#I'M CHEWING ON HIM LIKE A PIECE OF FIVE GUM Y'ALL

[theclairvoyage]

Centrifugation: Chapter 11

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Newly reconciled, you and Joel head to Chadron, where a surprise awaits.

Chapter warnings: this chapter is mostly make-up sex aka pure filth with a sprinkle of violence. unprotected p in v, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, slight somno, some car action, rough sex, gun violence.

WC: 5.7K

Y'all-I'm so sorry this chapter took so long. Between graduating and traveling for work several times, I put this on the back burner. But we're back!! Also, FYI I stopped writing the date and times. It was too much for me to keep up with and made me feel like I had to follow a certain timeline.

The seven-hour drive to Chadron, Nebraska was going swimmingly.

Traffic was quite light, the weather was perfect, and a gorgeous Nebraska sunset crept slowly over the horizon, the clouds perfect orbs of pink and orange cocktails.

Earlier, Joel packed quickly and parked your car in his garage, where his Bimmer usually sat after loading both of your bags and other items.  He’d kissed your hand and gazed into your eyes for just a moment before backing out of the driveway, the amber flecks of his eyes having resurrected after your reconciliation at the gas station.

Five hours later, he’s still holding your hand with his right.  His left is clutching the leather steering wheel as he maneuvers the sedan smoothly on US-20.

You’re both filled with sparks of excitement, anticipation—both of you feel like a new chapter of your relationship has begun.  Something gnaws quietly at the pit of your stomach, though.

Who sent those texts and pictures?  Neither of you had any clue.  You didn’t want to bring it up, not wanting to tear the fresh stitches of your newfound harmony.  Joel didn’t either, though he knew it would come up again eventually.

Joel peeks over at you, noticing your eyes and muscles of your face warped in thought.  He strokes the skin of your hand with his thumb.

“Y’alright, baby?”  The question snaps you back to reality.  You look at him and admire him for a bit before answering, eyes sweeping from the crown of his head to his tan, bearded face and down to his thick neck.  His hair is somewhat unkempt, silvery brunette curls less tamed than usual.  His mouth chews absentmindedly on an old piece of gum he popped some hours ago, jaw muscles flexing about.  A bolt of electricity zings up your legs and into your core as you watch him.

Fuck, you wanted him badly.  You needed his mouth on every inch of your skin, teeth nipping and tongue soothing up and down your bo—

“Darlin’?” Joel interrupts your impending fantasy.  You shake your head and blink a few times, clearing your throat.

“I’m good, swear!” You promise, giving him a lopsided grin.  His eyes fleck down to your lips briefly before returning to your eyeline.  He crooks an eyebrow at you.

“Wanna tell me what you’re thinkin’ ‘bout?” He nudges, voice laced with suggestion.  Your face warms and you bite the inside of your cheek to stifle a full-fledged grin.

“Oh, nothing—just about how comfy this seat is,” you lie, your free hand smoothing the beige leather as you avoid his gaze.  He lets go of your hand and squeezes the top of your thigh, startling you.  You snap your head up to meet his gaze.

“Lyin’ to me now, are ya?  Baby—thought we were good,” he croons, voice dropping an octave into that sexy rumble he uses when things start to get hot and heavy.  You swallow loudly.

“We are good, Joel,” you promise him.  His fingers creep further up your thigh, traversing your goosebump-ridden skin and dipping under your shorts.  He stops once he reaches fabric and strokes the border of your panties slowly.  You clutch the door handle involuntarily and suck in a sharp breath, pulling a devilish chuckle from Joel.

“Jumpy, huh?” He murmurs, eyes latched onto the road.  He continues stroking the leg of your panties, getting closer and closer to where you want him most each time.  Your pussy throbs and you clench nothing.

“Fuck, Joel,” you groan quietly.  He squeezes your thigh in response, chuckling.  His gaze never leaves the highway.  You realize now that you’re squirming, hips circling ever so slightly.  Joel is enjoying this a little too much, evident by the swell in his denim.

His fingertips dip lower slowly—achingly slowly—and caress the seam of your thigh.  His pressure is light, almost light enough that you can’t feel it.  Two of his fingers cross the border of where thigh meets panties and press softly on your core, feeling the wetness there.  You gasp, the sensation jerking your hips forward.  He growls lowly.

“Mmm, baby—wet as fuck for me already,” he groans.  He still isn’t looking at you, though his jaw is clenched and flexed.  You circle your hips more, trying to get his finger to move over your clothed pussy.  He doesn’t oblige you.

“Patience, darlin’,” he chides you playfully.  “Though I bet I can make you come without goin’ under these panties.”

You suck in another sharp breath and feel electrical currents flow from all your limbs to your aching core.  You’re white-knuckling the door handle with one hand and clutching Joel’s wrist with the other.

His fingertips stroke the damp fabric of your panties slowly, ranging from your tingling clit to your soaked entrance.  You moan quietly, not wanting him to know how wrecked you are—a lousy effort, given that he can feel how wet you are.

Over the next few miles, he slowly picks up the pace of his strokes, eventually moving from the linear pattern to a circular one over your clit.  You’re jerking your hips around with the movement of his fingers, clawing his wrist and forearm as he works you.  He groans every now and then, but manages to stay completely focused on the road, which impresses you.  Suddenly, he pulls his hand from your shorts.

Frustrated, you look at him.  He’s panting and sweating, beads of condensation forming on his brow and temple.  He finally turns to look at you, face just as wrecked as yours.

“Know I said I’d make you come without goin’ under your panties, but I can’t help myself— I needa feel you,” he hums.  Your stomach flips in anticipation.

“Move your leg over this way, sweetheart,” he coaxes you, pulling your knee up so your foot rests on the seat.  He strokes the now sopping fabric a few times before needing more.

“Pull ‘em to the side f’me,” he orders.  You obey immediately and pull the fabric to your right, exposing your wet heat.  The cool air of the cabin kisses your wet folds, making you squirm.

Joel looks down at your exposed pussy and growls before looking into your eyes, his teeming with desire.  Finally, his fingertips touch your now-bare pussy, stroking your clit with more pressure than before.  You tip your head back against the seat and cry out softly, his touch igniting you.  He quickly finds your entrance and plunges two thick fingers inside.

“Fuck, baby—you’re soaked,” he rasps, voice almost a moan.  He curls his rough fingers, tips kissing your G-spot, making you twitch on the leather seat.  He increases the pressure of his thrusts, sending you reeling.

“Oh my god, Joel—shit,” you cry out as his pace quickens.  The coil in your belly is stretching faster than normal, and he knows it.

“Yeah, baby, just like that.  Give it to me.”

His fingers ravage you a few more times and the coil snaps, your vision blanking momentarily as you ride the wave of your orgasm.  It’s intense—your legs are clamped tightly around his arm, head lolled back on the middle console of the sedan.

“Fuck—can’t get enough of you,” Joel growls.  He pulls his fingers out of you and sucks them into his mouth.  Your eyes widen as you watch him taste you.

“Always taste so fuckin’ good.  C’mere,” he says, leaning on the center console, eyes still fixated on the highway.  You prop your elbow up next to his and nuzzle your nose in his neck and ear, pressing soft kisses on his tanned skin.  Goosebumps ignite in the pathway of your lips, sending shivers down his spine.  He groans softly.  You kiss his cheek before meeting his lips.

He kisses you as best he can while driving 70 miles per hour in the sunset, fighting to keep his eyes open as you swirl your tongue around his.  He pulls away with a low growl.

“Mm.  We’ll finish that later.”  You suck your bottom lip into your mouth and stifle a giant grin, excited for him to fulfill that promise.

You settle back into the passenger seat and check the navigation status on the sleek screen of the BMW.  One hour left until you’re at the farmhouse in Chadron.

“Almost there.  You excited?” Joel asks, glancing at you.  You nod slowly, watching the landscape.  Western Nebraska is so different from the eastern side—flat, grassy plains with deciduous trees turn to the rolling hills, buttes, and rocky plateaus of a semi-arid cold desert.

“It’s been a while since I’ve been here,” you reply quietly.  Hopefully, your grandma still remembers who you are when you visit.  A pang of melancholy reverberates through your chest at the thought of her, stopping at your stab wound and aching just a bit longer.

Joel’s hand slides around yours and squeezes gently.  A silent y’alright?  You exhale and turn to him, smiling.

“I’m good.  Good to be back here.”

He smiles back at you, warm and comforting.

“Attagirl.  Should I be worried about seein’ your mother?” he asks.  You chortle.

“Nope—you should be worried about me seeing my mother,” you reply honestly.  Joel snorts, shaking his head.

“You’re somethin’ else, y’know that?  We ain’t gotta spend too much time with her if y’don’t wanna,” Joel promises, concerned, his voice rich and smooth like velvet.  Not hearing it for a day made you appreciate the Southern twang and low timbre a little more—and it made you squirm.

“I really just want to see my grandma and enjoy the quiet with you,” you murmur, watching the dry, bristly trees pass by the window.  Joel’s hand travels up to your shoulder and squeezes gently.  A beat passes before he responds.

“Looking forward to it, sweetheart.  M’glad you forgave me,” he hums contritely, hand moving from your shoulder to your hand.  He pulls it toward his mouth and kisses the back softly.

Guilt grips your guts.  It’ll take a while for you to forgive yourself for what you’d said to him, how you’d acted.  Your lips tremble faintly as you watch him revere your hand.

“I’m s-sorry, Joel—I don’t know why I just jumped to the worst possible thing,” you choke out.  He soothes you, thumb tracing shapes on the back of your hand.

“The last few weeks ain’t exactly been easy for you,” he says matter-of-factly.  His fingertips trace your forearm and stop at the gauze covering your wound.  You meet his eyes and see pain and melancholy sewn into the ring of amber around his iris.

Your lips tremble again.  You try to force the words out of your throat, but they stop, like they’re too big to escape.

“You’re okay, baby.  I promise, s’okay.”  You sniffle and nod, leaning your head onto his arm, propped on the middle console.  You close your eyes and inhale.  The sleeve of his rolled-up flannel shirt smells like his room, his skin like his shower gel he’s used for god knows how long, mixed with your scent.  Time passes as you lie there, feeling the grooves of the highway and listening to the quiet hum of the engine.

An hour later, you arrive at the farmhouse.

The Bimmer glides down the gravel road before turning onto the long, windy dirt driveway.  Dozens of old cottonwood trees dot the sides, heart-shaped leaves swaying with the wind.  The familiar dial-tone call of red-winged blackbirds perched on the barbed wire fence echoes throughout the wide space.  The sun has almost fully dipped below the horizon, leaving flecks of pink in the lower half of the sky.  It’s beautiful—and then you see the house.

It’s almost exactly how you remembered it, with some minor tweaks.  The roof and siding were replaced—the colors were the same as before, only new, and much brighter, lacking the chipped paint and dirt from years of farm life.  The grass around the front porch was longer, less tame, though the flowerbeds were very well-kept.  You’d guessed your aunt took care of the flowers religiously and called someone to come cut the grass every now and then.

Joel parks in front of the garage and gets out first to open your door.  He offers his hand, and you take it as you step out of the car.  He guides you to the front door, warm palm strong on the small of your back.

“Go on.  I’ll bring the bags in,” he says, tickling your back briefly before stepping down to retrieve your luggage.

You stare at the front door, eyes tracing the metal sign of your mom’s maiden name that’s been hanging on the door since your grandparents got married 60-some years ago.  A small smile plays on your lips as you picture them when they were your age.  Young and in love farmers, with their entire lives ahead of them.

Sighing, you remember the front door key is hidden somewhere around here.  It’s been years since you’ve had to use it, though you have a decent idea where it’s stashed.  A familiar, old, rusty watering can propped next to the front door catches your eye.  Bingo.

You try to stick your hand in the top hole to grab the key, but it’s too small.  Turning it upside-down, you jiggle it a few times and listen to metal clanging inside the can before a small brass key lands on the porch.  You retrieve it and unlock the door.

The inside is largely unchanged.  It’s an open floor plan, which surprises you given the fact that the house is over one hundred years old.  The front door opens into the living room, containing several floral couches with quilts thrown over the back.  Pictures of family, including several unflattering ones of you, line the plastered walls.  Your favorite part of the room is the brick fireplace, a cross and dried palms from Palm Sunday decorating the hearth.

The front door swings open and Joel steps in with the bags.  You don’t notice, though—you’re too busy battling with nostalgia.  Every Christmas, you’d sit in front of the fireplace and watch the flames dance.  Your grandparents didn’t get a TV until Grandpa retired from farming, so you’d spent holidays here playing outside or in the company of your many relatives.

Two strong arms loop around you and pull you into a sturdy chest, effectively removing you from the Land of Nostalgia.  Joel’s nose lodges itself behind your earlobe and inhales slowly, deeply.

“Mmm,” he breathes.  “Y’smell good, darlin’.”  You shiver, goosebumps erupting in the path of his breath.  His voice is lower, deeper than usual—like he wants you.

“I smell like sweat and leather,” you gripe, leaning your head back onto his shoulder.  He chuckles, lips caressing the soft skin of your neck and stubble scratching behind them.  His hands slip under your shirt to feel more soft, warm skin.  You suck in a sharp breath and moan quietly.

“Joel,” you murmur, hands gripping his forearms lightly.  He hums into your neck as his mouth moves toward your shoulder.

“I’m supposed to give you a tour before you get all handsy,” you scold him, pushing your butt against him to create some space between the two of you, feeling his hard on in the process.  You pry his strong grip from your torso with a huff—he’s tough to move, especially when he’s on a mission.  He chuckles and throws both hands up in surrender.  You quirk an eyebrow at him and shake your head, fighting the grin threatening to erupt on your face.

“You got 10 minutes, baby—after that, I’m finishing what I started,” he threatens, mirroring your raised eyebrow.  Your stomach lurches.

“Fine.  Pay attention,” you tease, pointing a finger at him.  He laughs, but his eyes betray him—they’re lust-filled, twinkling with desire for you.  You turn toward the kitchen, feeling his eyes traverse your backside as you walk.

“Kitchen,” you say nonchalantly, not giving him time to stop and appreciate the rustic farmhouse kitchen that was renovated a few years ago.  You turn into a corridor, stopping at the first door on the right.

“Bathroom,” you recite, moving quickly to the next door, cattycorner to the bathroom.

“Guest bedroom.  You’re sleeping here,” you tease him, pointing to the bed and raising your eyebrows at him.  He shakes his head, half-smile pulling his cheek.  You move to the last room of the hallway, on the right.

“Master bedroom,” you say, standing in front of the ajar door so Joel can come in.  He pushes your hip slightly, causing you to move further into the room so he can shut the door.  Your loud gulp seems to echo in the small room.

“S’this where you’re sleepin’?” Joel rasps, taking slow steps toward you, backing you toward the bed.  His head is lowered as he stares up and down your frame.  You stop, legs meeting the corner of the bed.  Your pulse quickens.

“Y-yes.  I’m sleeping here,” you answer him, watching him get closer and closer.  He stops when his feet touch yours.  You feel his warm breath on your face, your neck.  The veins in his neck are popping out—he’s straining himself to maintain control.

“Guess I’m sleepin’ here too, then,” he says huskily, eyes locked on yours.  He leans in until you feel the hairs of his mustache tickle your lips.  Your eyes shut instinctively and you lean in closer to him, preparing for your mouths to meet, but they don’t. 

“Fuck,” he whispers, gaze flicking between each of your eyes.  Wrecked is the only way to describe his expression.

“What?” you whisper back, voice hoarse and throat dry.  You lick your lips involuntarily and his eyes flick downward to watch.

Before your mind can register it, his lips crash onto yours and he pins you underneath him on the mattress.  His rough fingers slip under your shirt, and one travels up over your sternum, landing on your throat and squeezing softly.  You moan into his mouth.

His tongue pries your lips open before tangling with yours.  The hand on your throat slips out for a second, and both of his hands cradle your face as he continues kissing you fervently.  He moans at the feel of your lips and body underneath him, his erection pushing on the zipper of his jeans.

Without a word, he sits back on his heels to pull your shirt over your head, taking your ratty sports bra with it.  He growls at the sight of your naked chest before ravishing each nipple with his mouth.  You arch into him, the piercing pain of his teeth and warm soothe of his tongue taking over your senses.  He kisses down your stomach, curved nose gliding on your hot skin.  His mouth reaches the waistband of your shorts and kisses along its length as you squirm underneath him.

Impatiently, he bites the waistband and pulls back before releasing it, the snap of it on your abdomen making you jump.  He chuckles devilishly, black eyes boring into yours.  You can’t tell where his pupils end and irises begin—the ring of amber is gone, swallowed by his dilated pupils.  He wants you so fucking badly.

It dawns on you now that he’s still fully clothed, boots and everything.  Rough fingers hook into your waistband, but you place both hands on his forearms.  Immediately, he stops the impending disrobe and looks at you.

“You have to match me first,” you say, tugging the sleeve of his flannel.  He narrows his eyes at you briefly, relenting.  Impatiently, he unbuttons the plaid shirt, huffing as his fingers get stuck on the bottom one.  You giggle.

After a few more huffs and puffs, he manages to peel the flannel and undershirt from his damp skin, revealing a familiar, sexy torso and strong arms.  Warmth blooms in your chest at the sight.

“Better now?” he chides, making no efforts to disguise his frustration.  You place a palm on his chest and stare up at him.  His gaze softens ever so slightly.

“Why the hurry, Joel?  We have nowhere to be,” you ask him, fingertips tracing down his torso, brushing the dark hairs that dip below his navel and stopping at his waistband.  His eyes close as he relishes your touch.

When they open, obsidian wells stare back at you.  Joel grabs your hand and leans down to kiss it.  The act is so reverent, so delicate that it stops your breath for a moment.

“I know, darlin’—just can’t get enough of you,” he croons, head dipping down to kiss your collarbone.  He pins your hand next to your head and continues kissing down your chest, stopping at both breasts once again.

“I ever told you how much I love these?” he whispers into your skin, looking up at you briefly.  After letting go of your hand, he massages one breast as his mouth continues working the other.  A garbled moan escapes your throat.

In a blur, he removes your shorts, leaving your soaked green thong.  He scoots down the bed, getting comfortable with his head in between your legs.  Lightly, he blows on your core, looking up at you only when you start squirming.

“Guess we need to work on your patience, huh baby?” he teases, handsome smirk stretching his face.  You groan and throw your head on the bed, arching your back.

“Nice view from here,” he hums, turning his head to nibble on your inner thigh.  He moves over to the other thigh, ignoring where you want him most.  You squeeze his wrists, attempting to sway him—he doesn’t budge.  A deep chuckle travels from his throat into your skin.

“Mmm… you’re soaked,” he breathes, taking a finger and brushing up your middle, featherlight.  You gasp at the sensation, drawing his eyes.

“Y’like being teased, huh?  Naughty girl.”  He continues stroking your clothed cunt at a glacial pace.  “Look at me,” he orders.  You prop yourself up on your elbows and look down at his gorgeous face, brushing stray curls from his forehead.

“Wanna see your face when I do this—s’my favorite thing,” he murmurs, planting random kisses on your pelvic area, but never on your tingling core.  You nod, frustrated and panting.

He sits back on his heels again and finally hooks his fingers into your underwear, pulling them over your ass as you bridge up and then slowly down your legs.  He takes the opportunity to appreciate the view beneath him and lets out a low whistle.

“You’re so beautiful—are you sick of me tellin’ you that?” he asks, settling in between your legs again.

“Never,” you exhale, chest heaving in anticipation.  He smiles up at you before licking a stripe up your core.  Almost immediately, you groan, the warmth and wetness of his tongue on your pussy sending fireworks up your spine.  He dives right in, giving you no time to acclimate to the pleasure.

Instinctively, you throw your head back as he continues licking you.  He mumbles into your pussy.  It’s almost unintelligible, but then you remember his request from earlier.  Look at me, baby.  You obey, watching him eat you while he’s gauging your reactions.

It’s erotic and filthy, the sights and sounds of him undoing you with his mouth.  You know he’s enjoying this, given the moans that escape his lips and into your wet folds.  Suddenly, he stops moving his head and leaves his tongue out, eyes still glued to you—like he’s waiting for something.

“Joel—move,” you plead, running your fingers through his sweaty hair, getting frustrated again.  He murmurs a breathy huh-uh, tongue still glued to your lips.

Suddenly, you understand what he wants.  He wants you to fuck yourself on his tongue.  Your stomach flips at the realization and you gasp quietly.

A rush of adrenaline surges through your body at the chance to take over your pleasure—to use him as you see fit.  You oblige him, each roll of your hips inching you closer to orgasm.  He leaves his tongue out for the most part and just observes, groaning at the sight above him.  After every few circles of your hips, he sucks lightly on your clit to lap up your seeping wetness, making your thighs quake around his head.

With no notice, the coil snaps.  The room fades to black as you ride the wave of your orgasm.  Weightless, tingling bliss overtakes your consciousness.  You can almost hear Joel talking you through it, though his voice sounds faraway and echoey, like you’re inside a tunnel.

You barely register that he’s stripped himself of his jeans and boxers and is on top of you, kissing you with enough heat to burn the house down.  Unable to wait any longer, he flips you over and tugs your hips toward the edge of the bed, folding you over the quilted comforter.  Hastily, he reaches down and pushes the head of his cock inside you, hitting the edge of you in one smooth stroke.  The pain brings you back down to earth quickly.

“Fuck!” you yelp.  Joel cracks a hand down on one of your ass cheeks as he thrusts into you, making you cry out once more.

“That’s it, baby—take it,” he growls, rough and domineering.  This side of him exhilarates you.  You’ve never met anyone that can be dominant and affectionate simultaneously.

After what seems like single-digit strokes, Joel pulls out suddenly.  Hot liquid splashes your lower back and ass.  Immediately, the mood within the bedroom changes—hot and heavy to tense.  You crane your neck to look behind you.

Joel’s face is pinched in agony—brows furrowed, sweat dripping from his forehead, teeth clenched.  One hand is gripping your hip, the other emptying himself onto you.  He doesn’t notice your gaze at first.  When he does, the look in his eyes is bashful.

“M’sorry, baby—that’s never happened t’me before,” he apologizes, clearly embarrassed.  He avoids eye contact and lets go of your hip to search the room for a rag.

“Joel, it’s okay,” you promise him, watching as he shuffles around the room.  He continues searching in the small bathroom attached to the bedroom.

“Come here,” you plead, worried.  He emerges with his tail between his legs and a small washcloth in hand.

He stops at the bathroom entry and sighs as he finally meets your eyes.  He’s unable to stop the small smirk that creeps on his lips as he sees you, still on your hands and knees for him.  You match his smirk and beckon him.

“Apparently I’m off my game, sweetheart,” he laments, wiping your skin with the warm rag.

“Oh, stop—each time is perfect, Joel.  No matter how long it lasts,” you say, waving him off.  He tosses the rag in a hamper near the opposite end of the room before pulling you off the bed by your hips and into his arms.  He kisses the front of your ear.

“Baby… I’m a gentleman, you know this.  I never wanna come before you do,” he murmurs into your ear, hands spanning the front of your chest and torso.  As his fingers traverse your skin, you lean into him and relax, the stress of the last few days leaving your body.  Exhaustion quickly settles behind your eyes, and you yawn.

“Bedtime already?” Joel whispers in your ear.  You mumble in affirmation.

“Go on, lie down.  I’ll make sure the doors are locked,” he says, kissing your temple chastely before pulling the quilt back and helping you settle into bed.  The room is dark, enveloped in nightfall that came unnoticed during your session of passion with Joel.  You hear his footsteps patter around the old wooden flooring of the farmhouse, getting louder as he returns to the bedroom.  He scoots in behind you, curling you into his warm chest.

“I love you,” he whispers in your ear before kissing the corner of your mouth.  Before you can reply, you’re sound asleep.

Morning arrives in puffy, gray clouds filled with heavy raindrops.  Their pounding on the bedroom window wakes you.

The room, also blanketed in gray, is filled with only the sound of rain and Joel’s patterned breathing.  He’s on his back, hands clasped on his chest.  Gone is the look of agony on his face from last night.  Pure serenity describes his features in this moment.  His lips twitch frequently—you wonder what he’s dreaming about.

Suddenly, an idea emerges in your sleep-hazy mind, fueled by last night’s events.  A sly, half-smirk soon follows.

Carefully, you climb on top of Joel, leaving soft kisses on his face, neck, collarbone, and chest.  He stirs momentarily, a quiet moan leaving his throat.  You pause, peeking up at him to ensure he’s still sleeping.  The steady rise and fall of his chest affirms it.

You continue pressing your lips on his skin, slipping your head under the quilt once you’ve reached his navel.  The long hairs leading further south tickle your chin.  With one hand, you reach for his cock, only to find that it’s rigid.  Either he was dreaming of you, or his body responded to your touch quickly.

You get comfortable between his legs and kiss the tip of his cock gently.  His hips jut imperceptibly.  You move further downward and swirl your tongue around his balls, and his thighs tighten around you.  Pausing again, you look up at him.  Still sleeping, or so you think.

Silently, you spit on the head of his cock and use your lips to coat his shaft with it.  Not caring whether he’s asleep anymore, you take him in your mouth and suck, adding enough pressure that his hips jolt upward.  The curses that slip from his lips let you know he’s finally awake.

Joel pulls the quilt off you, releasing the trapped heat in the process.  With two big hands, he pulls your hair out of your face and twists it into a knot as you work him with your mouth.

“Shit, baby—feel fuckin’ good,” he pants.  You moan on his length in response.

He bucks upward, letting you know he’s close.  Before he can finish, he cups your face and pulls you off his cock, tugging you closer for a messy kiss.  You whine into his mouth as you settle in his lap.  With silent strength, he lifts you by the ass and sits upright, back leaning against the headboard and legs splayed.

“Help me out here, baby,” he urges you, still holding you above his lap.  You reach for his cock and line it with your entrance before he slowly spears you with it, his palms squeezing your ass with enough pressure to leave bruises.  As always, the stretch of his cock sucks the breath out of you.

“Good god,” he groans through gritted teeth.  Your tight, wet heat ensheathes him perfectly.  Slowly, he reaches your cervix, pausing as your muscles continue to spasm around his thick cock.  Your arms loop around his neck, face tucked into the crook of it as you moan into his skin.  After a few beats, he slides you back up his cock and slams you back down.  You scream.

“Tell me how good it feels,” he growls, continuing to pound into you at a fierce pace.  You can’t speak—all the air in your lungs has escaped.  The only sound you can manage is a pained squeak.  With another growl, Joel flips both of you over while still inside you.  Now on top of you, he folds your legs forward with his hands as he continues thrusting into you, the new angle hitting deeper.  You arch your back and cry out again.

“Need to hear you, baby,” he reminds you, brows furrowed, teeth clenched as he watches you beneath him.

“Feels s-so fucking good, Joel,” you sputter, meeting his intense gaze.

“So fuckin’ pretty on my cock, darlin’,” he coos, watching where your bodies meet.  Your orgasm creeps closer, each deep thrust igniting flames inside you.

“I’m close,” you warn him.  He folds your legs back further and pounds into you several times before you come, hard.  Joel follows suit a few pumps later, spilling himself inside you and collapsing on you.

Both of you lie there for a moment, panting and stroking each other’s sweaty skin.  Joel breaks the silence.

“Am I forgiven now?  F’my shortcoming last night?” You chuckle at the inadvertent pun.

“Short… coming?  Is that what you want to call it?” you say, bursting out into laughter.  Joel’s rumbly chuckle shakes both of you.  He sits up and pulls out of you, the movement and your heightened sensitivity making you twitch.

“S’time to get up and movin’, do—,” Joel starts, interrupted by a loud thud.  He quickly stands and walks over to the door, leaning an ear on it.  Fear engulfs you, wiping the smile off your face.

Thud.  This one, much louder, makes you jump.  Joel turns to look at you, brow raised in confusion.  The sound of broken glass from inside the house almost makes you scream and turns Joel’s confusion into fear. You clap a hand over your mouth, eyes widened in pure horror.  Loud footsteps invade the living room, coinciding with the loud pounding of your heart in your ears.

Think.  Scanning the room, a lightbulb illuminates in your head.

“Joel—get my grandpa’s gun,” you whisper, “It’s under the bed in a case!”  He nods, throwing his boxers on quickly before pulling you off the bed by your arm and taking you into the bathroom.

“What? No, le—,” you rebel, but he cuts you off.

“Stay here.  I mean it,” he orders you, voice stern and expression serious.  “I love you.  Need you safe, y’understand?”

Tears pool in your eyes and you nod.  He kisses you quickly.

“Don’t come out unless I say.  And lock this door.”  You nod again, and he shuts the door.  You turn the old latch above the doorknob, the metal clicking in place.  The next thing you hear is the loading of your grandpa’s shotgun.

Fuck.  Who would break into a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere?

The sound of the door breaking open startles you.  Then, a loud boom shakes the bathroom.  You scream.

Somebody got shot—but who?

Taglist: @burntheedges, @syd-djarin, @anoverwhelmingdin, @danaispunk, @pedritoferg <3

[prinxejeanne]

[[God of Night drabble, God of Night x Reader (I'm really shameless when it comes to this mf, huh). Takes place at a meeting of the gods (reader is the God of Voyeur, like they were in the stream, so I'm calling you mfs "Voyeur" instead of writing Y/N all the time)- Night asks reader to dance, even though they supposedly don't get along with eachother.]]

[[Warnings: Suggestive content (nothing outright NSFW, but some spicy flirting will be involved), wine drinking, enemies to lovers IMPLIED, and dancing written by someone who doesn't know how the fuck to dance.]]

You were sitting at the mini bar, the sound of the music grating on your ear drums as you sipped the tasteless wine from a chalice and closed your eyes.

Being the God of Voyeur was a tough task, especially considering the fact that you never had a moment to rest. Sure, you had brief moments of silence when there wasn't drama going on between your fellow immortals, but they were gods. When was there not drama going on in the Heavens?

"Ah, Voyeur! I see you're sulking by yourself, like always."

You couldn't help but roll your eyes as you turned around to greet the God of Night.

This man was the source of most of the drama. Him and his damn wife, the God of Day.

Why wouldn't they just divorce already?

"Night! I see you're still as insufferable as always," you retorted, moving to take a sip of the wine in your cup.

Before you could, though, the insufferable man took your chalice and poured the remaining contents into the soil of a potted plant nearby.

"Sorry, I didn't think it was a good idea for you to be drunk this late at night. Could be dangerous, don't you think?" he asked, his voice as smooth as butter.

The dumb, arrogant smirk playing at his lips made you want to punch him.

"What do you want, O' Great and Terrible Night?" you snapped, already done with his bullshit.

"Calm down with the sarcasm, Voyeur, I was going to ask you to dance with me! Unless you don't want to, of course."

Your eyebrows rose at this.

"You dog! Shouldn't you be dancing with your wife?" you respond nearly instantly, feigning shock at his offer.

He held out his hand to you, and smiled. "Sun won't mind. I'm sure she'll find a lesser god to dance with anyway," he said, the resentment for her barely hidden by his othwise confident demeanor.

Hesitantly, you took his hand and rose from your seat, allowing him to lead you to the dance floor.

As a new song began playing, a slow tango, you couldn't help but let out a soft gasp as Night pulled your body close to his, one hand on your waist and the other holding your hand with a surprising softness. You used your free hand to gently hold onto the junction between his neck and his shoulder, and for moment, you could've sworn that his composure dropped for a millisecond, but his calm expression told you that couldn't be true.

It must've been your imagination.

"Night, you should at least buy me dinner first!" you teased, although you were sure he'd noticed how flustered you were.

"I'm sorry, Voyeur, but is that flush on your face from the wine?" he asked mockingly as you two began to dance. "Maybe you should sit down, if you've really had that much to drink!"

You rolled your eyes as that arrogant smirk on his face widened, but you couldn't help but be impressed by how easily you two were moving to the beat.

Unfortunately you couldn't tease the cocky idiot for his poor dancing skills, because he didn't have any poor dancing skills to mock.

"Shut your stupid mouth," you muttered, causing a chuckle from the man you were dancing with.

A well-timed trill in the music caused him to pull you closer until your bodies were flush against each other, and his grip on your waist tightened.

As much as you hated to admit it, your heart was racing and your blood was pumping in all the right ways.

"Well well, Night. You really are a good dancer," you purred, your fingers trailing along the back of his neck as you moved to the music.

The man shivered and his fingertips dug into your skin slightly at this action, and you felt a tug at your heart as his eyes fixated on the wall behind you.

Was he getting flustered?

A new song began, and you started to pull away before Night held onto your hips and pulled you even closer to him than you were before.

He still wasn't looking at you in the eyes, but he moved his hands back up to your waist once he noticed the confusion in your eyes.

"...one more dance," he whispered, his voice barely audible behind the noisy atmosphere of the ballroom.

A smirk plays at your lips, and you return to the same dancing position that you were in before.

"Of course, Night," you reply, the flirtatious tone in your voice giving the god the confidence to look you in the eyes again.

He stared at you for a moment, his lips parted as you began dancing again. He leaned closer, until-

"Night. Aren't you going to dance with your wife?"

You jump slightly, startled by the intrusion, and you turn to see the God of Sun standing there.

Night's wife.

She looked... unimpressed, if anything. Not offended, not heartbroken, just inconvenienced.

"Of course, darling," Night replied, letting go of you and stepping away. "It was lovely, Voyeur."

You make eye contact with him, but keep your mouth shut. Sun was a higher god, anyway, causing a problem with her would be catastrophic.

"I'll talk to you later," you replied, giving Night a sly wink before walking away with confidence.

Dancing with a married man wasn't a good idea, after all, and you knew that.

Still... you also knew that the feeling of his grip on your waist would find it's way into your dreams for months after this.

Damn him.