Work Text:
"Oh fuck yes."
Joel freezes, glancing around. That had been Ellie's voice, but she—
The sound of running water is louder than it should be, Joel realizes, peering around the guest bedroom he'd used a couple times when Tess and Frank had been caught up talking and it was too dark to travel. He eases closer to one wall, head cocked so his good ear is closer, and it only takes a minute to locate the source behind a picture frame. Joel hesitates, but another sound—quieter this time, only audible because Joel's right here, and the shower is right on the other side—catches his attention, and his hands move without his conscious permission. Joel lifts the picture frame off of the wall, careful not to make any sound as he sets it aside. He sucks in a quiet breath, gaze catching on a hole in the wall, the sound of running water and Ellie's off-tune humming getting louder.
Joel's solved the mystery; he should hang the frame up once again, should go find something else to do while Ellie showers.
He sways closer to the wall, bracing himself with one hand and leaning in, bringing his eye level with the hole. He has to blink to focus, but the sight on the other side of the wall takes his breath away.
Ellie is standing under the spray of water, head tilted back as she works shampoo through her hair. Her back is to the hole, and Joel's gaze follows the flow of water over her shoulders, down her back. He tells himself he's looking for any injuries, anything she might've been hiding from their escape from Boston, but there's a voice in the back of his mind that whispers, liar. It gets louder when Joel's gaze drops to the slight swell of Ellie's ass, lingering before he takes in her legs, the soft skin of her thighs, the flex of her calves as she adjusts her stance.
Ellie's arms catch his attention next, the bite on her forearm barely visible as she reaches for a cloth and a bar of soap. Joel really should look away, should quit—quit being a goddamned creep.
He doesn't move.
Ellie turns, wets the cloth and soaps it up, and starts scrubbing. Joel follows her movements, feels lightheaded with how shallowly he's breathing, with—
Ellie makes a quiet, pleased noise as she wipes the cloth over her chest, turning so that Joel has a better view as she lingers there. She lifts her other hand, draws it over her breast, fingers teasing at her nipple, making it harden. She makes a pleased little noise, and Joel can't tear his eyes away as she plays with herself. It feels like all the blood in his body has run south, he can feel himself straining against the zipper of his jeans, and Joel doesn't realize he's moved until his palm is pressing against his cock, relieving some of the pressure. He bites his lip, holds in his groan through sheer force of will, because how the hell could he explain this if Ellie catches him?
Dirty old man, that voice whispers again, twining with the pleased little moan that drips from Ellie's mouth. You're supposed to protect her, not watch her like this. This isn't for you, you know it, but you like it—like watching her, knowing she has no idea you can see everything.
Fuck, fuck—
"Fuck," Ellie groans, head dropping back, arching into her own touch as she pinches one nipple, fumbling to drop the cloth onto the side of the tub. Her other hand finds her stomach, spreads over it, and as her hand slips lower, Joel's moves with it. He flicks the button of his jeans open with a practiced motion, eases the zipper down carefully, practically tooth-by-tooth until Ellie is sighing, her hand between her legs where Joel can't quite see. He palms himself again, rubs over the aching length of his cock in the same slow rhythm Ellie is using, her forearm flexing as she touches herself.
Joel pulls his cock out when Ellie makes a frustrated noise, widens her stance and gives herself more room to work with. Joel bites his lip almost to bleeding to keep his own noise in as he strokes himself, twisting his wrist over the head of his cock. His gaze lingers, hungry, as Ellie's hand moves, her hips rocking into her own touch.
Bet she'd make such pretty noises with your hands on her, that damned little voice murmurs, silky-smooth. Joel's hand spasms, squeezing himself a little too roughly at the thought, his calloused fingers against her smooth skin. He could touch her gently, little more than a whisper, and it would still be too much, would overwhelm her, especially if he stroked over her thighs, followed the line of her hip in.
"God," Ellie groans, and Joel wets his lips, swallows heavily as his hand speeds up, matches the speed that Ellie is stroking herself. He doesn't think she's fingering herself, just focusing on her clit, but that's clearly doing it for her, combined with the hand still playing with her tits, barely enough to fill her own palm. Christ, she's so small, Joel could take her so easily, could push her up against the wall, cover her body with his.
Ellie's breathing speeds up, turns to panting, and Joel shifts, presses his knuckles to his mouth and leans against the wall with one shoulder. The tightness in his balls is winding tighter, but Joel doesn't want to come before Ellie does. He watches avidly as Ellie's hand moves faster between her thighs, losing her rhythm; she's getting desperate, a keening sound rises from her throat.
C'mon, darlin', Joel thinks, bites harder on his knuckles to keep from saying it out loud. His fist moves faster over his cock, catching the precum leaking from him like a goddamned faucet, slicking the way. Joel can't help but imagine it's Ellie's slick, maybe from standing behind her, lifting one of her thighs so he can fuck himself through her folds. She's so small, he couldn't fuck her without some serious prep, but he bets she'd feel so fucking good around him. He could reach around, could tease at her clit with one hand while the other lingered at her tit, pinching and pulling the way she's doing right now, making her back arch, the small sounds coming from her throat climb in volume, make her more and more desperate until—
Ellie comes with a gorgeous cry, a sound that is going to haunt Joel's dreams for the rest of his fucked-up life. Her head falls back, hips twitching like she can't decide whether to keep going or stop touching herself, and Joel loses control of himself, stripping his cock hard and fast until he's coming, too. He can just barely hear the sound of his come hitting the wall he's pressed up against, still unable to take his gaze off of Ellie as she shivers through the aftershocks.
She slowly pulls her hand from between her thighs, lifts it to her face, spreading her fingers. Joel can just barely make out the slick clinging to her, and he actually breaks skin on the side of his knuckle biting down when she slips her fingers between her lips, cheeks hollowing as she sucks herself clean.
Ellie sighs, ducks under the spray again, and Joel wrenches himself back from the wall, stuffing himself back into his pants. He feels sick, wrong, dirty—
But he knows he's going to carry this memory close to his heart, knows that the next time he touches himself, he's going to be thinking of her.
Her, and how the sound she made when she came almost sounded like his name.