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wardenparker · 2 years

Text

For Pleasure

Joel Miller x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ content!! Word Count: 11.9k Warnings: Cursing, food, people pointing guns at each other, non-sexual nudity, alcohol consumption, angst, mentions of death, oral sex (f and m receiving), 69, fingering, hair pulling, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, Joel smut comes with its own warning. Summary: A chance encounter outside of the QZ will change two lives forever, even if neither you nor Joel realizes it at the time. Notes: The much-requested prequel to For Her ! The response to the original piece was completely overwhelming and we are so grateful and humbled by everyone’s enthusiasm for this couple’s journey. Thank you for reading!

Going outside the walls, outside the so called ‘safety’ of the FEDRA Boston QZ was always a gamble. It was better to go in numbers, at least with Tess, so someone had his back. Another set of eyes and another weapon to handle the surprises that always spring up. That wasn’t possible though. Tess was not speaking to him. The on and off arrangement that they seemed to always drift back to was currently adrift, deciding that she would go back to her own place and give him space. It irritates him, but he’s not going to go groveling. She wanted to sleep beside him or not, her decision. She was a big girl, not a fucking child and he didn’t have the patience for that shit right now. He doesn’t even have Tommy. His brother abandoned him for the Fireflies. Caught up in their patriotic bullshit about bringing back democracy. Hard for democracy to survive when the entire house of cards is built on a shaky foundation. Every year more of the city was lost, more people lost. It wasn’t like people were having a shit ton of kids to boost the population. Tommy had left a year ago to head out, some secret mission and had barely said goodbye. The last words between them in person were slightly bitter, but Joel regrets that. So here he is, moving alone. His gun is a firm, familiar weight in his hand as he moves through the decaying remnants of society. Two fucking miles outside of Boston and he could be on the moon for all it matters. He had lost hours waiting for some infected to move from where he was crouched, too many of them for him to take on. Now it’s getting dark, and he’s needing to find someplace to stay.

The house doesn't look special from the outside. That's why he chooses it. The layer of dust over everything doesn't look interrupted, things haven't been upended. It isn't until he gets well inside the structure of the old Dutch Colonial farmhouse that Joel realizes he isn't alone. The sound of the door creaking open is deliberate. You had been investigating the kitchen, checking stores of food that might still be usable and been delighted with the discovery of running water. A shower - even a cold shower - is more than you've been able to have in weeks. Traveling from your last settlement after infection had taken hold turned out to be even harder than you expected, and it's not like you didn't know you were living in an apocalypse of sorts. There's a man on the other side of the doorway that looks like he would shoot a person as soon as look at them, so your gun is already aimed at the back of his head when you nudge the door open with your foot. "Turn around slowly." You order, trying to sound as icy as possible.

“Woah.” Joel closes his eyes for a moment and mouths a ‘fuck’ to himself. “Woah, easy….” He pulls his fingers away from the gun’s trigger. “I didn’t know anyone was here. I’m not wantin’ trouble.” He’s too tired for trouble, or maybe he’s tired of trouble but he just wants to find a place to bunk down, and apparently this area is taken. Slowly, he turns his body to face the voice and the gun in front of it. He’s learned that it doesn't matter if it’s a man or woman, both are deadly.

"You figured you'd just walk up in my house and start looking around?" It isn't yours. Not anything like it. But you're going to throw yourself into an act of over-confidence to cover up the fact that you almost just squeezed your thighs together when this guy turned around. How are some people still so fucking sexy after the end of the world?

“Your house?” Joel cuts his eyes around, taking in the tatty cover on the sofa and the inch deep layer of dust. “You’re a hell of a housekeeper.” He huffs at you in amusement. You’re pretty and obviously alone because he doesn’t hear anyone else knocking around. He would have been barreling in from wherever if he had been if he was with you.

"Didn't figure I'd be entertainin' gentleman callers," you gripe, imitating his light Southern accent. Wherever he's from, it's not Massachusetts.

Gentleman. Joel nearly snorts, appreciating the snark and slowly lowering his hands as he watches you closely. “Was just lookin’ for a place to hold up for the night.”

"Nothing else around here but empty houses with no food." The slight waiver to your hand is unintentional, and you swallow down your nerves. This man is the first person you've been near since leaving Maine and there's a mix of fear and relief coursing through you that you hadn't expected.

Joel sees your nervousness, the wariness that comes with coming across someone uninfected. The thought makes him narrow his eyes on the tremor of your hand. “You’re infected.” He hisses, the gun that had been hanging from his fingers now gripped tight and pointed right at your head. “When were you bitten?” He demands harshly.

“I’m not!” There’s more panic in your voice than you’re proud of, and instead of doubling down with keeping him arm’s length away you end up putting your free hand up in unconscious surrender. “I just — I left someplace where everybody else was. I’m not sick.”

He hasn’t survived nearly twenty years by believing someone. Too many people lie, not willing to face their fate. He rocks his jaw. Ten years ago he might have just shot you, but he doesn’t. Motioning to you with his revolver, Joel grunts. “Strip down. All of it. Let me see.”

In the world before the Outbreak you might actually have slapped him. Spit at him for being such a pig. But in the world before the Outbreak, a complete stranger demanding that you strip naked to prove your health would have deserved it. “Guns down.” That’s your first compromise. If you’re going to strip you don’t want to do it at gunpoint, and it’s not like you’ll have your own gun in hand to get the drop on him. “Then you prove it, too.”

It's an acceptable compromise. Joel nods and slowly lowers his weapon so he can slide it into his hips holster as soon as you start setting your own down. "Sounds fair." He tells you. It's not about seeing you bare, although you are gorgeous enough to make his mind stray, it's about making sure you don't turn in a few hours and come after him. It's only natural you would have the same fears, or worse.

"If we're both clean, we split the food." There's enough cans and things in the kitchen to give you both supplies. Whoever lived here was really into lentils and preserved meats which leads you to believe they had planned on living a good long life in the new world. That clearly hadn't panned out for them. "There's running water, too."

Joel tilts his head, surprised that you would be that generous when you were obviously here first. "If you aren't infected, I'll secure the house while you clean up, shower or whatever." He offers, knowing that for now there is a wary truce.

Barely pausing in unbuttoning your shirt, you glance up at him with a twisted smirk. "You want me to cook dinner while you shower, darling?" You bat your eyelashes at him dramatically, and you would roll your eyes at the same time if you could, but it's actually a good plan. Working together could help keep you both alive and actually let you rest. Being on your toes at all times is fucking exhausting.

He snorts, barely repressing a smile as he gives a small shake of his head. "Depends on if you can cook." He jokes, nearly groaning at the idea of a shower and shuffling slightly when you strip off your shirt. He inspects every inch of skin, even though he knows he's going to make you take it all off. Looking for bites or marks that would be indicative of infection. Unlike FEDRA agents, he doesn't have a scanner.

"Yeah. I can cook." It says something that you can't remember the last time you were naked with anyone, let alone anyone you found attractive. Instead of being tense from attraction, though, you're tense at the evidence of being attracted - hoping that you crumble your underwear away fast enough that he doesn't smell arousal on the fabric. You shove your clothes onto the chair next to where you're standing, arms out like you're at a doctor's office or dealing with the fucking FEDRA troops. "Satisfied?"

"Turn around." It's not to get a perfect view of your ass, but his eyes fall immediately to it. Admiring it. Hell, he's fucking alive and still enough of a red-blooded man to enjoy a beautiful woman naked in front of him even though he wouldn't touch you. His eyes sweep over your back, your neck and shoulders and he even checks your ankles for marks. Quickly nodding, he doesn't want to make it weird. "Okay. My turn I guess."

"Yup." Relief is an unexpected thing to feel, but you know he could easily have shot you while your back was turned. You don't know anything about him except that you're both survivors, and survivors can do a hell of a lot of things to make sure they stay that way. But you push the thought out of your mind for now and grab your clothes, swiftly redressing while he starts unstrapping his various belts and untying his boots.

He's got no shame in undressing. Some like the look of him naked, or at least they did, but it's not about that right now. His jeans are shucked, thankfully the half chub he was sporting wasn't too obvious that he had been reactive to your naked body. Peeling off his clothes to stand straight and let you inspect him as he holds out his arms just like you did.

You’re embarrassed how fast your eyes go to his dick. Determined to pretend that you simply intended to start his inspection at his legs instead of his face, you don’t touch but mentally mark every bruise and healed cut along his skin, pushing away the impulse to fucking lick when you’re eye level with his chest. “Turn around.” Alright. At least he has no ass, you think to yourself with a smirk when his back is to you. If he looked like that, had that big a dick, and had a perfect ass you might have moaned or something equally ridiculous and horrifying. “Fine. Neither of us is infected.”

Turning around, Joel picks up his clothes. Amused that now you are looking everywhere but at him when you first saw him naked you could barely stop staring at his dick. "Do you want to make use of the running water first?" He asks, aware that the sun will be setting soon. "Or do you want to start dinner, sweetheart?" He chuckles, using a pet name like you had before. "If you want to soak in some water, I can make my shower quick and warm up a pot?" He offers, unsure why he is but the words are already out of his mouth. Perhaps because tonight will feel as normal as it could be in this world. Like the past twenty years weren't there.

“I’ll shower first.” There’s no point in trying to be precious about things, and you saw clothing on one of the upstairs bedrooms that will probably fit you. Having left Maine with almost nothing, it would be nice to have a change. “You secure the house.” Halfway to fleeing the scene, you catch yourself at the bottom of the dusty staircase and turn around. He’s buttoning the last few buttons on his shirt when you swallow your nerves and introduce yourself. First names are all that’s needed anymore, so it’s all you give, but it still feels polite.

Joel snorts, realizing he’s seen you naked and doesn't know your name. Like it was nearly thirty-five years ago and he was partying and bringing home chicks he didn’t know. “Joel.” He offers quietly. “Miller.”

“Nice to meet you, Joel Miller.” It’s about as polite a meeting as anybody can have these days, and you offer him a nod before turning up the stairs. There’s lukewarm water calling your name, and you swear you saw bars of Dove soap up there, too. Not just the government issued shit FEDRA rations.

Joel listens to you moving around up there, just listening for a second before he starts looking around. The windows are all still intact and the door still locked, the frame still good. The house must have just been abandoned and never looted. He slides the entryway writing table against it just in case bad moves to the kitchen to secure the door there. It will be nice to sleep with only one eye open tonight, since there’s a stranger here.

******

Wrinkled clothing means nothing anymore. Not if it’s clean, and the carefully stored and arranged things arranged in the master bedroom upstairs are all familiar choices to pick through. Jeans, t-shirts, plaid flannels alongside deeper options that have no place in the world as it is now. Though something tells you that Joel might have appreciated that little black dress twenty years ago. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking. Very unnecessary, wishful thinking.

With the house secure, Joel has already started cleaning up a spot for dinner. There’s no gas, but the fireplace looks decent and the idea of a hot meal after a shower sounds downright decadent, making him start the small fire and bring in a clean pot and an assortment of cans and jars into the living room to open and dump into a stew.

“Did you find the lentils?” Seeing that Joel already has things underway when you come downstairs gives you a truly unlooked for feeling of home. You can’t let yourself get attached to it, but it’s a nice thought to have.

“I did.” He nods and jerks his head back towards the kitchen. “Wanna grab the spices?” He asks as he stands and wipes his hands on his jeans. “I’ll go clean up too, just– use whatever you want.”

“I hope they still have flavor.” You nod though, ready to dump in an entire shaker of cumin or cayenne just for a little bit of warmth or spice. Whatever it takes. “The shower in the master bedroom works. There’s good soap, too. Stuff we can split.”

Joel nods but he doesn't say anything, just strides past you and heads towards the stairs. He still has his gun on him, but that's just smart. Just because you didn't seem like you had ill intentions didn't mean it was a good idea to act like there wasn't danger around.

He’s gone maybe twenty minutes - a luxurious amount of time in this efficient world - and you’re sitting by the fire rifling through the nearest bookshelf while dinner bubbles away. When was the last time you were around this many books all at once? College for sure. Before the Outbreak. Before paper of any kind was for wiping shit and building fires.

The jeans he finds are a little big, but he doesn't give a shit. They are clean. Allowing him to wear something fresh and the t-shirt is soft. He even steals new socks and the boots are left off in favor of the ugly ass slippers he had found. He would put the boots back on later, but it was amazing to have them off for a while. "Damn near feel normal." He grunts as he walks back down the stairs and sees you look up from the bookshelf. "Like it's a stormy night and the power's off, right?" He jokes, shooting you a grin.

“Want me to read to you, darling?” Keeping up the joke, you bat your eyelashes and hold up the two books you had in your hands. “We’ve got a shelf full of classics here.”

"Better than flipping a table over an old game of Monopoly." Joel snorts, giving a small shrug as he looks around. "The house is secure and there's plenty of wood to keep a small fire goin'. If you want to bunk down here, stay warmer."

“Might be nice,” you admit, looking around the picturesque little house. The place was well loved and miraculously escaped being looted since whoever the owners were had died. “I’ll pull bedding out of one of the other bedrooms. You can take the master if you want it.” Falling asleep with a book in front of the fireplace might be the most luxurious idea you’ve heard in a decade and you love it.

Joel snorts and shakes his head. "Nah. I'll pull down a mattress for you and take the couch." It looks like it might only give him a few springs in his ass. He doesn't know why but the idea of you sleeping downstairs while he's upstairs bothers him but it does.

“A veritable sleepover.” You offer him a half smile, unsure why you feel so damn comfortable around a man who barely smiles and certainly doesn’t seem friendly. Probably just the fact that he’s sexy. You have to be honest with yourself. “Dinner’s going to take a while. Nothing to do but read or shoot the shit.”

Joel chuckles and looks around. "You didn't find any alcohol around here, did ya?" He asks. "Seems like either one of those is better with something to drink." He's not a man who likes to sit around and shoot the shit, but there's nothing else to do and he's not going to stay awake if you start reading to him.

“Bottom of the other bookshelf is false.” On the other side of the room, a large bookcase stands next to a window with a writing desk nearby. “I don’t know anything about scotch, but it’s supposed to get better with age, right?”

"I don't think it's gonna hurt. It's still liquor that we can't ever get again." Joel nearly drools when he sees the bottle. "Yeah, that's– that's gonna be good." He looks towards you. "You want a glass?"

“Sure. Why not?” It just adds to the domesticity of the random encounter, like two complete strangers playing fucking house in the apocalypse. You get up from where you were kneeling and nod toward the kitchen. “I’ll grab glasses.”

He hadn’t expected you to get them, but he lets you go into the other room. “Not a bad setup.” Joel hums to himself as he looks around the room. It will be nice to have an evening where he’s not completely on edge, although he drifts over to the windows, happy that the heavy curtains will block the scant light of the fireplace once the sun finishes going down.

“It’s a shame it was abandoned.” When you come back into the room with two glasses, he’s looking out the window and the setting sun that outlines his profile makes him look downright romantic. “They had real sipping glasses in the cupboard but that felt too fussy,” you tell him, offering him the set of heavy-bottomed double old fashioned glasses that you picked up instead.

“Too bad there’s no ice.” Joel smirks as he takes the glasses over to the bookcase where the bottle is to pour the scotch out for both of you.

“Ice.” You groan, almost a sound of ecstasy as you curl up on one corner of the couch. “I would do some extremely questionable things to have ice cold lemonade again.”

That actually makes Joel toss his head back and laugh. A deep, surprising belly laugh that seems to roll from a sense of humor he had long since buried in bitterness and sarcasm. “Lemonade, huh?” He asks, bringing the glass over to you and sitting down in an armchair beside it. “Just lemonade? No sweet tea or iced coffee?”

“Lemonade.” You tell him definitely, accepting the glass that he hands you as he sits. “FEDRA dickheads have coffee and tea. It’s shitty quality but it’s there. You can still get close to tea and coffee if you have access. But when was the last time you saw a damn lemon?”

“Uh….two days ago?” Joel asks, raising a brow as he takes a sip of his scotch and wincing at the burn. “Yeah, two days ago.”

"Where?" The demand pulls an absolute pout from you, eyebrows knitted together in dismay. You've had sexier dreams about lemonade than some of the men you used to date.

He snorts, enjoying the put out expression on your face. “Near Boston. Little….farm I know about.” He would never give away Bill and Frank’s location but they have a lemon tree in their backyard.

"Shit." The sour expression on your face seems to amuse him, and for some reason you deepen your pout just to see if it will make him laugh. When he laughed for real a few minutes ago it was such a gorgeous sound. "Well...cross your fingers for me that they have them out west. Cause we definitely didn't up in Maine."

“Too cold up there.” Joel reminds you. “Shit, it’s too cold in Boston.” He takes another sip, “is that where you’re headed, out west?” He asks, curious as to why you are by yourself.

"Yeah." You nod, pausing for a second to take a sip of the amber coloured liquid in your glass but being careful not to gulp too much and end up coughing like an amateur. Joel seems barely phased, but it's been so long since you had alcohol that you know you'll end up looking like a college freshman at a frat party if you go too hard. "It was time to leave. So that's where I'm going to go. Nothing like a little cross-country hike, right?"

“By yourself?” He asks, shocked that you would do that yourself. It doesn’t look like you’re terribly well equipped and it was dangerous. “That’s a hell of a journey alone.”

"I don't have a choice, really." Shrugging your shoulders, you take another sip of your drink and enjoy the burn, deciding that it's a damn shame you'll probably never have Scotch again in your life after tonight. "A couple of years ago I was going to leave campus and go down to Pennsylvania with some people but..." you shrug again and look down into your glass. "One of them got sick. She couldn't travel. So we stayed put. But now they're all dead, so I'm just...me."

"Pennsylvania?" Joel frowns, hating that it seems like you've lost everyone but that is life now. It's full of loss and very little joy. "What was in Pennsylvania?" He leans back in his chair and looks over at you in the firelight, curled up and comfortable. Like you are discussing heartbreak and loss.

"Nothing, really. Not anymore." The fire crackles beside you, wood popping occasionally and making the room smell cozy and inviting. Like it's an intimate dinner instead of an accidental encounter. "My family used to vacation down there when I was growing up. This town called Lake City. It's a little colony now...like a commune, I heard. Some kind of little paradise at the end of the world, ya know? I doubt it's actually like that, but dreams are hard to come by these days."

"Dreams are hard to come by." Joel murmurs, thinking about Tommy disappearing out west, chasing a dream of freedom, a life beyond FEDRA. He rocks his jaw and glances down at his watch, remembering Sarah and her silly, funny dreams for the future. A future that no longer exists. Maybe it never existed. "Sometimes, dreams are all we have though." He admits, downing the rest of his drink quickly and reaching for the bottle he had put on the coffee table.

"Am I going to get a gun pointed at me if I ask what you dream about?" The side arm isn't in sight but you doubt he left it upstairs. You certainly didn't store yours away - it's right on the coffee table beside you.

"I dream of the past." Joel murmurs quietly after a long moment, contemplating not answering you at all. He won't talk about the past, doesn't like to think about it but he dreams about it. "Anyway, Lake City, huh?" He asks, taking another swallow of the fiery liquid and welcoming the burn. "Still a long way from there."

"Yeah." Swallowing the last sip of liquid in your glass, you hold it out to him in a request for more. "I don't know that I'll go there, but even if I do it won't be for long. West is the goal."

Joel leans forward, holding out the bottle and pouring more into your glass. "You're gonna need a car, and supplies." He warns you. "And more fucking people."

"I'll manage." He's not exactly offering help, just advice, but you nod anyway. "Aren't you going to need shit to get wherever you're going, too? It's not like either of us has back up."

"I'm not going anywhere." Joel tells you. "Scavenging." He's not going to tell you that he's meeting his supplier for contraband. It would be too risky to do something as foolish as that. "Planning to head back to Boston in about a week."

"Boston." Every sip of alcohol goes down smoother than the last and you smile absentmindedly. "I went to a Red Sox game once. So much fucking fun."

"Field's nothing but a huge fungal growth." Joel tells you, frowning as he remembers that kid that Tess had brought with them to go on a run. He had stepped wrong and awoken a dozen infected. It hadn't been pretty. "Fuckin' shame."

"Shit." That earns a shake of your head, though you don't know why you're surprised to hear it. "Lemonade and baseball. I guess I know what I miss."

"Went to a few baseball games back in the day." Joel chuckles. "I get it. Nothing was like a hot dog with everything goddamn thing on it and an icy cold beer."

"Getting a ton of friends together, screaming shit at the field that the players will never hear in a million years but it just makes you feel like part of the game." You laugh, shaking your head and feeling the scotch actually start to hit you for the first time. It's been a long time since you had booze meant to do anything but numb pain. "My cousins all played. Used to draw out a makeshift diamond in the backyard of the rental house in Lake City."

"I played too." Joel admits after a moment, shrugging when your eyes widen slightly. "What the fuck else is there to do in Texas during the summer except baseball and swimming?"

"Texas!" One finger goes up like a symbol of epic success and you laugh, feeling much looser and freer thanks to the drink. "I knew I heard an accent."

"Yeah, yeah, the damn accent." Joel grumbles, although he's smirking at your overly excited face. "Never knew it would be so damn telling at the end of the world."

"It's sexy," you admit, and the words are out of your mouth before you can rethink how wise it is to say them at all.

"Sexy?" That was a word that hasn't been used to describe him in a long time. "Well, I'll keep that in mind, honey.” Joel teases, sending you a small wink.

"Just...ya know...being honest." Though you do sink down into the couch cushion a little more deeply and hold your glass in front of your face. The fucking wink was sexy, too.

“Well, then I guess I should be honest too.” Joel tells you, watching you sink into the sofa a little more. “I looked at you longer than I needed to when you stripped down. Because you’re ‘sexy’.”

"Oh yeah?" There's a smirk in your voice as you lower your glass again, almost putting it down on the table before you decide to finish off the last sip first. "So that was a little bit of a chub you were sporting, huh? I thought I was just imagining it."

“Still alive, ain’t I, honey?” Joel snorts, sending you a smirk with a small shrug. “Can’t exactly help it. But it’s a compliment.”

"Then I'll take it as such." And lock yourself in the bathroom later to get off to thinking about his dick, probably. Since he insists on sleeping in the living room you'll have to make your own privacy.

Joel taps his hand on his thigh before he stands. “I should get the mattress down the stairs if you’re wanting to be cozy.” It would give him a moment to clear his head, the thought of bending you over that sofa very appealing.

"I'll get bowls." You practically jolt up from the couch, nerves and liquid courage both at work in your veins. "Food's probably ready by now."

Joel nods and starts for the stairs again. Making his way to the bedroom with the queen sized bed and pulling the mattress off of it. Sure the two of you could sleep in beds, but it would get cold tonight and it would be warmer near the fire.

This stew that he threw together smells amazing when you take the lid off the pot in the kitchen. You scoop some into two large bowls and dig for spoons in the drawer before also coming away with glasses of water. Food and water are good. They'll keep you from climbing into Joel's lap and making an idiot out of yourself.

With some mild cursing a little bit of muscle, Joel gets the mattress down the stairs. “Move the table, honey.” He grunts, moving the mattress into the living room so he can put it down in front of the fireplace, far enough back that it would catch on fire if an ember popped out.

Scrambling to do what he asks quickly, the bowls and glasses are put down on the coffee table so you can slide it out of the way and Joel gets the mattress down onto the floor a lot more easily than he got it down the stairs. "There." You nod when it's done and toss a pillow onto the mattress from the couch. "Comfy and cozy."

He snorts and shakes his head. “Guess we can get your blankets and shit after we eat.” He acknowledges. “Thought you might want to be warm and comfortable tonight.”

"Sexy and considerate." You offer him a smile and look back down at the mattress, wanting to point out that it's definitely big enough for two but also not wanting to ruin the light tone that the night has taken on. "Thank you, sweetie," you tease instead.

He snorts and nods. “Let’s eat, it’s been a few days since I’ve had a hot meal and it smells delicious.” He wants to make you smile again, tease you more but he also knows you have to be hungry.

His chair is boxed away by the mattress being on the floor so Joel sits down next to you on the sofa to take his bowl. The proximity of him makes your body hum but you force it down, telling yourself to ignore it. It's just that it's been a decade since you got laid, so of course you're hyper aware of the sexy Texan who admitted to finding you attractive. That's all.

The clinks of the spoons on the sides of the bowls and the sounds of eating accompany the crackling of the fire. Making Joel hum when the spice tickles the back of his throat. “So, you were in Maine the entire time? Or-“ He never starts conversations but he doesn’t want to stop talking to you. He looks over at you as he digs through the bowl for another tasty bite.

“Yeah…” Slightly surprised that he’s picking the conversation back up but happy to enjoy whatever companionship he’s willing to dole out, you nod a little and take a sip of water. “I was in college when the outbreak hit. Renting a big house off campus with a few friends, taking off jobs to pay the bills and partying every night we weren’t working.” It sounds silly now, or maybe you think that because you miss it so desperately, you can’t tell. “We stayed in that same house. Locked it down, defended it. Basically the whole neighborhood was ours but we never went far.”

“Ahhh those days.” Joel assumed you were younger than him and he was right. He nods and spoons up another bite. “How did you manage to survive? Someone taking farming classes?”

“One of us was in agriculture. Another was pre-med. Third girl was engineering and she’d grown up with an electrician for a mom.” The sigh you let out borders on long-suffering. “We used to joke…before it happened…that we were the perfect apocalypse crew. Cursed that for ourselves, didn’t we?”

“The irony of that joke.” Joel shakes his head, not mentioning all the times people he had known cycling through their ‘what I would do if’ scenarios. All of them were dead as far as he knows. “At least they were skills that were useful. Do you know the going rate is for a seamstress that’s worth a shit?”

“Portland QZ fell years ago,” you tell him with a half-shrug, scooping up another spoonful of your stew. “And we never had much contact with any of them anyway. I don’t know that much about how they work, if I’m honest.”

“Lots of control.” Joel grunts. “The biometric scanner is the lone determination for life or death. If you don’t pass….” He trails off and takes another bite. “Let’s just say that most of the bodies we dispose of aren’t coming from inside the walls.”

“Sounds fun.” Another mouthful of stew sounds better than talking about the end of the world or mass murder, and you chew slowly before glancing back at him. It doesn’t mean anything that he looks sad - everyone left in the world is sad - but there’s a knot in your stomach that wishes you could make him laugh again.

“Real riot.” Joel mumbles, poking at the stew and sighing. “Anyway- so how did your crew get sick? It wasn’t the fungus was it?”

“All but one.” You end up nodding again, shrugging like it doesn’t matter. Like the people you love most in the world weren’t ripped from you. “Zoe died first. Probably cancer, but it’s not like that’s easily diagnosable anymore. The rest…they were scavenging for firewood, nuts, berries, all that stuff. One wrong step and you wake up a dozen clickers. Priya came back with a chunk taken out of her shoulder, but Nadia and Claire…they didn’t make it out of the woods.”

“Sorry.” Joel murmurs softly. It wasn’t like there was much he could say to that. Everyone’s lost someone. Most have lost everyone and you fall in that category. “Fucking shit is what it is.” He sighs softly, glancing down at his watch and remembering his own loss.

“We all lost someone.” The impulse is there. To ask. To get to know him better. To have a genuine human connection with this man even just for a little while. But with so much sadness literally everywhere you look, you have to wonder at the fact that you’ve actually laughed with Joel and enjoyed his company. That there has been some small amount of light in the pervasive darkness of life around you. “I was very lucky to spend the time with them that we had.” Is what you say instead, offering him a soft smile. “Just like whoever gave you that watch was lucky to have you.” You didn’t miss the way his eyes went to the broken timepiece - so lovingly cared for and dedicatedly worn despite being obviously broken.

Instead of opening up, Joel sets the bowl down on the small table and gets up, deflecting. “Need to add more wood to the fire.” He excuses, unwilling to get into why she hadn’t been lucky. How he had failed her. He is well aware of the way you are watching him, can feel your eyes on his back as he crouches down and feeds a couple of pieces of nearly crumbling wood into the fire and poking it around.

“Thank you for cooking.” He has essentially done all the work himself - securing the house, setting up the fire, putting supper on to cook - and you wonder how much of it is because he doesn’t trust other people to do things right or if he’s used to taking care of people. Used to being in charge. Or maybe both. “A-and…for being nice enough to let me babble. You’re the first person I’ve talked to besides myself in weeks.”

“Tired of being the smartest one in the conversation?” Joel asks, chuckling slightly. “I get it. But you don’t have to thank me. You didn’t shoot my ass when I stumbled on your spot.”

“I appreciate you not shooting me to take the place for yourself.” You shrug your shoulders, twirling your spin around in your hand. “Plenty of others would have. The Outbreak brought out the best and the worst in people in all the most ridiculous ways. Mostly the worst.”

That was true, but Joel just nods and acknowledges that before he turns back towards you. Moving back to the sofa to finish his dinner. "There is something to be said for the evils of men."

"And the good in them." For as terrible as the world has gotten, you've refused to give up on humanity. Until very recently you had spent the End of the World with your very best friends - extraordinary women who made you believe that there could actually be a light at the end of the tunnel. "The good that men do shines brighter in the dark."

"Some shine brighter than others." Joel murmurs quietly, aware that his own light is very dim.

“And some are brighter than they know.” There is a certainty in the pit of your stomach about Joel - and it isn’t just the scotch talking, either. He’s special. You really don’t know how, or if he’s just becoming special to you, but there’s something there that tells you that you won’t forget the particular shade of deep brown of his eyes or the one lone dimple you saw displayed when he actually, truly laughed.

Joel takes another few bites of his meal before he scrapes the bowl clean and sets it down with a sigh. "Now I have to say that was the best fuckin' thing I've eaten in a long time." He groans, looking over at you. "Good to you?"

“The closest I’ve gotten to gourmet in decades.” Your bowl stacks in his, scraped clean with your own spoon. He clearly doesn’t want to talk so you just sit back and watch the fire quietly, unsure of what to do or say and desperately reminding yourself that this is not a fucking date.

"We should get your bed made up." Joel murmurs after a moment, aware that after his stomach is full, he likes to pass out. It'll just get darker and it's better to have it ready. "You can lay by the fire and read like you wanted to."

“What are you going to do?” Probably twenty years ago he would have fallen asleep with a bad movie on the television, but that time has long since passed.

"I could listen to you turning the pages, the fire crackling." He muses, smirking at the very domestic idea. "Saw a couple of candles upstairs too. Those big three wick things. Maybe we light a couple for my old eyes and I can read too."

It sounds romantic. Soft. Things he would probably hate to be called. “Sounds relaxing.” You decide on, lifting yourself off the couch to go upstairs and retrieve the bedding. “Can’t remember the last time I was relaxed.”

"Long fuckin' time ago for me." Joel snorts, shaking his head and standing up to follow you. "I think we deserve a relaxin' night, right?"

"Why not?" The two of you head upstairs, deciding to grab every blanket and pillow in sight and distribute them between you when you get downstairs. The candles he mentioned have various autumnal scents that will all more-or-less compliment each other if the scents are still noticeable after twenty years of sitting in a drawer. It will be a nice night, even without the romance that has no place in the world as it exists now.

Once the candles are lit, Joel looks around. Seeing the glow of the light, he gets up to check the curtains, wanting to be sure that no light is escaping out into the night and creating a beacon for anyone living outside. While both doors are secure and blocked, he would prefer to have a night of no late night surprises.

"We good?" His diligence gives you the freedom to peruse the bookshelf again. There was a copy of Lady Chatterly's Lover up there that you intend to read very discreetly.

“Should be. Want to sleep through the night for once.” Joel snorts, aware that it’s rare now, but he likes the idea of it here.

"I'll let you get in here." Moving away from the bookshelf, you toss your choice on the mattress and hope that even if he does glance over, that the plain fabric cover doesn't interest him enough to ask questions.

Joel snorts and walks over to the books. “Anything good?” He asks, lifting a brow. “A good romance in there?”

"I wouldn't have taken you for a love story kind of guy." It's just a tease, but it deflects from the fact that you did, in fact, zero in a romance novel immediately. "There's plenty, if that's what you want. Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Sense and Sensibility, The Great Gatsby..."

“Oh fuck that.” Joel rolls his eyes and scoffs. “Hated readin’ that shit in high school and I ain’t readin’ it now.” He grumbles. “They don’t have any of the good romance books? The ones with the large, throbbing members pulsing against her core? Or whatever shit they write to make it word porn?”

You snort, surprised to hear that that is what he's looking for - although you can't really blame him. It's not like anybody had porn to watch in the last twenty years. "Um..." Clearing your throat makes your ears burn, but you point down at the mattress where your choice of novel landed. "There's one like that."

“Damn, taken.” He huffs, fully aware that it had been what you had taken from the shelf. He had a feeling. “You could always read it aloud.” He suggests, smirking slightly.

"Now you go for that suggestion?" The look on his face has you burning with embarrassment, and you rub the back of your neck in an unconscious gesture of amusement. "I'm gonna need more scotch if you want me to read porn out loud." High-class porn, but porn nonetheless.

“We could read it or we could make it.” Joel suggests, enjoying the way that you are positively burning with embarrassment. Your eyes widen and your mouth drops open in shock and he smirks again, barely resisting the urge to make a dirty joke.

"Are you serious?" That's a damn sight further than you thought he would have gone, and when you finally pick your jaw up off the ground you look at him with one raised eyebrow.

“If you aren’t interested, say the word and it won’t be brought up again.” He tells you seriously. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but laying you out on the mattress in front of the fire sounds a hell of a lot better than reading anything.

"The booze wasn't what made me want to flirt with you." You admit, though you really didn't see this coming at all.

“Flirting’s a hell of a lot different from laying out on that bed wearing me for a blanket.” Joel huffs.

"You do this a lot with people you've just met out in the wild?" Of course he could lie, but so could you. For all he knows, you're a prostitute playing the virgin. The fact that you're neither of those things is beside the point.

“Can’t say that I’ve trusted anyone enough.” Joel admits, raising his brows at the obvious statement. “Don’t know why I trust you, maybe it’s because I’ve seen you naked.”

"You already know I don't have any weird rashes and or an alien head growing out of my shoulder." The ridiculousness of it makes you shake your head and huff a laugh. "It'd be a shame to waste the atmosphere. Fireplace, candles, little nest of blankets and pillows. It's the kind of thing somebody would have done on purpose back in the day."

“Kinda romantic.” Joel chuckles. “And I’ve got that throbbing member books always talk about.”

You snort, not expecting him to dive into dirty jokes, and step forward carefully. What throbbing you've got is a hell of a lot more discreet but just as insistent. "Yes...you definitely do."

It’s probably the ‘funniest’ Joel’s been in years, but you don’t seem to mind. Edging closer to him and he closes the gap slightly. “I’ll pull out.” He promises, knowing that no birth control lasts twenty years, even if you had one of those things inside you when Outbreak happened.

“I should certainly fucking hope so.” This isn’t the kind of world you want to bring a baby into, even if other people are. The need for sex is an instinct, one people give into every day. And a fucking fun instinct, which is why people still do it despite the danger.

Joel watches you for a moment before he reaches up and slowly starts to peel the t-shirt off. Watching you to make sure you don’t object before he tosses it down.

Watching him undress himself a few hours ago was perfunctory. It was careful and you were concentrating on the potential for danger instead of anticipating pleasure. “Let me.” If you’re going to do this, you’re not going to make the man undress himself.

He arches a brow, but he doesn’t stop you from coming closer. His own fingers itching to remove your clothes and get a closer look at your body. To touch you.

There’s nothing complicated about what he’s wearing. It’s not like anyone is walking around in elaborate suits anymore. The belt he has on must be his own because it’s seen far better days, but you slip your fingers into it and look up to find him watching you. The darkness in his eyes isn’t cold or hard, but curiosity and lust. It’s deep enough that you get lost in it entirely by accident, and without realizing it you’ve moved in close enough to tip your head back and kiss him while you pull his belt apart.

His own hands get greedy, pulling your shirt up and chuckling when you whine as he has to pull you away from undressing him to get it over your head. Your bra is worn, nearly to pieces but he’s careful as he unhooks it.

It’s really like someone set off an alarm that let both of you free. The way a tentative kiss turns hungry and you know you’ll have beard burn on every part of your body he drags his lips across. The calluses on his hands feel gorgeous on your sides, or maybe it's just that someone is actually touching you. No matter the reason, your entire body is on fire already.

Joel groans at the sight of your breasts, now fully able to touch and he doesn’t hesitate to fill his hands with you. Squeezing them and massaging them in his hands, feeling the tip hard against his palms.

All you can think right now is how fucking grateful you are that this house still had a usable shower. Because of that you have no problem leaning in to his touch or letting him study you now that he has his hands on you. Having sensitive tits was always a blessing when you were spending time with boys who hadn’t yet mastered foreplay - who knows if it will matter or not now, but it means every touch is going straight to your pussy.

He loves the way you moan, each squeeze eliciting another sound from you that makes his cock twitch as you unbutton his jeans. “Fuck.” He groans, watching as you bite your bottom lip, revealing the boxers he had swiped.

It’s better because you know what’s waiting for you underneath the last layer of soft cotton, and you gently scrape your nails along his skin as you pull the boxers down along with his jeans. You drop to your knees along with the clothing, knowing that he may not let you stay there but you at least want the smallest taste of the precum beading at the head of his cock.

“Shit!” Joel gasps when he feels your lips against his cock, not expecting that at all. Especially for this being a random, one night encounter. His hand immediately cradles your jaw and he pants. “You don’t- I don’t expect-“

“I want to.” You hold his eyes when you pull back, one hand wrapped around his base to feel the way he pulses in your hand as he hardens. “Do you know how long it’s been since I saw a cock worth sucking?”

It's on the tip of his tongue to remind you that you said you hadn’t been around anyone but all he can do is moan. “I- let me- we can do it- together.” He grunts out, not willing to just let you be the only one giving pleasure.

That’s as unexpected a suggestion to you as you offering a blow job was to him, but you pump his full length twice in your fist and pull away to shove your pants off. “Lay down.”

Joel is quick to lay down on the blankets and sheets you’ve piled up on the mattress. Watching eagerly as you finish stripping down. “Hurry up.” He urges.

“So impatient.” Not like you really disagree. Tossing your pants and stolen panties aside and kicking off the slippers you had found in the closet, you smirk to find Joel eyeing your pussy like he hasn’t eaten in weeks. “Comfortable?” There’s no way you’re going to sit on his face unless he’s in a comfortable position.

“Perfect.” Joel pats his chest and smirks at you. “Have a fucking seat.” He orders, enjoying the small shiver that seems to run through your body. He’s not been this carefree in awhile and he’s liking it. Just enjoying the moment and getting to touch a beautiful woman.

The shiver just keeps on going as you lower yourself over him. Feeling his hot breath on your legs is completely foreign and completely tantalizing, and you shut your eyes just for a second when you hear him inhale and groan. "Tap twice if I start suffocating you," you joke, bending forward to get your mouth around his thick cock again.

The retort in his lips dies swiftly when the heat of your mouth surrounds his cock again. Hands cupping your ass to drag you back to his tongue. Licking into you with the same eagerness that you are taking his cock down your throat.

Even the first touch is enough to make you moan, legs shaking with the intensity of a pleasure you had all but forgotten and your own vocal response making you double down on how ravenously you’re swallowing his rapidly hardening cock. The weight of him against your tongue is gorgeous, all those throbbing veins making you feel like you’ve stepped into some pre-outbreak pornographic fantasy. And even more so when you move the hand applying gentle pressure to the base of his length down to roll his heavy balls between your fingers to give them some stimulation as well.

Joel moans into your folds. Completely obsessed with the way that you are so enthusiastic about sucking his cock while still pushing your hips back for the slide of his tongue. He’s methodical, tasting you with firm swipes before delving into the quivering hole that is begging for a deeper taste.

The best cherry on the best sundae you could ever ask for is the way he tongue fucks you more determinedly when you swallow around his shaft. He’s too big to deep throat and you’re obviously out of practice anyway, but that doesn’t stop you from taking as much of him as you possibly can and letting your moans vibrate with every bob of your head.

There’s something to be said for feeling a hand that isn’t his own around the base of his shaft. He groans, loving how you use your hand in tandem with that mouth to make sure every inch of him is covered in you. “Fuck.” His muffled curse is poured into you before he pulls his tongue out to slide to fingers in that hole up to the knuckle, shuffling his chin down so he can latch onto your clit.

The squeak you let out is muffled by the cock that’s halfway down your throat, but your hips grind themselves down on Joel’s fingers eagerly. You genuinely can’t remember the last time you had anything inside you but your own fingers and his are so much thicker and the angle makes them feel so much longer. The pressure on your clit makes you sob in pleasure, the coil in your belly that has been building so quickly threatening to snap all at once under his attention.

It’s a glorious cascade effect. Every moan you make vibrates around him and makes him respond with sounds and moans of his own. Both of you filling the room with desperate, needy sounds as you work the other closer to that blinding pleasure. It’s just a matter of who will get there first.

It’s too much, but in the very best way, when Joel crooks his fingers Nearly against your g-spot like that and you wail. Tears streaming down your cheeks, spit escaping the corners of your mouth, legs shaking, pussy clenching down on his fingers like your life depends on it, your orgasm hits you all at once but you never take your mouth off of him for a second.

Joel throbs as you come apart for him. The sounds of his moan adding to the stimulation of your clit with his tongue. Fingers still buried deep in your cunt as it flutters around them, making him feel like a fucking god as you shake over his head, your thighs pressing against his cheeks.

Even though it's reluctant, you have to pull off him just momentarily. It's too hard to catch your breath with a dick down your throat, but the second you gasp for air it's his name on your lips instead of unintelligible moans of pleasure. "Fuck Joel. Oh my god."

He smirks, his tongue flicking over your clit one last time before he pulls away with a very smug chuckle. “Break your dry spell in a good way?” He asks, fingers still curled up inside you although he’s not applying quite as much pressure.

"Oh, you're gonna be smug about it?" Twisting back to look at him, there is a lopsided grin on your face regardless of pretending to be stern about it. "Yeah. Okay. You fuckin deserve to be."

Winking, Joel slaps your ass with his other hand. “Two for two, or do you want the main event?” There’s nothing else to do and he’s never been a selfish lover, so making you cum again would not be a problem.

"I'm not going to turn you down if you're offering." There were men you were in actual relationships with who avoided eating pussy like the plague. If tonight can be full of extended pleasure, you're not going to turn it away. No way in hell.

“Get on your back.” Joel slaps your ass again and pulls his fingers from your drenched walls. As much as he enjoyed your mouth on his cock, he won’t be able to stop himself from cumming a second time. Better to just make you cum again.

That answers the unspoken question of whether or not he wants you to keep going, and you lift yourself off of him with only a little reluctance. As much as you could spend hours like that, you know it's rarely the same for men. And Joel is closer to silver fox than not - he wears it so fucking well - so if he needs to cool down a little before fucking you, that's totally fine. You just take over the place where he was laying a second ago, piling the pillows under your head so you can watch him go down on you again.

This time, Joel gets to see more of you. It makes for a surprisingly tender moment as he slides his hands up your thighs, wiggling down so that he is lined up with your cunt. “Pretty.” He coos, looking at you in the firelight. He knows he doesn’t have to compliment you, but it’s true and it feels like you could use a compliment or two, to save for those lonely days.

Simple and direct. To the point, just like Joel is, and you can't find it in yourself to think that that one word is anything less than perfect. "How do you feel about hair pulling?" If you need to be digging your fingers into the sheets instead of his thick hair, you want to know.

“Why’d ya think I told you to get on your back?” Joel flashes you a very uncharacteristic, wolfish grin before he he diving back into your cunt.

“Shiiit!” You’re halfway laughing when he lowers his head again, but your hand goes right to his thick salt and pepper curls. You don’t know how you got lucky enough to stumble across this man in the wilds, but you’re definitely not going to take it for granted.

He hums, enjoying the first tug of pain as your fingers wind too tight around a few strands of his hair pull against his scalp. He loves the way you don’t hold back.

Apparently, without distraction, Joel is even hungrier with his tongue as deep in you as it will go. The gorgeous, prominent arc of his nose nestled against your clit isn’t something you ever would have thought to add to your fantasy list but it’ll be tucked away in your spank bank for the rest of your fucking life. Hopefully just the way your voice crying his name and choking curses will be for him.

Joel hangs onto your thighs like they are a life preserve. Curling his tongue up and relishing the way that you respond to him. He had expected maybe a halfway decent house to huddle up in overnight and maybe some hard beef jerky but he’s been treated like a king and currently having a fucking four course meal.

He’s methodical, voracious - not gentle or coaxing, but you don’t care about that right now. This isn’t a seduction, it’s the very definition of a one-night stand. There’s no reason to be quiet so you let him hear every gasp and moan, squirming under him and reveling in your amazing fucking luck that he stumbled across your hiding place today.

Joel keeps his tongue moving, his jaw flexing open and shut and his fingers finally join the mix. This time he’s not sinking them into you. No, his hands spread across your hips bones, both thumbs peeling your lips back to he has more access to you.

“Oh holy fuc—” If he’s trying to crawl inside you, you just might let him. “Fuck Joel, oh my god!” The praises tumble over each other but aren’t forced. You’re far too lost in yourself and how fucking good he makes you feel for anything to be a performance.

God, it’s been too long since someone has wailed his name like that. Nothing behind it but pure pleasure and he needs to hear more of it. Burrowing deeper, he attacks your cunt like he is starving and you are the tree of life.

If anyone were still around to walk by the house, they wouldn’t question what’s going on inside for a second. All of Joel’s double checking off curtains and lighting and securing the doors is moot in the face of the pornographic sounds coming from inside but for right now - for just a little while - you seem to have blissfully forgotten the state of the world at large. Your entire reality has hyperfixated on Joel.

Every stroke of his tongue begs you to cum, his eyes fixed on your face and he grunts into you when you pull so hard on his hair that moisture builds up in his eyes. The scene is completely debauched and all he needs is for you to soak his face once more before he fucks you.

The second time comes faster than the first. Maybe because you're primed for it now or maybe because he's learning your signals, but either way it doesn't matter. The way he builds you up to that second peak speaks to years of experience all focused directly on your dripping cunt. His name is on repeat, like your heartbeat falling from your lips, and by the time your legs start to shake you're convinced you might actually see stars.

Joel pulls away, watching your entire body seize with pleasure and he smirks happily. His cock is throbbing and he’s ground himself into the mattress enough that there’s a wet spot on the blanket.

"Fucking hell." When you can take a deep breath again you're shivering with the aftershocks of pleasure and grasping at his shoulders, silently begging him to crawl up your body. As intimate as the thing is, all you want to do right now is kiss him.

Obliging you is not a problem. His lips trail up your body, making small detours from areas that he wants to map. Until he’s finally pressing his lips to yours.

Tasting yourself from a lover's lips has never been an issue for you, and right now you're relishing how messy and fucking filthy this whole encounter has become. With one leg hitched up on his hip and her arms around his shoulders you feel like you could drown in him and it would still be a perfect encounter.

“You are so fucking responsive, honey.” Joel growls into your mouth. His hand slides up to wrap around your shoulder. “But I need to be inside you.”

You're nodding almost faster than you can say the words, just as desperate as he is to know what having him inside you will feel like. "I–fuck, do it, baby."

There’s no reason to rush except for the aching need to be buried inside you. Keeping his lips pressed to yours as he lines up and starts to slowly roll his hips forward to make sure that he’s snuggly pushing into your cunt.

The gasp he pushes out of you is drawn out - luxurious and indulgent and becomes a moan with that small pinch of momentary pain that comes from fitting a baseball bat into even the most flexible straw. When his hips are flush with yours you look down, taking in the sight of your joined bodies for the first time. “So fucking sexy.” You stand by that assessment, especially right now.

His jaw is tight, teeth grinding slightly at how hard he is clenching them together. You’re so fucking tight and hot around him. “Fuck, baby. You’re sexy.” He manages, his hand on your shoulder pulling you closer.

“Need you to move, baby.” If he feels good just staying still, you might cum again after about four thrusts.

“I can do that.” Joel huffs, nearly laughing as he draws his hips back.

“Oh fuck.” The feeling of being entirely empty only lasts for a second before he’s pressing forward again, filling you faster this time and more roughly. It’s perfect.

When it comes to actually fucking, Joel isn’t gentle. He’s not brutal, unless it’s wanted, but his pace and thrusts are rougher than a slow and gentle lovemaking session. He wants to be breathless, numb to everything but the pleasure and he wants his partner to be the same way. He hisses the first few slaps of his hips as he plunges into you.

Your hips rock in time with his, meeting his thrusts eagerly, and you shove the pillows out of the way in every direction to be able to twist and turn in any direction he wants you. The heat from the fireplace isn’t why you’re both starting to sweat and you pull your thighs up a little higher on his waist so he can plunge that much deeper into you with his next thrust. You want every ounce of pleasure he can give you and you’re going to make sure that you feel just as good for him.

“Good, so good.” Joel groans, rocking his hips just a little faster, sweat slicking up his body and making it easier to move over you. He doesn’t care though, turning his head and kissing you before biting your bottom lip.

His arms twine under your back, tugging you close and giving him more leverage to push deep and give both of you something to curse about. You wrap your legs around his waist, giving him complete control and yet not letting him get too far away. It's probably just the sex talking, but there's a connection tugging at you that only seems to shut up with the force of each thrust - so the more, the better.

His dark eyes watch you, humming when you accept the force of each thrust, your body begging for more even if you weren’t breathlessly urging him on. Both of you needing the sharp snap of his hips and the feeling of his cock beating into your body like humanity depends on it.

The closer to your peak that both of you climb, the more ragged and desperate his pace and your voice become. The harsh slap of skin on skin fills the room and dominates it, reverberating back any breathless cry that Joel doesn’t swallow down with a greedy kiss. The aching soreness you’ll be nursing tomorrow will be so worthwhile though, as you hang on to the gorgeous memory of tonight.

“Come on honey, need- fuck, need you to cum for me again.” Joel manages, grunting through every swing of his hips. Desperately close to cumming, but he wants to feel the clutch of your cunt around him before he does. “Come on honey, one more.”

It really isn’t that far away, but your words have left you and all you can do is moan your acknowledgement and slip your hand into the tight space between your bodies to rub your clit - that little bit of extra stimulation that you know will push you directly over the edge.

“That’s it.” Joel hisses, his frantic, unmeasured thrusts ramping up even more. Wanting to hear you scream in pleasure again.

Your back arches, hips practically rising off the mattress in an effort to get the most out of your own fingers as well as his increasingly erratic thrusts. Every time he bears down on you it becomes a little more desperate and that much sexier, until the last remaining thread tethering you to reality snaps entirely and sends you careening over the edge of pleasure with his name on your lips.

When you shatter, it’s like the world stops. Joel can’t even breathe, all he can do is watch as you fall apart in the most glorious fashion you possibly could. “Fuuuuuuuuck.” Joel groans, one thrust later he’s pulling free of your body, cumming over your stomach in hot, sticky ropes of his seed.

It leaves you both panting. Chests heaving and bodies shaking, you don't even realize that you've lifted your head to steal a kiss until your lips find his. The messy, drawn-out meeting of tongues is indulgent - like the longest form of punctuation on the end of the sentence that is tonight.

Joel doesn’t hesitate to gather you close again, not caring if his cum is smearing over your and his skin. It’s not like he’s not been covered in worse. Instead, he just relaxes against you and hums happily into your mouth.

“Mmmm.” Embracing the moment for the simple but not insignificant thing it is, you just slip your arm around him and shift over, making sure he has room on the mattress to lie down beside you if or when he wants it. You’re going to sleep like a baby tonight, thoroughly exhausted from a moment of light in a world of darkness.

“Lemme clean you up and then we can sleep.” Joel grunts, moving over to grab a rag that had been set off to the side. Used as a pot holder, it was now perfect to wipe your skin clean.

“Hell of a way to spend a night.” You sigh, opening your eyes again to watch him as he cleans both of you up. Add aftercare to the list of things you weren’t expecting.

Joel chuckles and tosses the rag to the fire, watching it catch and burn. Turning back to you and settling back beside you to open his arm to invite you closer. “Best night in a long goddamn time.”

Coming closer immediately, you settle with your head on his shoulder so you can sleep on his chest. “Might have to think of a creative way to wake you up in the morning.” You have no illusions about the situation. Tomorrow you’ll go your ways and most likely never see each other again. He’ll forget your name. Your face. The sound of your voice. But maybe he’ll remember the way you made him feel, and that will be enough. “If you’re into that kind of thing.”

He smirks and curls his arm around your shoulders and hugs you against him. “I was just about to say if you can get him up again tonight, feel free to ride him.”

“Mmmm.” The hum is more indulgent this time. Laced with a dirty giggle. “Better get a nap in, then. So I can wake you up after whatever inspirational dreams I’m sure I’ll have.”

His own chuckle is low, raspy and matches the playfulness of your tone. “Then we better get some sleep, honey.” He murmurs, closing his eyes and feeling more relaxed than he has in a long time. One that was just for pleasure.

“Night, Joel.” You murmur, leaving a fist of a kiss on his chest before closing your eyes. “Sweet dreams.” Yours, at least, will be the sweetest they’ve been in years.

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