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Deep blue night falls across the town, darkening the apartment Joel has the integrity of sharing with you. Of course, the shared space led you two closer, and trusting one another. It’s quiet when he’s away, smuggling whatever was asked alongside Tess.
It’s not until you hear the soft knocking on the creaky wooden door that you look up from your journal. The same pattern Joel made up months ago, knock knock-knock, knock knock, and as you open the door, a soft smile graces his features. “Keepin’ warm?”
“Warm as I can be,” you reply, stepping aside to let him in. The door lock clicks again and you watch as he collapses back against the couch with a groan. His fingers fuss with the buttons of his bloody shirt, revealing multiple cuts and bruises forming and leaving on his skin.
Quickly, you return to his side and help him discard his shirt. He’s worn out, moving slowly. When you set his flannel aside and inspect his wounds, you frown. “You should take a break from smuggling, Joel.”
“Ah, come on, I’m still breathin’,” he brushes it off, reaching down to grab the busted up, dirty med kit on the floor. He sets it down on his lap and opens it, stopping when you reach your hand in instead. He allows you to, but sighs quietly when you reach for the alcohol. “I don’t need you to patch me up.”
“Just let me do it,” you say, dousing a small piece of fabric with alcohol and wiping away the dried blood on his skin and wounds. He grunts quietly in pain, the sting causing him to tense up. His jaw is clenched tight as you work quickly to clean up his wounds.
“Goddamnit, you’re never careful with that,” he mutters through his gritted teeth. As you set the fabric down, he sighs a shuddering breath; just like he does after a close encounter and adrenaline bursts through him.
You roll your eyes and begin to bandage him up, covering all of the open wounds with the cleanest wraps you could find in the box. “It’ll hurt anyway, won’t it?”
He grumbled quietly, leaning back against the couch. His back didn’t need to be patched up, as he only had small scrapes across his shoulder blades and watercolor bruises. When you finish cleaning him up, he tosses the medkit on the crowded coffee table. “You done?”
“You’re not gonna thank me?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.
His lips form into a soft line, staring into your eyes. “I’m ready for bed.”
“You’re welcome,” you reply sarcastically, standing up. “Did you eat while you were out? Been gone almost two days.”
“Ain’t had the time,” he admits, watching you stand up. “Don’t… get me anything. You’ve done enough.”
“I don't care,” you say, grabbing a can and a couple small carrots you snuck. “Working in the gardens has its perks, you know.”
“Hey, I said don’t get me anything. Don’t waste your rations,” he protests, standing up to stop you, but he groans as soon as his body is up straight.
“Shut up, Joel, and sit down,” you demand, looking at him over the bar window in the kitchen. You light the small gas fire and grab a small pot from the cupboard.
He obliges, but mutters quiet words under his breath to speak his discontent. He lays down across the couch, watching you in the kitchen with lidded eyes. You’re busy, focused on the dirty old stove in front of you, but your eyes flicker up to see Joel. It doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep in such a comfortable position and with the comforting smell of your cooking. He snores gently, his lips parted only slightly.
A chuckle comes from you as you look back down at the task you’re handling. You scoop just enough soup into a bowl for him, finding the cleanest spoon to give to him. You walk back to the couch and nudge him awake by moving one of his legs to the floor.
He startles awake, immediately quitting his peaceful snores. He sits up and looks confused at you. He takes the bowl as you hand it to him, and he blows on it before taking a sip.
He grumbled a bit and let a soft yawn occupy him for a moment before returning his gaze to you. “It ain’t that bad.”
“Oh, how sweet,” you reply sarcastically, waving your hand to signal for him to eat more. He rolls his eyes before taking a few more bites.
“Thanks,” he finally mutters, and keeping his eyes focused on his bowl as if he never said it.
Yet, a smile spreads across your lips as you watch him eat. “You’re welcome. You look like shit.”
He huffs out a single laugh, and if it had been anyone else saying so, he’d be offended. Once he’s finished eating, he sets the bowl on the table, but you grab it a few seconds later. You return to the kitchen and set it in the filled-up sink of dirty dishes.
As you retreat back to Joel, he’s half-asleep on the couch again. His head is resting back against the cushion with his eyes closed, but not snoring. You sit back down with him, and the action lures his eyes to open. He looks down at you and smiles.
“I think I need some shut-eye,” he groans, starting to push himself up off of the furniture. You follow him up and wrap his arm around your shoulder without a word. Again, he grunts but never complains.
When you set him down on the bed, he’s still shirtless as he shrugs off his jeans. Once he’s nude, he settles in the bed and sighs, closing his eyes.
You copy his actions and crawl next to him. The room is dark, the only light coming from the single working street lamp one block down. The faint white light pales his skin, even his gentle eyelids as he slips into a dream. You exhale a quiet breath and close your eyes as he holds you, letting yourself rest beside him.
In the morning, you wake before he does; a rare feat. Normally, he’s up with the sun, but the late winter sunrise is still slow. The warm glow from the sun seeps into the room, and when it becomes a deep burning orange, his eyes flutter open. A night without a nightmare. He turns onto his side to face you and smiles softly before pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. When he pulls away, he takes you with, pressed into his side.
“Good morning,” he rasps softly, turning his head to study you. You return a slight smile, your mind still tired.
“Good morning,” you whisper. Your hand travels up his stomach and chest to rest against the nape of his neck as you lay closer to him. “You stink.”
He chuckles deeply, his chest lifting with each laugh. “You didn’t seem to mind it before.”
“Now I do. It’s early, I’m sure there’s still some water left,” you say and press a kiss to his shoulder.
He groans softly, his other arm wrapping around your waist. “Why don’t you like my natural musk, sweetheart? I’m a hard-working man, ain’t that sexy?”
“You’re well beyond natural musk and you know it,” you laugh and look back up at him. A small smirk crosses your face and he sighs in response. When your head tilts to the side, he knows what you’re about to get at.
“You’re gonna hurt this old man’s feelings,” Joel mutters. He leans into you to press a soft kiss to your lips, ignoring each other’s morning breath.
His large hand, one with callouses you’ve grown well accustomed to, slides down your warm skin to between your thighs. You part your legs and invite him in as your gaze follows his hand. Thick fingers ghost over the overgrown patch of hair there and brush between your lips.
A gasp surfaces from your lips and the noise brings forth a deep chuckle from Joel. As he relishes in your reaction to his soft touch, his bandaged and bruised torso begins to ache, and instead, he groans.
“Damn it. Can’t lay like this,” he murmurs. His rough hand escapes from you as he lays on his back. “Might just have to spend all day in bed, huh?”
“That’s what you get for letting those guys beat you up. You gotta act your age,” you smile, curling up by his side again.
He scoffs quietly and looks down upon you as he wraps you in his arm. “You know what? C’mere.”
He taps your shoulder and encourages you to sit up. As you do, he pulls you closer and gives you a nod. “Come on, honey, sit on my face. Ain’t nothin’ new.”
“Oh,” you whisper, and swiftly take place straddled above his chest. His hands scoop you up by your backside and pull you up on top of him.
He guides you to hover over his lips, letting you adjust to the warm, slick feeling of his tongue again. When you let out a soft breath, he chuckles and does the same again. His lips close around your bud, sucking just gently enough to make you moan. His tongue grazes over it again and your hand buries in his hair.
His thick beard pokes at your skin, likely leaving your inner thighs blushing from its roughness. His tongue runs across your slit to your entrance, lapping at the juices you're leaking. The tip of his nose presses against your swollen clit and your hips instinctively buck against it.
He stayed still like that, his tongue circling and sliding into your entrance as you rock your hips just slightly enough to brush his nose against your clit. He groans beneath you, then comes up for air. He leaves a gentle kiss to your bud and you whine as his beard grazes your core.
“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he mutters. His hand sneaks between your lips, brushing two digits across your clit before dipping them into your tight cunt.
You gasp and clench around him when his fingers curl up against your walls, that one spot he’s memorized over the many months you’ve let him between your legs. He wears a mean smirk as he removes his fingers.
“I… haven’t bathed in a few days,” you reply in broken words, and he moans quietly again, delving his tongue back between your lips.
“So?” His response is muffled by your own cunt, the vibrations making you tense. You’d fingers tighten in his hair and he continues eagerly to please you.
“You’re disgusting,” you moan out into the air as his tongue laps at your clit faster than it had before. The familiar pleasure builds up and your eyes flutter closed. You clench around nothing but his bearded chin, grazing too close to your entrance.
This is his thank you. Taking care of you the way you like, one of the only ways he knows how. Even if he was paralyzed or had all his bones snapped, he’d find a way to thank you for taking care of him.
His large hands move from your hips to your ass, squeezing and kneading your flesh. He lands a smack on one side, bringing a moan from your lips.
Finally, you crash down from your high with a desperate moan of his name and your hand tight in his hair. He groans but doesn’t let up until your thighs squeeze his head, trembling as he slows.
You roll off of him, laying on your back beside him as you catch your breath. He grins, watching as you regain your composure. “Good enough for you?”
“Yeah,” you breathe, turning your head to look at him.
“Think you can come take care of me now?” He muttered and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “Or am I too nasty for you?”