#[vibrates in Last Life Joel Enjoyer]

[shadeswift99]

JOEL'S BACK BABEYY

[joelmillerthirstqz]

Joel’s quiet, at first. Quiet, and seeming to hold himself in tight control. Sprawling across his lap while you dip your tongue into his mouth gets mostly heavy exhales and the feedback of his hands indecisively skimming over you. You assume years of being conscious about noise infiltrated him this deeply until you run the tip of your tongue along the roof of his mouth and he moans, filthy and full of intent. Without hesitation, he rises with you wrapped around his waist, firm grasp making you wonder if he can hold you up in longer, less clothed ways.

Once he’s crowded you up the stairs and into the bed, he can’t seem to shut up. You bask in it, affectionate names and dominant little promises rolling out of him between groans of enjoyment and sharp hisses of self-restraint. It’s all bullshit, but it’s good bullshit and it feels amazing for his breath to tease your ear while he says it. He might just like badgering you for answers, might just want the affirmations you respond with.  He likes hearing yes, likes you begging, maybe needs the continuous assurance that you want him the way he’s giving himself.

He likes making you come and feeling you come, and he sits behind you still clothed, curled close with three fingers buried inside of you, feeling every shudder as he works. When he strokes your clit with his thumb and your whole body jerks against him, Joel chuckles warmly into your shoulder and keeps up the pressure.

“Like this?” he asks, needlessly. Your head is thrown back on his shoulder and you’re panting with effort, lost in it and very close. He slows, mouth on your neck. “Hm?”

“Please, Joel,” you flex your hands where you’re hanging on to his thighs.

“This get you close? This what you wanted?” he keeps murmuring, almost below being audible. You grasp a handful of his hair and kiss him instead of responding, getting an impatient grunt. He pulls coated fingers from you and drags them across your folds, hovering. His left hand guides your jaw towards him, holding you fast so he can look in your eyes.

“C’mon,” he urges, kissing you again. You bite his lower lip as he pulls back and his eyes go wide with surprise.

“Don’t you fucking stop,” you grit out, fisting a hand in his shirt.

“Stop this? Like this?” Joel asks, roughly pushing three fingers back into you without caution, seeming satisfied with your cry. He fans his left hand under your chin, though, and asks again. His palm touches the thin skin of your neck, raising goosebumps down your front. Joel doesn’t miss it and his expression darkens.

“This was all you wanted? Going to come for me yet?” Joel quickens his pace, watching you intently. You’re still partially tangled in your jeans, shirt tugged up over your breasts, mouth swollen from colliding with his. You kick off your jeans completely, wobbling with the effort.

“No, fuck, not all,” you twist in his arms, straddling his lap and starting to work through the buttons of his shirt. His mouth is overwhelmingly distracting and intent on making it hard, so he’s pliant under you up to the bottom button but unwilling to take his hands off of you long enough to shrug out of it. You move to his belt, flicking it open as Joel figures how to best not break your kiss. You let him do it, and he shrugs out of his shirt before pulling you against him. The motion reveals the quick agility of his actions, in total control of his body, which you expect from anyone who’s still alive. Joel’s so fucking unassuming about how he looks until he finds a doorframe to dwarf with that lean he does when he’s about to be infuriating.

His heat feels fantastic and the brush of your chests together jolts your fingers back to his jeans, breaking from each other’s mouths to breathe hard. Joel rises to his knees and sets you down on the bed so he can finally get free. You reach for him without meaning to, and he roughly pulls you closer to him by the ankles, hand encircling one comfortably. He fans a large palm over your lower abdomen, holding you fast while he finishes getting out of his pants.

“Please,” you breathe, trying to push your hips up towards his. Joel limits your motion and rubs himself against you without penetrating you.

“Fucking frustrating,” you protest, smacking the arm he’s hooking your leg over. He makes a warm, small noise that you realize is delighted chuckle before sheathing himself fully and fast. You groan together at the sensation and you feel a shiver go through Joel. While you’re scratching your nails along his forearms and over his shoulders, Joel closes his eyes and taps his forehead to yours. You say his name, making tiny circles with your hips as much as having you pinned allowed.

“Close already,” he warns, closing a palm over the wrist opposite the leg he’s got folded up.

“Just from watching?” you ask, honestly a little flattered and even more into him as he nods.

“All of you,” he breathes before kissing you a little more sweetly than you expected. Sure, you felt like you’d been folded in half on every surface in his house in the last week, but it hadn’t been that long and you could both still regard it as really good sex without needing more.

Maybe.

Joel’s kisses are less precise as he turns you, apparently frustrated with the angle after a few strokes of his tongue and joining you fully on the bed.

One hand drags along your flank and he pulls you upright in his lap. From here, he looks up at you with this inscrutable consumed face as you move, and you brace yourself on his shoulders. You notice sparse little freckles across them for the first time and think you may have blushed if not for how flushed you already are with the effort of taking him. You cup his face in one hand as you start to ride him, your eyes rolling shut with the first few times you thrust. He stretches you perfectly and you’re perhaps the best prepared you’ve ever been in your life, so it’s easy to grind down again and again.

When you open your eyes again, Joel’s irises are a faint line around blown-out pupils, pleasure plain on him. You’re about to tease that he’s lost his words all of a sudden, stroking lines at the corner of his eye that only emphasize how lovely they are. How soft they can look.

“C’mon, I wanna feel you come on my cock, sweetheart,” Joel starts in that tone saved for the affirming nonsense he likes to rumble at you. Spilling hopes that you’ll scream for him, intentions to make you do it, stupid meaningless endearments more in context in the world before—all of it sounds like Joel’s wonderful voice and is half-whispered against you even though you feel the sound vibrate through his ribcage.

“Can’t last long the way you feel,” he puts open-mouthed kisses against your throat and you feel him smile when you moan. Joel’s hands are directionless, slipping over sweat-pricked skin anywhere he can reach. You gasp as your thrusts stagger, grinding down hard against his pubic bone and freezing above him between ragged, helpless shakes. You think you’re crying out his name but it’s not even close at this point. Your orgasm breaks fast, molten and wonderful as it spreads throughout you, Joel watching your face raptly.

You haven’t even begun to come down when you register that Joel’s pushed you onto your back, never parting from you as you move. It settles him deeper, and in your oversensitive state you do genuinely cry out.

“Too sensitive?” Joel asks with mock concern, rising to his knees to give a firm thrust fully within you.

You make a noise that could either confirm or deny, so Joel does it again.

“Fuck, Joel!” you protest, thinking back to how overstimulated you made him yesterday, making him come twice in the span of half an hour or so. Oh no.

Joel sucks his thumb before carefully flicking it against your clit, causing your eyes to go wide and your back to arch off the bed. He doesn’t really get cocky in general, but taking in the long line of him above you, his smirk makes you think he’s at least a little pleased with himself. He’s too fucking pretty to need to be this good at pleasing you, but he chases your responses and expressions eagerly, like watching his effect on you is the main thing he’s after. You’re not over the crest of sensitivity, so each strum of his digit against you feels like electricity to your spine.

Joel starts a fast rhythm, and you can tell from how he presses his weight into your hips through his hands that he’s having to keep his composure to fuck you for this long. His dark brow draws together as he pounds into you thoroughly, letting himself fall forward onto his elbows.

You make a long noise as his pace shifts, something about the drag of his cock at this angle exactly what you want. Overstimulation flees, pursued by a roll of what feels like boiling blood through your body as he slams home. You wrap your legs around his hips and hook your ankles, spreading apart for him fully. You chant his name and notice how much he seems to react to you saying it, and your fingertips scrape down his broad back.

Joel kisses you seriously, almost inappropriately adoring for the way you’re currently twitching around his length. The room is feeling oppressively hot but you feel immersed, firmly peaked nipples brushing his chest in the warm space between you. It’s easy to rock together, and you pull him into you with your legs just as much as he pumps into you. Mouth at your ear, he nips the lobe and starts to speak again as you start to slide against each other from the sweat accumulating between your bodies.

“I’m—” you exhale hard, and Joel strokes your temple as he murmurs. He surprises you by gripping your hair close to the scalp, pulling your neck taut. It isn’t even rough; just commanding. The action makes you pulse and start to climax again, hips rolling upward against him as your mouth works without sound.

“That’s it, baby girl, just like that, I’ve got you, keep goin’,” Joel glances up at your expression, eyes squinted shut and pinned gasps hitching every few seconds. He knows he’s holding the perfect angle for you and bites his lip as your cunt contracts in powerful pulses, pulling his cock deeper on instinct.

“…perfect, love how you feel—fuck,” Joel loses his focus as your knees fall open after the crest of your orgasm, waves of pleasure rippling out and reverberating from your extremities, too good to keep your body tense around him.

Letting go, Joel moans as his orgasm hits him, biting your shoulder to hush his own cry. He’s helpless, slamming into you roughly and provoking aftershocks of your orgasm with each jerk of his hips. All you can do is hold on and shake with the impact, endorphins exploding like chain detonation.

Joel falls against you, sure to place most of his weight to the side. Your chest pressed to his, you smile at the high fluttering of his heart, knowing yours matched it moments before. He looks at you with wonder, effects of a significant orgasm plain on his face. You kiss him suddenly, realizing you’re not done with him. You expect boneless neutrality at the worst, but he opens his mouth slowly and takes your head in both hands, languorous and indulgent.

He readjusts to his side and you throw a leg over his hip, somehow deepening your kiss as he goes. It’s sodden with afterglow and you hear Joel make a soft noise, his leg twining with yours. You realize his spend is leaking out of you onto his thigh and inhale sharply.

“Sorry—” you start, trying to figure out how to not ruin the sheets. Joel’s hand digs into your ass and pulls you back towards him, resettling how you were.

“Not done with you,” he says against your mouth, “And I like it,” he admits more quietly, two fingers grazing down the curve of your ass to stroke the place where your body is wet against his leg.

“I may not be able to go anymore,” you caution, sensitive, certainly sore, and due on patrol in the morning.

Joel laughs, sincere mirth reaching his eyes at the thought of fucking again tonight.

“No, I just meant being close,” he clarifies, kissing you again. “I’ll get up in a minute, just—”

You kiss him this time, holding his jaw in your hand. He recovers quickly enough to respond to your tongue enthusiastically, moving deliriously together.

When you need to breathe, and probably only due to that, Joel pecks you softly and strokes your leg.

“Right back,” he says, and you settle into the sheets and let how good that was roll over you. It was so much more intense than being bent over, notwithstanding how deeply satisfying as fucking Joel had been so far. You suspected he truly enjoyed watching his partner but you felt like a star pulling his focus toward you now, central. This felt like you’d run out of words, then Joel hadn’t been able to shut up, which ultimately spent both your physical energy, and you were suspended in kissing him to communicate.

He returns before you can sink too deep, offering you a towel and climbing back into bed alongside you. You poke your head up, identify the laundry and toss expertly, burrowing back into his shoulder and pressing a hand to his heart. He covers it, and you smile against him.

—

Its three in the morning when you realize you’d fallen asleep in his arms and Joel’s mouth is on the nape of your neck. You spend fifteen minutes fucking on your sides wordlessly, sealed together with arms overlapping, grasping at each other with spare consciousness.

—

The room is light when you open your eyes, facing a still-asleep Joel with one of your hands clasped in his. You don’t think before kissing his knuckles softly, drawing a sleepy grunt. His eyes slit open in annoyance before adjusting to you and allowing a smile.

“Want coffee?” Joel mumbles in a sleep-scratchy voice. Your eyes light up.

“Do I have to find some first?” you ask.

“Just downstairs,” he smiles, a little pleased with himself.

He turns at the foot of the stairs to look back up at you as you descend, his shirt falling to the tops of your thighs. Joel’s lips part as he watches you, pulling you into his arms as you meet him on the bottom step, level with his height.

“Looks nice,” he says like he’s trying to be quiet about it, kissing you with your face in his hands.

“Feels nice,” you reply, forehead against his. You trail after him into the kitchen, hand in his, appraising broad shoulders with interest and wishing you didn’t have to be anywhere. Joel moves confidently, something that would be a routine set of motions if coffee wasn’t such a rarity. When he’s finished, he grasps both mugs and pauses before turning to you, taking a breath.

You brace yourself—going too well, knew it couldn’t—

Joel turns, a look on his face close to exasperation. You’d soon learn that’s just his face when he’s forced to think about how he feels.

“Look, I dunno what I’m doin’, but will I see you tonight? When you’re back?” he asks, eyes everywhere but you. He’s not withholding the coffee, but he does seem to have forgotten the mugs in each hand.

You reach out and grasp one with one hand, fingers over his rough hands.

“I’ll leave my keys?” your heart flutters without your permission, the fast intimacy coming casually to you in the face of his frank vulnerability. Joel’s eyes widen and he nods like he’s afraid speaking will put the offer in peril, and almost immediately pivots to making a mental list for the night. Just because you’d seized on readily apparent chemistry doesn’t mean you’d really made a date, yet. You sip the black coffee still in each others’ space, looking at each other closely until you laugh lightly and break the tension, kissing his upturned mouth before going to collect your things for patrol.