldn’t bring himself to leave the bedside.

You managed one last breath of defiance. “Okay. One more.”

“Thought we were done.” he said gently, his voice rough but quiet.

You ignored him, stubborn to the very end. “What’s your… favorite sound?”

Joel hesitated, looking at you with a weight in his eyes you couldn’t quite name. But by then, your body had already betrayed you, your lashes closing, your hand still clinging to his arm even as your grip went slack.

Your breathing evened out, chest rising and falling with the rhythm of sleep.

Joel sat there, watching you for a long while. He should’ve pulled his arm free. Should’ve walked out the door and left you to your rest. But he didn’t.

Instead, he whispered an answer you’d never hear, so quiet it might’ve been mistaken for the creak of old wood:

“You.”

And then he sat back, dragging a hand over his face, caught somewhere between exhaustion and the kind of ache no sleep could cure.

Joel had told himself a dozen times to leave. Told himself he had no right being in that room, no business hovering over you like some kind of shadow you hadn’t asked for. But when your hand had gone slack on his arm and your breathing fell into that steady rhythm of sleep, he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

Instead, he stood there for a moment, looking down at you, his jaw working. You looked so small like this, curled up on the rough mattress, hair a little messy from tossing your head as you fought sleep. Vulnerable in a way that hit him harder than it should have. Vulnerable in a way that pulled something deep from inside him - something he thought was long gone.

With a quiet sigh, Joel dragged his boots off, placed them near the door. The floor creaked when he moved, and he froze, waiting for you to stir. But you didn’t. So, slow and careful, he lowered himself back onto the other side of the bed.

The mattress dipped under his weight, and for a split second, he regretted it - regretted the impulse, the closeness. But then your body shifted slightly toward the warmth of his, as if drawn by instinct, and Joel went still.

He laid on his back at first, staring up at the ceiling where faint water stains traced patterns he didn’t care to name. But his eyes kept drifting sideways - to you, to the way your face softened in sleep, all that sharpness and stubborn fire you carried by day melted away.

Minutes dragged into hours, and he didn’t close his eyes once. He told himself he was just watching over you, just making sure you were alright. That cut had rattled him more than he wanted to admit, and the memory of your stumble - your weight falling briefly against his chest - kept flashing back. You’d looked too pale, too tired. He had to be sure you weren’t hiding something worse.

So every so often, Joel shifted, leaned just enough to press the back of his rough hand against your forehead. The touch was clumsy, tentative, but he lingered long enough to reassure himself - no fever. Just exhaustion. Just your body giving in to the day.

And when his hand drifted back, it always caught on some part of you - the blanket tugged higher over your shoulder, a loose strand of hair brushed back so it wouldn’t tickle your face. Each time, he cursed himself for it. Each time, he told himself to stop.

But he couldn’t.

The room was quiet save for the steady drip of rain easing outside, the wind shifting against the boards. And beneath it, your breathing. In, out, in, out. Joel found himself syncing to it without meaning to, chest rising and falling in rhythm with yours. It was grounding in a way he hadn’t felt in… hell, he didn't even know. 

Every now and then, you stirred - just a twitch of your fingers, a shift of your head against the pillow - but never enough to wake. Joel’s hand twitched each time, ready to steady you, ready to do something he couldn’t quite name.

He thought about leaving again, more than once. But every time his gaze lingered on the bandage at your arm, the crease that had smoothed from your brow, the little sighs you made in sleep - he stayed.

And when the hours stretched long enough that the lantern burned low, Joel finally rolled onto his side, just slightly, so he could see you clearer. His arm bent under his head, his other hand resting on the mattress between you, close but not quite touching.

His throat worked. His chest ached. He told himself it was just because of the long day, the late night, the worry. But he knew better.

He watched the steady rise and fall of your chest, the faint twitch of your lips when you murmured something too quiet to catch. And Joel Miller, who had sworn long ago that he had nothing left to give, nothing left to feel, found himself whispering words into the dark that you’d never hear.

“Sleep tight, darlin’.”

And for the first time in years, Joel didn’t feel the pull of sleep as a threat. He felt it as surrender. But he refused it anyway, staying awake until the pale glow of dawn began to edge against the cracks of the boarded window - watching, always watching, just to be sure.

Your eyes blinked open slowly, the dimness of the room still heavy with shadows. For a second, you weren’t sure what had pulled you from sleep. The air was still cool, the rain had finally quieted, and the boards no longer groaned with the wind. You turned slightly, stretching an arm above your head.

The movement was small, but it was enough.

Joel stirred instantly, like he hadn’t been asleep at all. One second, he was still; the next, he was upright, pushing himself up with a soft grunt. His boots weren’t on, but the way he moved - shoulders tense, jaw tight - wasn’t the relaxed sort of waking. It was alert, prepared.

You squinted through the faint glow seeping in from the cracks in the shutters. “What time is it?” you asked, your voice thick with sleep.

Joel glanced at the faint light of the clock on the wall before you even finished the sentence. “Little past four.”

You sighed, leaning back into the mattress, the weight of exhaustion still clinging to your limbs. “Too damn early.”

“Go back to sleep.” Joel said, already reaching for his fleece shirt from the chair. He dragged it over his head in one smooth motion, his hair sticking up at the crown, true evidence that he’d laid down at some point beside you.

That made your chest tighten.

“You were watching me.” you said, voice low, not accusatory - just a truth spoken into the space.

Joel froze for a moment, then adjusted the hem of his shirt. “Was makin’ sure you didn’t spike a fever. Nothin’ more.”

“Mm.” You sat up a little straighter, propping yourself on your good arm, the bandaged one resting in your lap. “That why you look like you didn’t sleep a second?”

His eyes flicked to yours, hard and warning, but he didn’t snap the way he usually did. Instead, he sat down on the edge of a nearby chair, rubbing a hand over his face. “Don’t matter.”

You tilted your head, studying him in the thin light. His shoulders were hunched, like he was carrying the whole night on his back. “Joel…” you started, voice softening, but the look he gave you cut the rest off.

“You should rest.”

There was steel in it, but under the steel was something else - something almost desperate. He wasn’t just telling you. He was begging you to let him hold the walls.

You leaned back against the pillow, watching him. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was thick, but it wasn’t the kind that pushed you apart. Not yet.

Finally, you murmured, “You know, I don’t mind.”

Joel frowned faintly. “Don’t mind what?”

“You. Watchin’ me.” Your lips curved faintly, though your voice was tired and honest. “Kinda makes me feel… safe.”

His jaw worked, and his eyes dropped to the floor. He didn’t reply, but the set of his shoulders shifted, just a little, like the weight had changed.

You let your head sink back into the pillow, letting your eyes fall shut again, though you knew you wouldn’t drift off easy now. The knowledge of him sitting there, awake and vigilant, was enough to keep your chest full.

Joel didn’t move. Didn’t breathe a word. He just sat there, elbows on his knees, watching the way your breathing steadied again. He told himself it was just the injury, just responsibility. But when your lips parted slightly, sleepy again, he knew the truth - he just couldn’t bring himself to say it.

Not at four in the morning. Not ever.

Chapter Text

The boards creaked softly under Joel’s boots as he shifted in the chair, elbows still braced on his knees, shoulders pulled tight. He hadn’t moved far since you’d stirred awake - hadn’t moved at all, really, beyond the habitual rubbing of a hand over his jaw and the steady drag of his thumb along his watch strap.

The light outside hadn’t broken yet, the room caught in that strange pre-dawn hour where time felt suspended.

You lay there, watching him for a moment, your bandaged arm resting over your stomach. The air between you felt heavy - not in the way of arguments, not in the way of unsaid anger. Heavy in the way of something new, something fragile.

Then you shifted, turning on your side to face him fully. You reached out, patting the space beside you on the mattress, your palm tapping the rumpled blanket.

“C’mere.” you murmured, your voice rough with sleep but laced with something deliberate.

Joel’s head lifted, his eyes cutting toward you. “You should be restin’.”

“I am,” you said, tilting your head, giving him a look. Then you added, softer, but with a mischievous edge, “Besides, you gotta. I’m wounded.”

The words hung there, and you exaggerated the pout that pulled at your lips, your brows lifting as if to say checkmate.

Joel exhaled slowly through his nose, leaning back in the chair. “Darlin’…”

You kept your hand on the empty space, fingers splayed, waiting. “Don’t ‘darlin’’ me. You were here before I woke up. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, betraying him for half a second. “You’re somethin’ else.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, almost serious this time. “So come back.”

Joel sat there for another long moment, weighing something in his chest, shoulders still coiled tight like a bowstring. Then, with a reluctant grunt, he tugged off his boots again, one at a time, setting them quietly near the door. He crossed the floor and lowered himself onto the edge of the bed.

The mattress dipped under his weight, the blanket pulling slightly toward him. You shifted closer instinctively, the warmth radiating from his body a comfort you couldn’t name.

“Told you I wasn’t gonna fall asleep again.” you whispered, a hint of smugness in your tone.

Joel settled back against the headboard, legs stretched out, arms folded across his chest. “Then what the hell am I doin’ here?”

You turned onto your back, your shoulder brushing his arm, the faintest contact. “Keeping me company. Making sure I don’t die in the middle of the night or something.”

Joel huffed quietly. “That arm’s a scratch. You’ll live.”

“Exactly,” you said, tilting your head toward him, eyes glinting even in the dim. “So… company, then.”

He shook his head, but he didn’t move away. Didn’t argue again.

Silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Not this time. It felt… full. The quiet hum of pre-dawn wrapped around the both of you, the sound of your breathing and his syncing, filling the space between.

You let your eyes wander over him, the slope of his profile in the dim light, the way his chest rose and fell slow, steady. And you felt that ache rise again - the one that said he’d been right there beside you long before you’d even asked.

The ache that said he might always be, even when he swore he shouldn’t.

You bit back the urge to say it. To say don’t go. To say stay. Instead, you murmured, “This is nice.”

Joel glanced down at you, something soft flickering in his eyes before he looked away again, fixing on the ceiling. His jaw tightened, then eased.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice low, gravelly. “It is.”

And for a little while, neither of you said anything more. You didn’t drift off like you’d threatened not to, but you didn’t need to. The silence was enough. His nearness was enough.

Maybe, just for the time being, the space between you wasn’t so wide after all.

The silence stretched, heavy but gentle, until you shifted again, rolling slightly toward him. Your good hand rested on the blanket near his side, fingers brushing against the fabric covering his thigh.

Joel stiffened, eyes flicking down at the contact. “Careful,” he muttered, voice rough. “You’re hurt. Lost more blood than I liked seein’.”

You gave a small shrug, lips quirking in a faint smile. “I don’t mind.”

His brow furrowed, the lines in his face deepening as he turned his head to study you. “Should. You push yourself too far, you’ll...”

“Joel.” Your voice cut through his warning, not sharp, but certain. You shifted your hand a little closer, the back of your fingers brushing against the warmth of his leg now. “I said I don’t mind.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. Joel’s chest rose and fell, slow but tight, like he was fighting the urge to pull away - or the urge to lean closer. His hand flexed against his arm where it was crossed, rough fingers twitching like they wanted to move.

You tilted your head on the pillow, catching his eyes. “Don’t you get it? I feel worse when you’re over there, all locked up in yourself. You’re here now. I want that. Not the space between.”

His throat bobbed, and he let out a long exhale, almost a growl. “You don’t know...”

“Joel...” you whispered, your fingers curling lightly against the fabric of his jeans.

Joel didn’t answer right away. Instead, he unfolded one arm slowly, his hand hovering above the blanket like he was testing the air. Finally, hesitantly, he let it drop - his palm covering yours, the weight of it warm, grounding.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t pull back. You only turned your hand, letting your fingers slip between his.

The tension in his shoulders shifted, not easing completely but softening in the smallest of ways. His thumb brushed unconsciously against the side of your hand, rough skin grazing your knuckles.

“You shouldn’t want this from me.” he said, voice quieter now, like he was confessing something against his better judgment.

“I do.” you answered simply, your eyes holding his even in the low light.

Joel stared at you, his expression shadowed but open in a way you rarely saw. Then, carefully, he shifted from the headboard, lying down fully beside you. The mattress dipped with his weight, and suddenly his body was a line of warmth at your side, his arm draped lightly over your middle, careful of your bandaged arm.

Your chest swelled at the contact, a soft sigh slipping past your lips.

“You’re supposed to be restin’.” he murmured against your hair, the words gruff but hollowed out, stripped of their usual steel.

You tilted your head just slightly, your temple brushing his jaw. “I am,” you said. “This is rest.”

Joel closed his eyes for a long moment, breathing you in, his hand resting on your stomach. His touch wasn’t demanding. It wasn’t urgent. It was steady, protective, almost reverent.

His hand was spread wide across your stomach, warm and steady, the weight of it almost lulling. For a moment, you let yourself sink into it, but your body betrayed you - you shifted, inching just enough that your hips pressed back against his.

The reaction was immediate. His breath hitched against your hair, chest going tight behind you. His hand twitched on your stomach, as if torn between pulling away and holding firmer.

“Don’t,” he muttered low, voice husky with warning, though his tone lacked bite. “You’re hurt.”

You turned your head on the pillow, eyes catching the shadows of his face. “So?” you asked softly, letting your good hand trail down to cover his where it rested on you. “I don’t exactly need my arm for this.”

Joel cursed under his breath, tightening his grip just enough to keep you still. “Don’t start somethin’ you can’t finish,” he rasped. “Not like this.”

But you weren’t listening. Or maybe you were, but the warmth of him pressed against you, the memory of how he could unravel you with just his hands and his voice - it drowned out every reason he was trying to put between you. You shifted again, pressing yourself back against the hardness you felt through his jeans.

Joel groaned, low and strangled, his head falling briefly to your shoulder. “Christ, you’re stubborn.”

Your lips curved into the smallest smirk. “Takes one to know one.”

He lifted his head, eyes burning into yours in the dimness. One of his hands moved, instinctively trailing lower down your abdomen. The moment his fingers brushed close to the waistband of your pants, you sucked in a sharp breath, heart hammering.

But then he stopped. His hand slid up again, finding your bandaged arm. His calloused fingers curled around it - not tight, but firm, a tether pulling you back from the edge. “You lost too much blood,” he said, softer this time, though the tension in his voice was sharp. “Body needs rest, not me pushin’ you over it.”

Your lips parted, eyes locked on him. “Joel…”

“You think I don’t want it?” he asked, almost angrily, almost like it cost him something to admit. His thumb brushed near the bandage, grounding both of you. “But I ain’t doin’ it. Not tonight. Not when you’re hurt like this.”

You swallowed hard, chest aching at the way he said it, like there was more underneath than just caution. And still, despite his words, your hand slid lower, brushing his thigh, testing.

His entire body went rigid, jaw clenched, but he didn’t pull away.

Your lips brushed over the inside of his forearm, feather-light, as though you weren’t kissing but painting him with the ghost of your breath. Joel’s body went rigid behind you, the arm you’d caught in your grip flexing under your mouth.

“You don’t gotta worry,” you whispered, your tone threaded with playful defiance. “We can go slow.” You kissed again, lower this time, dragging your mouth along the line of muscle. “I’ll even be as still as you always wanted.”

Joel huffed something between a scoff and a groan. His hand tightened against your stomach, not rough, but commanding. “You think this is a joke?” His voice was gravel, but there was no fire in it. Only strain.

You smiled against his skin, teeth grazing him just enough to make him twitch. “You’re the one who always complained about me moving too much.” Your lips trailed higher now, kissing along the crook of his elbow, then pressing your cheek to the warm, solid muscle of his bicep. “Consider this me finally listening.”

He cursed under his breath, turning his face into your hair. His breath was hot against your crown, his chest pressed so tight to your back that you could feel his heartbeat hammering through his ribs.

“Don’t...” he said again, but it sounded more like he was telling himself.

You tilted your head back just enough to catch his eyes. Even in the dark, you could see them - stormy, conflicted, darkened with something he couldn’t smother. Your good hand slid over his wrist, pressing him closer to you, and then you placed another kiss on his arm, higher this time, close to where his hand rested near your bandage.

“Still think I don’t understand?” you asked softly.

Joel’s throat worked as he swallowed. He shifted behind you, pressing his forehead to the back of your shoulder like he could block you out, but his body betrayed him. The evidence of how much he wanted this, wanted you, pressed hard against you, undeniable.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, voice breaking low. His fingers flexed over your stomach, dragging across your skin like he didn’t know if he meant to hold you back or pull you closer. “You drive me fuckin’ crazy.”

You smiled, small and knowing, even as your chest tightened at the confession. You tilted your head again, brushing your lips against his jaw when he leaned close enough. “Then stop fighting it.”

Joel’s breath brushed your lips first, heavier than the space between you, and then - finally - his mouth found yours. Not like the rushed, hungry, desperate kisses you’d shared so many times before. No. This one was drawn out, deliberate, like he was reminding you that even if you thought you were steering this, he would decide how far, how deep, how slow.

His lips moved against yours with infuriating patience, coaxing instead of demanding, tasting instead of taking. The gentleness nearly undid you more than the roughness ever did. You made a small sound in the back of your throat, tilting toward him, your good hand reaching up, tangling in the collar of his shirt to pull him closer.

Joel pulled back just far enough that you could see the flicker in his eyes, the raised brow, the silent challenge written plain across his face. Really? That single look said it all - like you hadn’t just sworn you’d be still, like you hadn’t promised him you wouldn’t test the line this time.

Your lips curved into the tiniest smile, sheepish and defiant all at once. “Force of habit.” you murmured, voice low, brushing his mouth again just to prove you weren’t sorry.

He gave a quiet, humorless chuckle, shaking his head, his forehead resting against yours. “You don’t know when to quit, do you?” His voice was soft, almost fond, though the grit in it remained.

Before you could answer, his hand moved. The one that had been braced over your stomach slid higher, slow as the kiss had been, dragging over the curve of your ribs and up to cup your jaw. His thumb pressed lightly under your chin, tilting your head so he could kiss you deeper, angling you where he wanted. You melted under the touch, parting your lips for him as his mouth claimed yours more firmly this time - still slow, but with the kind of control that left your body thrumming.

Your hand fisted tighter in his shirt, a halfhearted tug that you knew he wouldn’t indulge. And he didn’t. Instead, Joel caught your wrist in his free hand and gently, firmly pressed it back down to the bed, pinning it there against the blanket.

“Didn’t we just talk about this?” he muttered against your lips. His tone was almost teasing, almost - except for the way his body pressed so carefully to yours, as if every inch of restraint cost him.

“Yeah,” you whispered back, smirking despite the shiver running down your spine. “But I thought maybe you didn’t mean it.”

Joel groaned, pulling away just enough to look at you, really look. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, almost tender, though his grip never loosened on your wrist. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”

You only smiled, softer now, eyes searching his. “Guess we’ll both go down swingin’, huh?”

The huff of air that left him sounded too close to a laugh, but there was no humor in his eyes. Only heat. Only warning. His hand slid from your jaw to the side of your throat, fingers resting there - not squeezing, not yet, just reminding you of his hold, his control. 

Joel stayed there for a moment, forehead against yours, breathing you in like he needed to memorize the exact rhythm of your lungs against his chest. You thought maybe - maybe - he’d pull back again, shove all this down like he always tried to. But then his hand began to move.

Slow, careful, the pad of his palm dragging along your ribs, the tips of his fingers tracing the edge of your shirt. He studied you, eyes flicking down to your wound as though gauging whether he had the right to take this further.

You arched into him, giving him his answer.

With a low, quiet sigh, Joel slid his hand higher, catching the hem of your shirt. His fingers toyed there for just a beat, testing, before he lifted it - inch by slow inch, until the cool air licked at your skin and the fabric bunched high against your ribs. He bent his head as he worked, lips pressing feather-light kisses in the new space he revealed.

The first brush of his mouth against your stomach made you shiver. The second, higher, had your hand twitching beneath his grip on the mattress. By the time he reached the underside of your breast, his lips were barely there at all - ghosting over you so delicately it felt more like a memory than a touch.

“Joel…” your voice cracked, your chest rising unevenly as his mouth hovered, never quite landing where you needed.

“Shhh,” he murmured, his breath hot against your skin. “Gotta be gentle with you tonight. You remember what you said, darlin’... you’d be still.”

The reminder was both a tease and a warning, but you didn’t miss the warmth threaded into his tone. His hand that wasn’t pinning your wrist came up, cupping the side of your ribcage like you were something fragile, something precious. His thumb brushed soft arcs over your skin as his lips finally, finally touched your breast, just at the outer curve.

The kiss was so delicate you almost didn’t feel it. Then another, higher, his beard scraping rough against sensitive skin while his mouth remained unbearably soft. His nose brushed you as he moved, dragging heat up toward your nipple but never giving in.

You whimpered, head falling back against the pillow. “Joel…”

His lips quirked against you, almost a smile. “You’re so damn impatient.” he muttered, voice muffled by your skin.

But then - mercy. His mouth closed around your nipple, gentle, warm, tongue just barely flicking at first. His hand pressed more firmly to your ribs, anchoring you, keeping you from arching up the way you wanted. He kissed there like he had all the time in the world, slow pulls, deliberate licks, each one softer than the last.

Every brush of his mouth made your chest ache with something heavier than lust. Something warmer. Something you were afraid to name.

Joel’s eyes flicked up, meeting yours as his lips dragged away from your breast, trailing soft kisses back across your chest, up your collarbone, along the side of your neck. He kissed the hollow just under your ear with a tenderness that nearly broke you, whispering against your skin:

“You gotta let me take care of you.”

You nodded, throat too tight for words, the simple movement enough to tell him you’d give him this - his pace, his way.

Joel’s hand lingered against your ribs for a breath, thumb stroking back and forth as if reminding himself you were here, real, yielding beneath him. Then, ever so carefully, he shifted lower. His palm pressed flat to your stomach, tracing down over the thin band of your pants, fingers dragging lazy circles along the fabric as though he were sketching your shape from memory.

Your breath caught, anticipation coiling in your belly, but Joel gave you nothing yet. His mouth was still at your chest, lips wrapping around one breast again, tongue slow and deliberate, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp. He pulled back to kiss the swell, then the valley between, then lower still, beard scratching a path that set every nerve alight.

Meanwhile, his hand only teased, moving languidly along the waistline of your pants, never dipping beneath. Each pass of his fingertips was a promise, a torment, a reminder of the patience he demanded.

“Joel,” you whispered, arching despite yourself, your good hand sliding into his hair, tugging gently. “Please…”

He hummed against your breast, the vibration shooting straight through you. “Patience.” he drawled, his lips brushing over your nipple before he drew it into his mouth again, sucking slow, lazy, like he had all the time in the world. His hand finally slipped lower, two fingers slipping beneath the band of your pants, tracing the edge of your hipbone with infuriating precision.

Everywhere but where you needed him.

You let out a broken sound, hips twitching. His mouth released you with a wet pop, and he lifted his head just enough to look down at you. His eyes were molten, pupils blown wide, but his expression was controlled, steady.

“You said you’d be still.” he reminded, voice gravel and honey, his fingers now sliding just barely along the top of your mound, tracing shapes like he was spelling out his claim.

Your body trembled, but you forced yourself to nod again. “Still,” you whispered, almost breathless. “I’ll be still.”

Joel’s lips curved against your skin, satisfied, before he kissed your breast once more - slow, lingering, his hand finally, finally dipping lower, brushing softly where your need was sharpest. A single stroke, tender and devastating.

Joel shifted his weight, moving with that same quiet certainty that always made you feel caged without realizing it. His mouth never strayed far - pressing open, lingering kisses across the swell of your chest, dragging along your sternum, then tracing the delicate skin just below your breast.

Meanwhile, his hand hooked into your waistband, tugging slow. Painfully slow. Inch by inch, the fabric slid down your thighs, your skin prickling at the cool air kissing newly exposed flesh. He moved carefully when brushing your bandage arm, mindful as always, his focus split between stripping you down and keeping you safe.

When your pants finally reached your knees, he leaned back just long enough to pull them free, dropping the bundle somewhere forgotten on the floor. Then he settled himself between your thighs again, his broad shoulders spreading them without effort, pinning you open.

His hand returned immediately - cupping you through the thin cotton of your panties, palm broad, fingers spread to cradle you fully. The heat of him burned through the fabric, pressure steady but not rushed. Just a caress, maddening in its slowness.

Your hips twitched despite your promise. Joel’s lips curved against your stomach as he pressed a kiss there, then another lower, his beard scraping you raw in the most delicious way.

“Already like this for me,” he murmured, his voice vibrating against your skin. His thumb stroked once, lazy, over the damp patch spreading against the fabric. “Soaked through, and I’ve barely touched you.”

You whimpered, hand curling into the blanket beside you, because if you touched him you knew he’d pin you again. His mouth moved lower, tracing the band of your panties, dragging the tip of his nose across the thin cotton until you were gasping.

Joel pressed one more kiss to your hip, almost reverent, before settling his mouth over the place you ached most. The fabric was still in the way, but the heat of him bled through, his breath damp against you as his lips moved in slow, deliberate circles.

The pressure of his hand never wavered, cupping you like he owned every inch. His thumb stroked again, firmer this time, teasing the sensitive bud even through the barrier.

You whimpered again, thighs trembling against his shoulders.

Joel hummed, the sound a low rumble that sent a shiver straight through your core. “Easy,” he said softly, his lips brushing against the thin cotton. “We’re takin’ our time.”

And then his teeth caught the edge of the fabric, tugging it just enough to tease before letting it snap back against your skin.

Joel stayed there, settled heavy between your thighs, his hand firm over your mound, his mouth moving with excruciating patience. Every kiss he pressed to the thin cotton was softer than the last, like the fabric itself was the only thing keeping him from devouring you whole.

You gripped the sheets besides you, knuckles blanching, because if you dared touch him - if you so much as curled your fingers in his hair - he’d remind you of your promise. Still. You’d said it, and he’d hold you to it.

His tongue pressed against the damp patch at your center, a slow drag that had your hips twitching before you could stop them. Joel pulled back immediately, his beard scraping the tender skin of your thigh as he shifted just enough to remind you he’d noticed.

“Careful,” he warned, voice low and dangerous. “I said gentle tonight. You said still.”

Your chest heaved as you nodded, nails digging into the blanket beneath you. “Still,” you whispered, your voice already frayed. “I’ll be still.”

Joel hummed, satisfied, and his mouth returned to you - open, hot, pressing against your clit through the soaked fabric. He licked slow, deliberate stripes, the cotton growing wetter with each pass of his tongue, every sensation both dulled and sharpened by the barrier. His thumb pressed down lightly, pinning the fabric tighter against you, making each movement of his tongue unbearable.

Your thighs trembled, and you bit your lip hard enough to sting, swallowing back the cry that threatened to spill.

Joel chuckled, the vibration rolling straight into you. “That’s it, darlin’… hold it for me.” He mouthed at you again, lips closing around the spot you craved most, sucking softly, pulling at the fabric as though he might tear it from you with his mouth alone.

Your back arched despite your best effort, your hands clawing at the sheets. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on anything other than the slow torture of his pace - the way he gave you just enough to burn but never enough to break.

The wet sound of his tongue dragging across the cotton filled the quiet room, joined only by your hitched breaths and the occasional rough scrape of his beard when he shifted lower to kiss along your thigh. Every time his mouth left your center, it was only to return again, slower, crueler, a rhythm meant to unravel you thread by thread.

“Fuck, Joel…” you whispered, your voice broken, pleading without meaning to.

He looked up then, his eyes dark and steady, lips glistening against the damp fabric stretched between you. “Patience,” he said again, almost a growl. “I wanna see how long you can last like this.”

And then his tongue pressed harder through the cotton, dragging over you with just enough pressure to make your whole body quiver.

Your fists clenched tighter around the sheets, the fabric bunching beneath your palms. The sting in your wounded arm flared sharp, dragging a small hiss from between your teeth. You tried to mask it - tilting your head, biting your lip - but Joel always noticed.

He froze for just a moment, his hand slipping from your mound to press firm but gentle over your stomach, grounding you. His eyes flicked up, catching the faint twist of your expression.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice gravel-soft. His free hand brushed against your bandage, feather-light, checking without undoing anything. “You hurtin’?”

You shook your head quickly, maybe too quickly. “No... no, it’s fine. Just pulled wrong.”

Joel’s gaze lingered, skeptical, heavy. He bent forward, pressing a kiss just above the wound, beard tickling the edge of your bandage. Then another, softer still, as if he could soothe the pain through touch alone.

“Gotta be careful,” he muttered against your skin, lips warm. “Don’t want you makin’ it worse.”

The tenderness nearly broke you. But before you could drown in it, Joel shifted again, settling back between your thighs. His hand returned to its place over your mound, cupping you with the weight of possession, while his mouth lowered back onto your panties.

The moment his tongue pressed deep into your entrance - even through the soaked fabric - you cried out, body jolting before you could stop yourself. Joel’s hand pinned you down instantly, his palm firm on your stomach, holding you to the mattress.

“Easy,” he warned, though his voice had gone rougher now. “Don’t forget what you promised me.”

Your breath came ragged, desperate, as his tongue worked lower, pressing against the barrier, pushing the cotton against you so firmly it felt like he was inside you. He moved slow, steady, deliberate strokes, dragging heat through your core. Each press made your thighs tremble harder, made your fingers claw deeper into the sheets until the bandage on your arm throbbed with the effort.

“Joel... please.” you gasped, hips twitching against his restraint.

He pulled back just enough to glance up at you, his lips glistening against the damp cotton, his beard wet with your arousal. His eyes burned through the dark, steady and merciless.

“You sound so goddamn sweet.” he rasped, before lowering his mouth again, tongue flattening against your clit now, dragging slow circles that had your whole body quivering.

His hand on your stomach pressed harder, pinning you in place as he licked, sucked, teased - all without removing the final barrier between you. And every second of it drove you closer to the edge of breaking.

The sheets beneath your hands were damp now from your grip, your knuckles white, your breath torn ragged. You tried everything - whimpers, pleas, the way his name fell off your tongue like prayer. But none of it was enough. Joel only pressed his palm heavier against your stomach, his tongue stroking you through the cotton until you thought you’d lose your mind.

“Joel, please... honey, please,” you gasped, voice breaking. “Need you. Need you so bad.”

The word - honey - slipped out unplanned, but it landed like a spark. His whole body stilled, the heat of his mouth hovering over you. Slowly, his eyes dragged up, catching yours in the dim light.

You could see it happen in him - the struggle, the crack in his wall. His jaw flexed, his nostrils flaring as if he was at war with himself. And then… he gave in.

Joel dipped his head again, mouth brushing your soaked fabric. Only this time, instead of pressing against it, his teeth caught the edge of the cotton. He tugged - slow, deliberate - dragging it aside with the scrape of his teeth until the air hit your swollen, wet skin.

Your hips bucked helplessly. A sharp sound tumbled from your lips. “Fuck, Joel.”

His gaze flicked up once more, locking with yours as his tongue pressed flat against your bare clit. The shock of it sent your back arching clean off the bed, your wounded arm throbbing in protest but drowned by the wave of pleasure.

“That what you wanted, huh?” His voice was muffled against you, thick with heat. “Had to call me sweet names to get it.”

You nodded frantically, good hand flying from the sheets to grab at his hair, holding him to you.

Joel groaned low in his chest, the sound vibrating against you. “Goddamn devine.” he muttered before sucking your clit into his mouth, rolling it with devastating precision. His fingers spread you open, rough pads holding you wide as his tongue traced circles that grew faster, harder, merciless now that the barrier was gone.

Your thighs clamped around his head, trembling with each pull of his mouth, each flick of his tongue. You couldn’t stop the sounds leaving you anymore - whimpers, broken pleas, his name strung together with curses.

And Joel drank it all in. He didn’t look away from you once, his dark eyes heavy, locked on your face as if he could read every twitch, every shiver, every second before you shattered.

“Don’t stop,” you begged, voice small and wrecked. “Please, Joel, don’t you dare stop now.”

His answer was a growl against your clit, teeth scraping, tongue plunging deeper. His hands held you down when you tried to buck, his strength unyielding, his mouth relentless. And all you could do was give in.

Your hand gripped tight to his hair, anchoring yourself against the onslaught of his tongue. Joel’s touch was grounding, steady, rough palm pressed to yours, thumb brushing your knuckles even as his mouth worked you with devastating focus.

Then, without warning, he reached across, finding your injured arm where it lay against the sheets. His big, callused fingers threaded carefully through yours - gentle in a way that didn’t match the hunger in the rest of him. The gesture stole your breath, your chest aching at the tenderness buried inside his rough edges.

“Joel…” you whispered, half a sob, half a plea.

He answered by sucking your clit deep into his mouth, tongue circling, lips pulling until your legs locked around his head on instinct. He didn’t fight it - he leaned into it, his hands tightening around both of yours, letting you squeeze, cling, crush, while he buried his face deeper against you.

Your thighs quivered around him, holding him there, keeping him. The sound of his low growl vibrated straight through your core, making your back arch as your body opened for him, giving him everything.

With your legs locked tight and your fingers tangled with his, you felt like you were spread wide open - not just your body, but every part of you. He had you, completely. And he didn’t let go.

His tongue slid down, teasing your entrance, plunging deep before dragging back up to circle your clit again. Every time he moved, it was sharper, wetter, crueler. He was eating you like a man starved, but the grip of his hands on yours stayed careful, steady - reminding you that he wouldn’t let you slip away.

“Open f’me,” he rasped between strokes, breath hot against your swollen skin. “That’s it, baby. Show me how bad you need it.”

And you did - hips rolling, thighs tightening, voice breaking into a cry that only his mouth could swallow.

Joel tightened his hold on your wounded hand, fingers locked firm around yours, as though he could keep you steady while your whole body shook. His mouth doubled its rhythm, tongue plunging inside you in hard, merciless strokes, nose pressed just right against your clit with every thrust.

Your head fell back against the pillow, a cry ripping out of you - loud, unrestrained, the sound raw enough to echo in your own chest. Your thighs locked down around his head, but Joel didn’t ease up, didn’t give you even a second of slack. His tongue drove deeper, his beard rasping your skin, his nose flicking your clit until you burst.

Pleasure tore through you in waves, your back arching, toes curling, voice breaking as you tried to hold onto him with both hands. Your good hand clutched his hair, nails digging in. Your wounded one trembled in his grip, but Joel wouldn’t let you pull away - he held you right there, steadying you, letting you shatter against his mouth.

“Tha’s it,” he rasped against you, voice low, muffled by your body but still thick with praise. “Good girl. Gimme every bit of it.”

And you did. You came hard, harder than you thought your body could stand, your cry breaking into smaller, breathless whimpers until all you could do was collapse back onto the bed, panting, shaking, your hand still tangled with his.

Joel slowed at last, easing you down, pressing the softest kiss to your swollen clit as if to seal it - before lifting his head, his mouth wet, his eyes dark and fixed right on you.

Joel’s mouth trailed a wet, reverent path up your body - slow, savoring, as though he didn’t want to miss a single inch. Each kiss was deliberate: the curve of your thigh, the hollow of your hip, your stomach, the line of your ribs. By the time he reached your chest, his tongue flicked briefly against your nipple before he continued climbing, his breath ragged but his pace measured.

When his lips finally found yours, he swallowed you whole in a long, slow kiss. His mouth was still damp with you, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that made your head swim all over again. Joel kissed you like he was making sure you knew - he wanted this, even if his stubborn words always said otherwise.

Your good hand slipped down, slow and curious, tracing over the hard lines of his chest. His breath caught when your palm pressed against the bulge in his jeans, thick and straining for you.

He broke the kiss with a groan, forehead leaning against yours, eyes shut tight. “Darlin’…” he muttered, voice low, warning and hungry all at once. His hips bucked up almost involuntarily into your hand, betraying how badly he wanted your touch.

Your fingers pressed firmer, teasing along the ridge of him through the denim, and his jaw clenched, a curse falling from his lips. One of his big hands gripped your thigh, squeezing, like he was trying to anchor himself - to hold back.

But you could feel it in the way his breathing hitched, the way his body leaned into your touch: restraint was hanging by a thread.

Your voice was soft, barely more than a whisper against his mouth.

“I’m okay, Joel. I can take it.”

You felt the way his body stiffened, like every muscle went taut under your hand. His eyes opened, that molten brown locking onto you, searching for any crack in your resolve. You lifted your chin, steady, your thumb brushing along his jaw as if daring him to argue.

“I’ll stay still.” you promise again, a little playful, a little defiant.

Joel let out a low, incredulous laugh - half disbelieving, half pained - like he couldn’t believe you had the nerve to do this again. His chest shook with it, warm against yours, and he dropped his head, resting his forehead briefly against your shoulder as if to catch his breath.

“You,” he murmured, voice rough and raspy, “got a damn mouth on you.”

But still, he didn’t move away. If anything, the laugh broke something loose in him, softened the tension coiled in his shoulders. His lips pressed back to your collarbone, slow and lingering, while his hand shifted, sliding under the waistband of your panties. The contrast of his calloused fingers against your skin made you jolt, breath hitching, but you forced yourself to stay still - just like you’d said.

Joel smirked against your skin when he felt you trembling. “That's still?” he muttered, rubbing lazy circles at your core, barely grazing where you wanted him most.

Your good hand gripped his bicep, nails biting into the firm muscle there. “Joel...”

“Mm.” He cut you off with another kiss, slow and deep, swallowing your plea. His fingers moved more deliberately now, parting you, slipping lower until he was sliding through your wetness. He groaned when he felt just how ready you were for him, his mouth dragging away from yours only to mutter against your cheek. “Christ, you’re soaked. All this from lyin’ still?”

The tease made your face burn, but your hips still arched into his hand before you remembered yourself and forced them back down. His chuckle was low, husky, like it came from deep in his chest. “Good girl.” he praised quietly, and the words made your stomach flip.

His hand worked you slow, his pace deliberate, unhurried. Each stroke was careful but sure, dipping inside just enough to make you whine, then pulling back to circle your clit with maddening precision. You bit your lip, trying not to give him the satisfaction of another sound, but Joel’s lips were at your ear now, warm and commanding.

“Don’t hold back from me,” he murmured. “You want it, you let me hear it.”

The weight of his body pressed you into the mattress, steady and grounding, while his hand coaxed wave after wave of pleasure from you. You remembered your promise, remembered not to move, but your hands had a mind of their own - clutching the sheets, clinging to him, doing anything to keep yourself anchored as your body begged to writhe.

Joel’s laughter ghosted over your skin again, softer this time. He wasn’t mocking - it was like he couldn’t believe you, couldn’t believe this. The stubborn girl who always pushed him, always talked back, was lying under him trying her damned hardest to follow the rules she set herself. 

And it only made him want you more.

Your voice cracked, the word trembling out of you before you even realized you’d said it.

“Please, baby.”

Joel froze. Not his hand - that kept moving slow, deliberate, pressing into you with a rhythm that made your legs twitch - but the rest of him went still, his chest rising and falling heavy against yours. His head lifted from where it had been bent over you, his lips hovering inches from your own, and his eyes found yours in the half-light of the room.

It wasn’t a jab, or a challenge, or even your usual teasing defiance. It was soft, broken, as if it had slipped out from somewhere deeper than you meant to show him. Joel looked almost undone.

Your good hand seized the moment, sliding lower, tugging at the waistband of his jeans with shaky fingers. You wanted him. Needed him. Not just his hand, not just his mouth - you wanted all of him, wanted to feel that weight, that stretch, that fire that made you burn and break in the same breath.

“Joel…” you whispered, a plea laced in your voice, tugging more firmly at his pants now. “I need you. Please. I’ll stay still and good, I promise.”

His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking hard, and his hand stilled at last, fingers pressed deep inside you but unmoving. “Darlin’,” he muttered, voice low and cracked. “Don’t...”

But you only pressed closer, using his pause to slide your hand under the denim, brushing against the thick heat of him straining inside. Joel hissed, his forehead falling forward to rest against yours, teeth grit. You stroked him through the fabric, slow but sure, and his restraint faltered, his hips jerking into your touch.

“You’re killin’ me.” he groaned, half warning, half surrender. His hand dragged out of you, leaving you aching and empty, only for him to push your panties all the way down in one rough tug. The fabric hit the floor with a soft sound that made your pulse pound.

You tugged at his jeans again, desperate. “Then stop fighting it.”

Joel’s eyes locked on yours, dark and heavy with everything he wouldn’t say. He let out a harsh breath, then his hands were on his belt, yanking it open with rough, practiced motions. The sound of the leather snapping free and the zipper dragging down filled the quiet room, making your body shiver in anticipation. Then he removed his shirt in just one move, leaving him finally naked. 

“Stay still.” he rasped again, even as he shoved his jeans low enough to free himself. His cock sprang heavy into your hand as you reached down instinctively, wrapping your fingers around his thick length. Joel’s head dropped back with a low, guttural groan, his hand shooting out to catch your wrist.

“Careful,” he warned, though his voice shook. “You keep that up, I ain’t gonna be gentle.”

But you just smiled, soft and defiant, your thumb brushing the tip and smearing the slick there. “Maybe I don’t want gentle.”

Joel growled, deep and raw in his chest, and in the next breath he was between your legs, pressing himself against your entrance, the blunt head of his cock sliding through your wet folds but not sinking in. Teasing. Testing. Torturing you both.

“Still, huh?” he muttered against your lips, mocking the promise you’d made him. “Prove it.”

The stretch when he finally started to push inside was enough to make your eyes roll back, your lips falling open on a sound that was half whimper, half plea. Joel’s hand braced firm on your hip, the other flat against the mattress by your head, holding himself up as he slid in slow, savoring every inch. His groan shook through you, deep and gravelly, vibrating against your chest where his mouth found yours again.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he panted, bottoming out, holding still as if he was giving you a second to adjust - but his voice betrayed him, low and frayed with need. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

Joel stayed there for a beat, buried deep inside you, his chest pressed hard to yours as if he could fuse you together. His breath was ragged, his forehead pressed against your temple, the rough scrape of his beard catching on your skin. For all his warnings, for all his restraint, the second he sank into you, it was over - he wasn’t going to let go.

His hands shifted, one sliding carefully under your wounded arm, cradling it against his chest so you wouldn’t strain it. The other splayed wide over your ribs, keeping you steady beneath him. He held you like you were breakable, but the weight of him, the way he was filling you, was anything but fragile.

Then he started to move.

Slow at first, dragging himself almost all the way out before driving back in, deep, deliberate. The kind of thrusts that knocked the air out of your lungs, not with speed but with sheer force. He wasn’t pounding you into the mattress - he was taking his time, making every stroke count, making sure you felt him.

“Goddamn…” Joel groaned against your ear, voice raw. His hips rolled, pressing deeper, and you clawed at the sheets just to keep yourself grounded. “So tight, darlin’. Always so fuckin’ tight for me.”

You whimpered, back arching into his chest, your good hand clutching at the muscles of his back like you needed proof he was really there. He angled his thrusts just right, hitting that spot inside you that made your legs twitch, made your breath stutter.

“Joel...” You gasped, your voice already breaking. “Feels so...”

“Yeah,” he rasped, cutting you off with a hard thrust that pulled another sound from your throat. His hand pressed firmer to your ribs, steadying you as he moved, grinding deep with each push. “I know. I fuckin’ know.”

Every time he drove in, he stayed there, buried to the hilt, grinding his pelvis against yours before pulling back again. It was torture, delicious and devastating. He was holding himself back - not because he didn’t want more, but because of you, because of that wound, because despite how much you begged for him, he was careful with you.

But there was no mistaking the way his breath hitched every time you clenched around him, or the curses falling from his lips when your good hand dragged down his back.

“Stay with me,” he whispered hoarsely, almost like a plea, his lips brushing your jaw. His hips pressed deeper, slower, until you swore you could feel him in your ribs. “That’s it, baby. Just like that.”

And you did - you stayed still like you’d promised, letting him take control, letting him work you open with those deep, devastating thrusts. Every movement stole your breath, every groan in your ear wound you tighter, every praise made your chest ache.

The burn of it, the fullness, the way he held you so close while still fucking you hard - it was overwhelming. It was everything.

Your lips parted against the rough line of his jaw, brushing kisses over the stubble there - soft, searching, desperate for some kind of tether while his body consumed yours. Joel groaned low in his chest, the sound rumbling through you as though it was pulled from somewhere deep, somewhere he couldn’t control.

Your good hand slid higher, threading into the sweat-damp hair at the base of his neck, fingers locking there. Not to choke, not to hold him back, just to drag him closer - like you wanted every piece of him pressed against you. His skin, his weight, his breath. All of him.

Joel gave in instantly, lowering himself until there wasn’t a space left between your bodies. His chest crushed to yours, his mouth sliding down to your throat, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses there between ragged breaths. His thrusts didn’t change pace - they stayed deep, steady, relentless, the kind of rhythm that made your body burn and bloom at once.

You tilted your head back, baring your neck for him, lips still ghosting along his jaw until he shifted to meet your mouth again. The kiss was sloppy, uncoordinated, the kind that came when words were too far gone. You moaned into him, the sound swallowed by his tongue as his hips ground against yours, hitting you so perfectly that your thighs trembled.

Joel’s hand slid from your ribs to cup your face, thumb brushing over your cheek as though you weren’t under him being fucked deep and slow, as though he needed to remind himself you were here, warm and alive and looking at him like he was something more than what he believed himself to be.

“Goddamn, darlin’…” he murmured into the kiss, his words frayed, reverent. His forehead pressed to yours, his hips still rolling deep, pushing you closer and closer to that edge. “You feel too good… too fuckin’ good.”

Your hand clenched tighter at his neck, not in demand, but in devotion, pulling him down until his weight covered you whole. Your lips brushed his again, broken words falling out between panting breaths. “Don’t stop. Please, Joel... don’t stop.”

And he didn’t. He gave you everything in those deliberate, bone-deep thrusts, every stroke carrying a weight of hunger, of need, of something he wouldn’t put words to. His body trembled with the effort of holding back, but he stayed right there, deep and steady, giving you exactly what you begged for. 

Your body went tight beneath him, your nails biting into the back of his neck as if you could anchor yourself to him when the pleasure ripped through you. The rhythm he’d kept - steady, unrelenting - finally caught up to you, your body clenching hard around him as your climax crashed over you.

The cry that tore from your throat was muffled against his jaw, your lips dragging over his stubble as your whole body arched into his. Joel groaned at the sensation, the way you squeezed him so perfectly, his thrusts faltering for the first time as his control buckled.

“Jesus Christ, baby…” His voice cracked, low and guttural, as he drove into you again, slower but harder, chasing the edge he knew was coming fast. The heat coiled in his gut, a fire building with every twitch of your body under his, every broken whimper that fell from your lips as you were still trembling through your high.

He buried his face in your neck, breath hot, curses tumbling against your skin. His hips stuttered, his rhythm lost, and he felt it - so close. Too close. The temptation screamed in him, the sheer need to stay buried inside you, to spill deep, to lose himself completely in your heat and never pull away.

And for one fleeting second, he almost did.

His hand clenched at your hip, his chest pressed to yours, his cock throbbing inside you - every part of him begging to give in. He could already see it, already imagine the mess, the way you’d cling to him after, the way it would change everything.

But the thought hit him like a fist to the chest, snapping through the haze. Change. Consequences.

With a strangled growl, Joel wrenched himself back, pulling free at the last second. The absence made you gasp, a whine of loss on your lips, but he barely had time to think before his release tore through him. Hot ropes spilled across your stomach and chest as he stroked himself through it, the muscles in his arms straining, his body trembling over yours.

“Fuck...” he panted, eyes squeezed shut, his head dropping beside yours as the last of his climax shuddered out of him. His hand was still braced tight on your ribs, as though he had to hold you in place, as though letting go meant he’d lose more than just control.

For a long moment, there was only the sound of his harsh breathing, your shaky whimpers, and the faint slick sound of him working himself dry against your skin.

When it was over, he hovered there, chest heaving, eyes still closed like he couldn’t quite look at you yet. The air between you was heavy - thick with what almost happened, thick with what didn’t.

Your chest was still rising and falling hard, muscles weak from the force of your climax, but your mind refused to let you drift into that empty quiet that usually followed. Not tonight.

Joel leaned on one arm beside you, the other running absently over his face as if to wipe away what just happened. He’d pulled away - again. That wasn’t new. That wasn’t even what made your heart throb in your chest this time.

It was everything before. 

The way he’d held you, tight, like letting you go wasn’t an option. The way his breath had broken on your skin, his voice rough and aching with something that went deeper than lust. 

That wasn’t just sex. You knew what just sex felt like. Quick, rough, detached. A body against a body. But Joel had pulled you in close, kept you locked against his chest, forced his eyes on yours until you couldn’t look anywhere else. And in those moments, it wasn’t about release. It was about you. 

You turned your head against the pillow, your cheek brushing his shoulder as you studied him. His eyes were on the ceiling, jaw tight, like he was building walls in his head brick by brick. But you’d felt those walls crack. Felt them crumble when he whispered your name against your neck, when his hands shook on your skin.

A faint, almost incredulous smile tugged at your lips, even though your body still trembled. “That wasn’t just sex.” you murmured, your voice scratchy but steady.

Joel’s head snapped toward you, his expression unreadable, maybe even warning. His mouth opened, closed again. You didn’t let him speak.

“It wasn’t, Joel. Not with the way you held me. Not with the way you…” your throat caught, heat rising in your chest, “…looked at me.”

For the first time, he didn’t shoot back a denial right away. He didn’t have some cold, sharp edge ready to cut the moment down. Instead, he stared at you, silent, and in his silence, you knew.

He felt it too.

And whether he admitted it out loud or not didn’t matter as much anymore.

Joel’s eyes held yours a second too long - just long enough for you to see the truth flicker there, raw and unguarded. And then, like a switch flipped, he broke the stare, shook his head, and leaned back, retreating into that familiar armor.

“No.” you whispered, almost a plea. But he didn’t give you the words. He couldn’t.

Instead, his hand was already moving, careful and firm as he reached for your arm. The wounded one. The bandage rustled softly under his touch, his thumb pressing just near the edge as he scanned the stitches. His fingers turned your arm gently, tilting it toward the weak lantern glow spilling in from the hallway crack.

“Joel…” you tried again, softer this time, but his focus was rigid, eyes on your wound like it was the only thing in the room.

He cleared his throat, voice low and rough. “Looks like it’s holdin’.” His calloused fingers ghosted along the fresh wrap, tracing where blood had seeped faintly into the gauze. “Ain’t bled through much. That’s good.”

You wanted to push, to demand he look at you again, but he was in that mode - you recognized it by now. The protector. The caretaker. The man who would tend your wounds because that was safer than tending what burned between you.

His thumb lingered at your wrist longer than it needed to, feeling your pulse beneath the fragile skin.

You knew it.

He knew it.

But instead of acknowledging it, Joel kept his eyes down, the furrow in his brow deepening as he muttered, “Need to keep it clean. Can’t risk infection. You tear the stitches, it’s gonna be a hell of a lot worse.”

You swallowed, throat thick, watching him fuss over you like you hadn’t just been in his arms, like you hadn’t just felt him hold you as if you were something worth keeping.

“Joel.” you said, softer still, your good hand twitching against the sheets, aching to touch him.

He finally looked up, and for one raw, fleeting heartbeat, the mask slipped again. His jaw tightened, and his lips parted like he might finally say it, might finally admit what his silence had already betrayed.

But instead, he gave your arm a final press, nodding at the bandage as if to seal the moment shut. “You’re fine.”

Protective. Practical. Safe.

Anything but honest. 

Chapter Text

The sky outside was just beginning to pale, the last shadows of night thinning into the fragile gray of dawn. The room was still thick with the scent of you - sweat, heat, the iron tang of blood faintly lingering from your wound. Clothes scattered on the floor like evidence neither of you would speak about.

You sat on the edge of the bed, fingers fumbling with the buttons of your shirt. Arm aching, pulling at the stitches each time you moved, but it wasn’t the wound that stung the most. It was the silence.

Joel was across the room, already tugging on his jeans, broad back turned toward you. He moved with that deliberate, methodical pace you had come to know - like every action was a decision he’d thought twice about before committing. He shoved his arms into his flannel, the fabric wrinkled from being left in a pile all night.

You thought about those hours, how he had told you to rest, his voice firm but careful. How he had stayed - right there, sitting at your side - but somehow felt like he’d been a thousand miles away. Watching you, checking you, guarding you, but never exactly with you. 

You had drifted in and out of sleep, waking to the sound of his boots shifting on the floorboards, to the warmth of his hand ghosting over your forehead, to the sight of him leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the wall instead of you. And every time you opened your mouth to speak, to pull him back into the bed, into you, he would give that same small shake of his head. As if asking for more was something you weren't allowed to do.

Now, as you pulled your jacket carefully over your bandaged arm, you felt the weight of it pressing into your chest. The way his presence had filled the room but not reached you.The way he had touched you like you were precious and fragile in one breath, and then pulled himself away in the next.

Your eyes flickered to him, standing by the dresser now, stuffing supplies into a worn bag, movements brisk. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t ask if you had slept well. Didn’t mention the kisses or the soft way you had held onto him before drifting off.

He stayed. But he had also been gone.

And the thought burned like the cut on your arm, sharp and throbbing with every heartbeat.

You already know how this goes.

The air in the room feels heavier the more you both move around, pulling clothes back on, tying boots, brushing past each other without a word. His silence isn’t strange anymore - it’s a pattern. A rhythm you’ve been forced to learn. One you hate, and one you keep falling back into anyway.

By the time you’re both downstairs, you can already see the shape of the day ahead. Joel will bury himself in tasks, trading, hauling, fixing - whatever puts his hands to work and his mind far away from you. And you’ll do the same, forcing your attention into whatever small runs or chores come your way. Both of you pretending the night before didn’t happen. Pretending the kisses, the touches, the way he whispered against your skin - it wasn’t real, not in daylight.

It’s always like this.

Nights stolen in a haze of heat and want. Mornings washed clean with silence. The rest of the day spent with too much space between you, even when you’re only a few feet apart.

And then, when the roads are clear and safe enough, your groups will leave. Like always.

Another stretch of months waiting in the middle - months where you don’t hear his voice, don’t feel his hands, don’t even let yourself think his name out loud. You’ll pretend you don’t count the days until you might see him again. Pretend the ache in your chest is something you can bury like he does.

You already know how this goes.

And still, as you steal a glance at him across the room, watching the set of his jaw, the way his hand flexes once against his thigh like there’s something he wants to say and won’t… you can’t help but think, how much longer can it keep going like this?

The trading post is buzzing with movement when the time finally comes. Boots scuffing on the wooden floors, carts being hitched, bags thrown over shoulders. That familiar hum of people ready to get back on the road, restless after being stuck in one place too long.

You sling your pack over your good shoulder, the weight of it tugging at the stitches on your arm. It’s not bad, not enough to stop you, but enough to remind you what brought you into Joel’s room in the first place. You tug the strap tighter, ignoring the sting, forcing yourself forward.

Your group gathers near the gates, voices low but impatient. Across the way, you spot him with his. And just like always, your eyes find him before your mind even allows it. Like they’ve been trained.

Joel’s already watching the men he’s walking with, giving a short nod, adjusting his rifle strap higher on his back. He looks steady, like nothing in the last few days knocked him off balance. Like he doesn’t carry any of it. And maybe he doesn’t. Maybe that’s what makes you angry and aching all at once - because you carry it, and you wonder how deep he buries it all to be like this. 

For a moment, your groups walk parallel, steps echoing against the stone until you’re near enough to hear each other breathe. The guards at the post push open the heavy gates, the world beyond stretching into the same gray horizon it always does.

You don’t say anything. Neither does he.

But you feel it - the weight of everything unsaid pressing into the air between you, louder than the shuffle of boots and the creak of gates. The memory of his hand holding yours, his voice low and desperate in the dark, the warmth of his body still clinging to your skin. All of it burns, raw and alive, while your lips stay sealed.

It takes all the strength in you not to look back when your group angles off first, splitting paths at the edge of the road. You know if you do, you’ll catch him in the act of doing the same.

You already know how this goes.

And yet, with each step farther away, the thought cuts deeper - how long until you see him again? And when you do, how much of yourself will you still have left to give before he leaves you with silence all over again?

Chapter Text

The road up to the trading post is quieter than usual, the early morning damp pressing against your skin as you walk. Six months of cold nights, of scavenging, of pretending the memory of Joel Miller wasn’t stitched into you like the scar running down your arm. You told yourself you wouldn’t think about him anymore. Not really. Not in the dark when you were alone, not when someone mentioned his group, not when you caught the scent of wood and leather and thought for one split second that he might be near.

But the moment the gates creak open and your boots crunch onto the packed earth of the trading post, your chest hollows out. Because he’s there.

Not later, not across the market when you’re ready for it - right there. 

Your group isn’t even through the entrance when his does, too, merging in like you’d rehearsed it. You see him before your brain catches up, shoulders squared, his rifle slung over his back, the faint hitch in his step you’ve noticed before but never asked about. He looks up, and your eyes meet, and the air between you punches thin.

The last time you’d seen Joel, his hand was holding your wrist against a mattress, his breath was hot against your ear, and you were whispering words you can’t take back. Now? Now there are too many people around, too much light, too many things to say that neither of you can.

The groups pause at the checkpoint while the guards count heads, and it feels like the longest stretch of silence you’ve ever endured. You’re not close enough to touch, but close enough that you catch the way his jaw shifts when he looks at you. Like he wasn’t ready. Like this was too soon.

It shouldn’t matter - he’s the one who always pulls away. But the truth is, neither of you was ready.

You duck your chin, forcing your focus onto the bag strap digging into your shoulder, the ache of carrying weight that isn’t just physical. You tell yourself not to look again, not to breathe him in. You already know the color of his shirt, the lines on his face, the weight in his stare. You don’t need more.

But you do it anyway. And when you do, his eyes are already on you.

Someone from your group calls your name, breaking the tension like glass. You jerk forward, forcing your boots to move, to drag you into the market. Behind you, Joel does the same, voices from his side pulling him along. But you still feel it - that invisible thread tying you to him, yanking taut with every step.

Inside the post, everything smells of wood smoke and sweat, people shouting as they barter over scraps of food, parts of old weapons, threadbare clothes. Normally you’d dive in, eager to trade, eager to lose yourself in the noise. But not today. Not with the awareness pressing down on your skin.

Every corner feels too small, every glance too sharp. You catch him once across the stalls, hands busy bartering for something you can’t make out. His expression is blank, but his fingers twitch like they want to be anywhere but there. Like they want to be back on you.

And that’s when you realize - you don’t have a plan for this. Not for bumping into him like this, raw and unprepared. Not for pretending that six months of silence was enough to make the fire burn out.

Because it hasn’t.

And the more you try to swallow that truth down, the more it sears your chest alive.

The morning stretches on like it always does - dust in the air, the buzz of voices, the shuffle of boots through the market. You lose yourself in trade and small talk, keeping your eyes anywhere but on him. You don’t trust yourself if you let them wander. Not after that look at the gates. Not after months of silence, only to crash right into him the second you arrive.

And Joel… he’s doing the same. You feel it, the way his presence skirts around yours, careful but not careless. He doesn’t come close, doesn’t linger, but you catch the edges of him like a shadow you can’t outrun. It should help, keeping the distance. It doesn’t. It makes it worse.

By midmorning, you’re almost convincing yourself it’ll stay like this. The pattern will hold - stay out of reach, leave unspoken words to rot where they belong, and in a couple of days you’ll both walk out different gates.

But then someone from the trading post shouts for help.

A wagon’s busted down, axle snapped clean where the wood rotted through. Supplies meant to be hauled to another settlement now lie stranded by the stables. The call goes up for strong hands, for people who can lift and brace and mend. And you freeze when your name’s called.

And then freeze harder when you hear his.

You both move at the same time, boots crunching toward the stables, but not looking at each other. Not yet. Your stomach is a knot, nerves a live wire in your veins. Out of everyone here, it had to be you. Out of every capable hand, it had to be Joel. 

The wagon leans to one side, heavy with crates. The others already there are debating whether it’s worth salvaging, how much weight needs offloading before the axle can be braced. You stand on one side, Joel on the other, and for the first time all day, you’re close enough to see the lines of strain around his eyes.

“Gonna have to lift it,” one of the guards mutters. “Brace it while someone replaces the pin.”

Joel’s gaze flicks to you across the wagon. Just a second, barely there. But it’s enough. His expression is unreadable - stone, like always - but his shoulders shift, the weight of the task settling on him the same way it settles on you.

When the guard barks the count, you move together. Your palms press against the warped wood, splinters biting, and you lift. The wagon groans, wood creaking as the others scramble underneath to wedge the brace in place. You don’t speak, can’t, because every muscle in your body is tight - not from the strain of lifting but from the nearness. His breath carries across, short and measured, his arms flexing as the weight pulls against him.

For a heartbeat, it’s like it used to be - working in tandem, no words needed, just instinct and trust. The way your bodies seem to know what the other will do before the motion’s even started. It makes your throat burn, your heart pound harder than it should.

Finally the guard calls it. The pin’s reset, the brace holds. You both lower the wagon at the same time, slow, deliberate, careful not to jar the work. The wood settles with a thud, and you step back, rolling your aching shoulders.

And for the first time, there’s no avoiding it - your eyes catch his again.

Sweat darkens the collar of his shirt, his jaw tight, but his gaze doesn’t waver. It holds you there, pinned harder than the wagon ever could.

And god, it’s dangerous, standing this close in daylight, nothing between you but the space you’re both too stubborn to cross.

You wipe your palms against your pants as the group breaks apart, the task finished, everyone heading back toward the trading post’s main stretch. Your arms throbs faintly, but it’s nothing compared to the weight still dragging at your chest from being too close to Joel for too long.

You hang back a little, letting the others fill the space ahead, when someone drops into step beside you.

“Didn’t think they’d rope you into heavy lifting.” the man, Oliver, says, grin easy as he adjusts the strap of his pack. He’s one of the younger runners you’ve seen here before - your age, maybe a little older, sharp-eyed, with a smile that comes quick.

“Guess I look stronger than I am.” you mutter, but the corners of your mouth twitch up despite yourself.

He chuckles. “Worked out fine. You held your own.”

It’s harmless, the kind of conversation you’ve had a hundred times in these walls. Nothing heavy, nothing dangerous. But it’s been so long since someone spoke to you without the weight of silence pressing down, without the rules you and Joel keep breaking and then pretending you haven’t.

So when he cracks another line - something about the wagon being older than half the folks hauling it - you laugh. Small, quick, but it slips out anyway.

And you don’t realize Joel’s close enough to hear until your laugh dies, and you feel it.

His presence, just behind you, just close enough to drag heat up your neck. He’s not looking at you. Not really. His eyes are fixed ahead, jaw set hard, the line of his shoulders rigid under his shirt. But you know. You know.

Joel Miller is holding himself together with both hands.

Because that laugh wasn’t for him. Because you didn’t throw that look, that softness, his way. Because it should never matter and yet - it does.

Your companion doesn’t notice, too busy talking, too busy making light work of the walk back. But you feel Joel’s stare like a burn whenever the man leans too close, whenever his hand gestures near yours.

And for a wild, reckless second, you think: what if Joel snapped? What if he said something?

But he doesn’t.

He just clenches his jaw, flexes his hand like he needs to keep it busy, and lets the moment pass. Lets you laugh. Lets the space between you fill with everything unsaid until it chokes you both.

By the time you reach the post again, the man gives you a nod and peels off toward the stalls. You stand there a beat too long, pulse hammering in your throat, before forcing yourself forward. Joel doesn’t glance your way, doesn’t break stride, but the storm brewing under his skin is plain as day.

And the worst part? You can’t decide if you want him to hold it in—or finally let it out.

You find Oliver again near one of the food stalls later, his laugh easy as he haggles with the old man running it. He spots you before you even make the decision, his grin pulling you in without effort.

And maybe - maybe it’s because you’re tired of silence, tired of the way Joel only sees you in the dark, behind closed doors, when no one else can. Maybe it’s because Oliver’s not afraid to look at you, to talk to you, to treat you like you’re someone who deserves a voice instead of a secret.

Or maybe it’s because you can feel Joel’s stare from across the market, heavy as a rifle barrel on your back.

Either way, you stay.

Oliver makes it easy. He leans on the stall beside you, talking about the kind of nothing that feels like relief - how the road here was rough, how one of his boots has been patched so many times it’s more stitching than leather, how the dried meat on offer here tastes like it’s been sitting since before the outbreak. His words come quick, full of life, and for the first time all day you let yourself laugh again. Not small, not muffled - real.

And you don’t miss the way Joel stiffens across the way.

He’s leaning against a post near the smithy, arms crossed, pretending to listen to the men bartering beside him. But his eyes are on you. Always on you. He doesn’t move, doesn’t break cover, but the storm in his jaw is clear enough to see even from here.

You lean a little closer to Oliver. Not enough to touch, not really. Just enough that it looks like you might. And when his voice drops lower, when his smile lingers too long, you tilt your head back and let out another laugh, lighter than you feel.

Fuck it, you think. If Joel won’t let you have him outside of locked doors, then he can choke on the sight of you here.

Oliver notices the way your attention keeps drifting, but he doesn’t press. He just talks, just listens. And that’s almost worse - the easy rhythm, the lack of weight. You catch yourself watching his lips once or twice, the clean lines of his jaw. He’s not Joel. Not even close. But he’s here, and he’s not pretending you don’t exist.

“Glad you stuck around,” Oliver says after a pause, softer now. “Didn’t think I’d get the chance to talk again.”

Your chest tightens at that, because Joel has never once said he was glad. Never once told you he wanted more than those fleeting, reckless nights. Joel only ever gave you silence, denial, and the heat of his hands when he couldn’t help himself.

So you smile back at Oliver. Not because you mean it, not because you don’t know exactly what you’re doing. But because you do.

And across the way, Joel’s jaw clenches like stone.

His hand flexes against his arm, thumb dragging slow across his knuckles, like he’s trying to keep himself steady. He doesn’t move, doesn’t break. But his gaze never leaves you.

And the truth is, you love it.

You love that for once, it’s him burning while you stand here, warm under someone else’s attention. You love the way the tension coils tighter the longer he watches. You love knowing he’ll break sooner or later.

And when he does - you’ll be ready.

The afternoon slips by in pieces, broken by noise and bartering and dust in the air. You keep yourself close to Oliver more often than not. Not always - sometimes you wander off, take time alone to breathe, to cool the heat still rolling low in your belly - but enough. Enough that you know Joel sees it.

Every glance you steal confirms it.

He’s there, never far, arms folded or hands on his belt, shoulders stiff as wood. Talking when spoken to, nodding when needed, but always watching you.

And the sight of him like that - restrained, wound tight as a snare - fills you with a dangerous kind of satisfaction.

Because for once, it isn’t you aching in silence.

It isn’t you choking on the weight of the distance, waiting for some dark corridor or empty room to finally see him again. For once, he’s the one stuck on the outside, looking in.

So you let Oliver talk. You laugh at the little jokes. You lean in when the crowd is too loud. You don’t promise him anything, don’t offer more than attention - but still, Joel burns for it.

And God, it feels good.

When you pass Joel in the courtyard - your eyes brushing over him, his gaze slicing into you - you swear you can feel his restraint, the way his hands want to grab, to pull, to remind you who you belong to.

But he doesn’t.

He just lets you walk by.

That tightness curls through your chest, part triumph, part ache. Because isn’t this what you wanted? To make him feel it? To know that you could reach for someone else if you wanted, that he doesn’t get to keep you in shadows and silence?

Still.

When you catch him later, standing alone by the water pump, sweat darkening the back of his shirt and his jaw clenched against the afternoon light - your chest flutters. Because as much as you love seeing him hold himself back, you know Joel can only stay bottled up for so long.

And when he finally breaks, it’ll be nothing soft.

By the time Oliver heads off with his group, night has already begun its slow creep across the sky, shadows stretching longer between the buildings. You let your chest swell with a strange sort of pride - mission accomplished. Joel had seen. Joel had burned. And you… well, you’d held your own, hadn’t you? For once, he wasn’t the only one pulling all the strings.

The thought keeps your steps light as you move upstairs, weaving past traders calling out their last deals of the day. All you want is the small room with its lumpy bed, the chance to close your eyes and let the day fall away. But when you reach the corridor outside your door - he’s there.

Joel.

Leaning against the wall, broad shoulders tipped back, his arms crossed over his chest like he’s been waiting. Like he knew you’d come this way.

Your feet stop on their own.

His gaze hooks you, darker than the hallway shadows. For a long moment, neither of you speaks, tension buzzing so loud it drowns out the faint laughter drifting up from below.

Finally, he shifts, chin lifting slightly. “Who’s that guy?”

It’s quiet, but it cuts sharp.

“Oliver.” you say, trying to keep your tone even. But your pulse betrays you, thudding hard in your throat.

Joel’s eyes flicker, jaw working. “What’s goin’ on between you two?”

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “Really, Joel?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just stares, his silence pressing into you harder than words. Then, finally - softly, almost as though it costs him something - he lowers his head.

“He seems nice.”

And that… that’s what snaps you.

Heat surges up your chest, fast and wild. Because this - this is what all of it was for. Every smile at Oliver, every laugh you forced from your lips, every stolen glance meant for Joel’s benefit. To get under his skin. To make him stop pretending like you were nothing more than a mistake he kept repeating. To make him claim what’s his.

And now - after all of that - he says Oliver seems nice?

“Are you serious right now?” your voice cracks sharper than you intended, but you don’t stop. You step closer, fists curling at your sides. “All day... you’ve been watching. Don’t think I didn’t notice. That’s why I even...” you choke back the words, frustration boiling over. “I wanted you jealous, Joel. I wanted you pissed. But no, you just stand there and say he’s nice?”

His brows draw tight, mouth parting like he’s about to answer, but you cut him off, fire pushing you forward.

“You don’t get it, do you? All I wanted was for you to… to stop hiding. To stop acting like I’m just another warm body for the night and then nothing. Because I know I’m not. And you know it too.”

The words hang between you, jagged and raw. His chest rises, falls. His eyes search yours, flicking down to your mouth, then away, like he’s fighting himself.

But he doesn’t speak.

Doesn’t claim.

And that silence - it hurts worse than anything else.

Your voice had already cracked, already torn something out of you that you’d been keeping locked down for far too long. And now Joel just stands there, his silence a wall between you, and you feel like you’re going to burst through your skin if he doesn’t say something.

Finally, he exhales. Rough, shaky in a way he doesn’t want you to hear.

“You think I don’t feel it?” His voice is low, gravel scraping your bones. “Think I’m not standin’ here watchin’ you with him, fists clenched so tight I thought I’d break somethin’? Think I don’t want to drag you off where no one else can even look at you?”

The words slam into you, hot and merciless. His shoulders tense like he’s ashamed for even letting them out. His gaze flicks away for a second, but it’s too late - you’ve seen it, the fire behind his eyes.

“But,” he continues, quieter now, jaw hard, “wantin’ that... wantin’ you... that don’t mean I should have it. Shouldn’t. You deserve more’n me sneakin’ around with you in dark hallways. More’n me leavin’ you with nothin’ but months of silence after. That’s not what’s best for you.”

You laugh, sharp and bitter, because God, if he only knew how hollow those words sounded now.

“So that’s it?” you bite back, pushing yourself off the wall to stand straighter, chin tipped. “You’re pissed, you’re jealous, but you still tell yourself some story about what’s good for me? Like I don’t get to decide that for myself?”

His hands flex at his sides. The muscle in his jaw ticks. He doesn’t argue, doesn’t bark back like you half expected - just stares at you, that storm in his eyes growing darker by the second.

And that’s when you see it clearly.

It’s not that he doesn’t want you. It’s that he’s holding himself back with both hands, choking on the leash he’s wrapped around his own throat. Every look, every word, every tense line in his body screams that if he lets go, even for a second, there’ll be no stopping.

Your heart thuds so loud it fills the silence.

Slowly, you lean back against the door to your room. The wood is cold at your spine, the hallway dim and heavy between you. His eyes follow your every move, locked on you like he can’t help himself.

You tilt your head, lips curling just enough to show him you’re done waiting.

“Just tell me why... Why don’t you...?” Your voice is soft, but it cuts through the air like a blade. “Why don’t you come and get what’s yours?”

The words hang, hot and dangerous, filling the tiny space between you like smoke. His shoulders shift, breath catching. The fire in his eyes doesn’t flicker - it roars.

And still, he doesn’t move.

Not yet.

But you’ve lit the match.