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neon-junkie · 1 year

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Knee-deep in Trouble

Summary: If there's one thing worse than being stuck in a snow storm, it's being stuck in a snow storm with your least favourite squad mate - Crosshair.

Pairing: Crosshair x gn!Reader

Word count: 2.6k

Tags: Enemies to friends, Huddling for warmth, Snow storms, Arguments, Bickering, Sleepy cuddles, Touch starved.

Notes: the recent episode got me THINKIN. yeah, i wanna cuddle this man, but... what if we hated each others guts? and we HAVE to cuddle for our own survival? mwahahah

Out of all the scenarios that could have happened today, this one just had to arise.

First, you were cut off from the rest of the Batch. Your comm lost signal as the snowstorm began to thicken, and all hopes of communicating the others dwindled as your main focus became finding shelter.

Your armour is only doing so much to keep you warm, and only now do you curse yourself for not opting for a helmet. A thick hood, scarf, and goggles are doing well at protecting your face, but the chill continues to seep into your bones as every second passes.

And even now, knee-deep in snow, trudging towards the mountain in hopes of finding some sort of shelter, you still manage to bark up another argument with your least favourite member of the Batch. "Hurry up," Crosshairs words are sharp, peering over his shoulder for a short moment to see you following behind. You're using his tracks to your advantage, pushing through the loose snow, allowing him to take the lead like a bulldozer.

You let out a grunt, "not all of us have stupidly long legs." Crosshair doesn't bother replying. There's no point. Instead, he pushes forward, and keeps his helmet dipped down to protect his sights from the incoming snow. Minutes pass, although time has blurred into one. All you've known for the last thirty minutes is to push forward, keep walking, and follow Crosshair's trail. Through your goggles, all you can see is white - thick heaps of snow that only continues to pile higher and higher. The mountain is now within your reach, and you follow the edge, waiting for some form of shelter to appear.

"This will do," Crosshair comments as he comes upon an assortment of boulders, providing some shelter from the storm. With a frown, you let out a disappointed, "is this it?" as you gesture to the tiny crevices that will barely keep you covered, let alone warm.

Despite not being able to see Crosshair's expression, you know he's scowling as he gestures to the surrounding area. "Do you see any other options?"

No, you don't, but you're not going to give up hope. "I'm going to push on," you say as you turn back to him, and vaguely gesture into the distance. Surely there will be a cave up ahead, or a cliff that provides cover. There must be something better than some rogue boulders.

Pushing through the snow, Crosshair grabs at your forearm with a tut. "You will not," he scolds. "We need to stick together. This is as good as it's going to get," Crosshair points to the 'shelter,' and you pull your hand from his in disgust, let out a grumble with it. "I'm going," you repeat. "You can sit with your boulder buddies and freeze to death. I'll find a cave, get warm, then collect your body once the storm has passed." With that, you continue moving forwards, unbothered if Crosshair chooses to follow. His lips purse in annoyance, and he's rather vocal about his frustration. Still, he follows you, telling himself that it's purely for the fact that you're going to get yourself killed, and he'll be the one collecting bodies. The mountain itself would provide decent cover, if it wasn't for the fact that the snow is falling against your direction. One gloved hand comes up to move your scarf higher on your face, tucking the edges beneath your goggles to prevent it from slipping down again. At least your nose is warm, the complete opposite to your toes.

Despite his armour's heating system, Crosshair is now really starting to feel the chill. His teeth are clattering together beneath his helmet, and every so often, his fingertips brush over one of his belt pouches. Inside are the tools necessary to start a fire, and he'll be damned if those tools are somehow taken from him, despite never falling out of his pocket before. Your feet come to a halt, and Crosshair, who isn't looking up, bumps into your back with a grumble. "What is it?" he groans as you look over your shoulder, silently cursing him for running into you without an apology. "What does that look like?" you point ahead. Crosshair squints through his visor, before flicking his helmet's scope down to zoom in on the area up ahead. "A cave," he mutters.

"I told you I was right," you shrug, and you're met with another grumble. "Don't let it get to your head," Crosshair huffs as he pushes past you, eager to get out of this knee-deep snow. With a roll of your eyes, you follow behind, allowing Crosshair to clear the last stretch of your journey. The cave is deep, stretching far deeper than you require. You only need shelter, not another adventure, so you and Crosshair pitch yourselves several meters from the entrance. For the first time in what feels like hours, snow and wind is no longer against you; all you need to do now is stay warm, and stay alive.

Once his helmet is removed, Crosshair crouches down and begins pulling supplies from his belt pouch. It's standard GAR equipment, but it's enough to get a fire up and running, and hopefully, keep it burning for longer than you need. However, once lit, the flame is... disappointing. "Is that it?" you sigh, looking at the meek fire at your feet. Crosshair looks up at you whilst feeding the remains of his supplies to the flame, encouraging it to grow, even if it's just a little. Despite the tiny flicker of light, your goggles begin to steam up, so they're reassigned to sitting on your forehead, allowing you to give your eyes a well-needed rub, and relax your scarf around your neck. "This pack is usually only assigned to one person," Crosshair replies, watching you sit down opposite him. You know that the clones are kitted with essentials to survive, which would explain why Crosshair only has enough for himself. If only you had your backpack with you - the backpack that is sitting back on the Marauder, because this mission was meant to be a simple retrieval, until you wound up separated from the others, and lost in a snow storm. "It's better than nothing, I suppose." Crosshair lets out a simple, "mhm," as he gets comfortable opposite you.

Silence fills the air, minus the howling winds coming from down the cave. Silence - as in, the silence between you and Crosshair - is common. You've never really seen eye to eye, both too stubborn for your own good. Maybe that's why he went after you when the Batch split up, covering different routes as part of your mission. He must have known that you would wind up in trouble, which is why he told Wrecker to go with Hunter instead, pairing himself up with you. You are his squad mate, after all. Far from a friend, but still an asset to the team. "What is it?" Crosshair questions, and only now do you realise that you've been staring at him.

"Nothing," you reply with a firm shake of your head. Crosshair's eyes squint for a brief moment, before he decides to bite his tongue, and not bother pushing your buttons. (For once.) "Why don't you get some rest?" Crosshair suggests, which might be his first good suggestion of the day. Maker knows how long this storm will brew for, and you need to be physically prepared for more trudging through that snow, which must be thigh high at this point.

"Only if you do the same," you reply. Such kind words cause Crosshair's eyes to widen, only for a moment, before he pulls his emotional mask back on. There's no need for either of you to be on watch, and despite your disliking for the man, the bags under his eyes are as heavy as yours. Rest is needed, for both of you.

"You first. I'll follow," Crosshair replies with a soft nod. "I want to finish warming myself up first." With a light sigh, you shift onto your side, pulling your knees up against your chest. The fire is warm against your face, and hopefully, it'll continue to warm the rest of your body up as you sleep. Your hood acts as the thinnest pillow in existence, but it's thick enough to keep the chill of the cave floor away from your ear, and you'll take what you can get. Finally, your lases flutter shut, and it doesn't take eternity for you to drift into a deep slumber.

Crosshair is loitering.

Why? He doesn't really know. You've been asleep for an hour, and in that time, Crosshair has cleaned the snow from his armour and rifle, wandered deeper into the cave to find the remains of another campfire, long forgotten, and scavenged the leftovers from it. The fire is eating away at new material, yet Crosshair is still huddling close to it, as if it's a fading source of warmth. There's a chill in his bones that he can't seem to shake off. No matter what he does, no matter how warm he feels on the surface, his insides feel cold. With slanted brows, he brings his knees up to his chest, and wraps his armoured arms around his thighs. Silver hair rests against his forearm as he presses his cheek to his knees, breathing deeply as his eyes shut. He can't relax. He can't warm up. Crosshair thinks, questioning what to do. He's oh-so-tense, and his muscles are long worn out from shivering. However, it seems he's not the only person who has a chill within them. Crosshair's eyes perk open at the sound of whimpering. There, on the cave floor, is you, sound asleep; only you're not sound asleep. You're shivering, curled up in a ball besides the fire, struggling to maintain heat in the depths of your slumber. Untucking himself from his position, Crosshair pulls his glove off to press his palm against your cheek. There's barely any warmth to you, and it's a mystery how you've not woken up. Crosshair has found himself in a predicament. Despite not being the best of friends, Crosshair doesn't want you, nor himself, to freeze to death. The fire is growing, but it's still not enough for either of you. He has an idea - a silly, foolish idea that you're bound to hate him even more for - but he can't bring himself to wake you up and offer the suggestion.

Well, what if he doesn't have to wake you? A deep grumble slips from his lips as he ponders his options. Surely you'll understand, right? It's not like there are any other options, and you can't hate him any more than you already do.

With that, Crosshair slips his glove back on and rises to his feet. He walks over to you, tilting his head as he analyses your curled up pose, questioning how he can fit with you - like pieces to a puzzle. He's quiet as he dips down to his knees, tucking his body behind yours. Crosshair remains propped up on one elbow, and cautiously positions his legs around yours, followed by his torso. You've barely shifted in your sleep, jittering away whilst soft huffs slip from your lips, only your whimpering seems to calm as Crosshair places his hand around your waist, ensuring that it's firmly in the centre of your torso, not wondering north or south. With that, he shifts himself off his elbow, allowing his head to rest against the cave floor. This isn't his first time sleeping on the floor, nor stone floor, for that matter; still, it's uncomfortable, but he'll take what he can get. After letting out a deep breath, Crosshair finally bites the bullet. Using the arm wrapped around your waist, Crosshair pulls your body against his, fitting perfectly together. He's cuddling you, in some form or other, but there are instant results. Your jittering is coming to an end, and somehow, Crosshair is already managing to feel warmth growing inside his chest.

Or are those butterflies?

Whatever. He allows his eyes to fall shut, and finally gets some rest.

It's not often that you drool in your sleep. However, this is one of those few occasions. The sensation of your drool dripping over your cheek shakes your body awake, and through groggy vision, you move a hand off your pillow to wipe your spit away. Your arm returns to your pillow, clutching onto it tighter as you pull it against your chest. Something firm is pressed to your cheek - firm, yet warm, like plastoid armour on a-

Wait.

You let out a soft, "huh?" as your eyes open, soon focusing on familiar red and black armour. Somebody's chest plate is acting as your pillow, along with their arm, keeping your head off the cave floor.

Ah, yes. The cave. The cave that you entered to shelter from the snowstorm, and of all the people that you could have been thrown into the deep end with, it just happened to be-

"Would you stop fidgeting?" a rather frustrated, yet quiet voice calls out. Looking up through your lashes, your eyes come into focus with Crosshair, who is attempting to sleep. His expression is neutral, eyes shut, and dare you say it, but Crosshair looks rather sweet when he's cooped up at your side.

You let out a sheepish, "sorry." Your eyes wander around the cave, soon meeting the entrance. It's light outside, the sun is shining down overhead, and the snow looks far tamer than it was last night. Your way out might not be as cursed after all, but a new issue has risen. Crosshair is softly snoring, and his grip on you is deadly. He is not letting go, or at least, not without a fight. For a man who prefers his own company, he seems rather touch starved, and whilst you clash heads with him, you're content with giving him the comfort that he so clearly needs.

And it's a good thing that you're content with this scenario, as Crosshair rolls over onto his side, engulfing you deeper into his grasp.

Sure, plastoid armour isn't the comfiest thing to cuddle, but the man beneath it is. Your chest is pressed to his, legs tangled up together, and Crosshair's arms are holding you tightly against him. He's rather soothing like this, your personal teddy bear, but you know that he's only doing this for warmth. It pains you; you may not get along, but you can't deny that you aren't soft on him. Perhaps your soft spot is mutual, as despite your clashing heads, Crosshair wouldn't do this if he truly disliked you.

"Go back to sleep," Crosshair quietly mutters, his voice barely audible above his deep breaths.

"What?" you stir, peering up to see his tired expression, eyes remaining shut.

"I can hear you thinking," he replies. The hand around your waist moves up, and gloved fingertips entwine themselves in your hair. Crosshair begins to softly massage your scalp, earning a pleasant hum, and for your eyes to close. "Quit thinking, and get some rest," Crosshair demands once more.

Mhm, can't argue with that. You allow yourself to become engulfed in warmth, pressing your chest tighter against Crosshair's, with your forehead resting against his collarbones. His fingers continue to glide against your hair, offering nothing but comfort.

In this moment, you feel nothing but safe and secure. Crosshair is doing all he can to keep you warm, and you've been the fool for being so harsh on him - not that your harshness isn't reciprocated. And it seems you're as touch starved as he is, as you're clinging onto him for dear life, soaking up all the physical contact that you can get.

Maybe it's time to turn over a new leaf, see eye to eye, and allow your similar personalities to grow, rather than clash. Maybe Crosshair isn't so bad after all.

#tbbwriting #knee-deep in trouble #the bad batch #crosshair #tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #gn!reader #gender neutral reader #tbb #snow storm #blizzard #huddling for warmth #fanfic #tbb fanfic #the bad batch fanfic

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scarerjh · 11 months

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Peri-menopause/Post Apocalypse

Joel Miller x f!You One Shot.

Summary: You’re on patrol with Joel (ooh I rhymed), get stuck in a cabin until morning, a little bit of body warmth trope, a little bit of one bed (cabin) trope, with a sprinkling of idiots in love. Also S.M.U.T.

You were on holiday when it happened, in a foreign country celebrating your twenty tenth birthday that had been in the February. Now it was about 6 weeks until your twenty thirtieth birthday and you were hauled back into your memories as you trotted behind Joel quietly as you did the late patrol.

You had survived 20 years of an apocalypse, and in a foreign country. The first of your five friends on holiday with you hadn’t even survived outbreak day, you’d had to dispatch her yourself, your other friends never looked at you the same after that, and you didn’t feel the same. You had a few memories that made you smile though too, you almost chuckle thinking about Alice as you looted the shops to get what you needed before trying to head out of Austin, the first city on your planned road trip. Alice had picked up boxes of condoms saying, “you never know,”. “I’m pretty sure an apocalypse is contraception enough right now,” you had retorted.

Like many around you in Jackson, including the stoic man in front of you, you’d done things you never thought yourself capable of to survive; you carried the guilt of being the only survivor amongst your friends, and carried the sorrow of not even knowing if your family was alive, and you weren’t sure you would come to terms with never knowing. Without evidence there was always hope…and hope fucking hurts.

You’d been in Jackson for about four years, your skills as a medic being a huge bartering tool to get them to let you stay. Somehow, you’d managed to carve out a life, and for being in an apocalypse, things were peaceful when not on patrol. In Winter, days like today, patrol was usually quiet too.

The snow started falling and at first it was pretty despite there already being more than enough on the ground. Within the hour a snowstorm seemed to be settling in, so you sped up, needing to get to the checkpoint and return to Jackson ASAP.

At the cabin you signed the book for the two of you as Joel checked everything was secure, it was a basic little place and would often require ongoing repairs, especially in Winter, despite this, it was still a shock when you heard the crash of wood and a gruff curse. To your right Joel stood covered in a new dust of snow, the door to the cabin at his feet.

You both tried your best to make the cabin secure with what basic tools were available, but it was rotten, and the top hinge was completely unusable.

Joel stood with his hands on his hips surveying the door and caught you bouncing on your toes blowing on your cold fingers.

“Okay, we’ll make ourselves a fire and set in for the night until the mornin’ patrol come,”

“Shit, it’s going to be freezing,”

“We’ll be alright, I’ll build a fire, you grab any blankets you can find. We’ll make do,”

You were never averse to spending time with Joel, but you were averse to returning to Jackson with fewer toes than you left with. Every scrap of fabric in the place was hunted down and you started building by the fireplace before you set up the stove.

As Joel worked on building the fire you watch his broad back shift, and his big hands handle the logs and kindling. His jeans pulled taut over his backside, showing off its gentle curve.

“I thought you were brewing coffee,” Joel spoke over his shoulder, pulling you away from your leering.

“I am,”

“Well, I ain’t hearin’ it,” his tone was teasing.

“Well, someone needs to hurry up and start the fire so I can use the flint for the stove,” you retorted.

The teasing in your friendship with Joel was a recent development, starting just a few weeks ago, and you liked it, really liked it. Since his arrival in Jackson he had slowly opened up to you as he settled in, and you observed the change keenly, like a lot of other singletons in Jackson. He was slowly getting used to not needing to be on alert all the time, his resting bitch face started to soften around the edges, and he was slowly becoming more sociable. He was still very much a calculated man, but every so often, and increasingly so, his guard was lowered around you, telling you once after a few whiskeys that he felt at ease around you, even safe.

The two of you were similar in some ways, both a little stubborn, both keeping your social circles small, and both too stupid to admit your attraction to the other, assuming it was one sided.

You saw all the single people in Jackson and how they looked at him, you were one of them. He was strong, handsome, and extremely capable, surprisingly soft spoken, and very polite. Every single person in Jackson seemed to want to solve the mystery that was Joel Miller. You think you’re ahead of the curve though, but that has led to unrequited feelings, and though you technically haven’t been rejected, you haven’t been brave enough to even try to blur that line between you. There were younger and prettier people than you in town, and he could have his pick, so why would he pick you?! You were discovering lines on your face, a little weight to your belly. If you weren’t sweating like a nun in a cucumber patch, you were looking like an idiot because you couldn’t think of the right word. You weren’t exactly feeling like a catch.

Joel was pleased with his work, the door to the cabin barricaded with what furniture was available, a fire starting to take hold, and the bubbling of coffee behind him. He found himself smiling at your sass, it was one of his favourite things about your friendship, well, about you really. He never had any qualms about undertaking any kind of detail with you, but patrol was his favourite. Just the two of you sharing stories from before outbreak day, and plenty of them about days since. Being not too dissimilar in age you remember a lot of the same things. Your silences together were comfortable, you worked well as a team whether you were hunting or fighting. Somehow you made his coffee taste better, and despite hating it, you would sometimes steal a few sips if you were cold. He never failed to be both enamoured and amused as your nose would crinkle as you gasped after swallowing the bitter liquid. Joel thought you were so sweet, but you would never go for someone like him. Since becoming settled and opening himself up to the possibility of as close to a normal life as possible this new world could afford he’d started developing a niggle in his stomach, it started when he met you and has only got worse since. He found his gaze lingering on you, felt a tightness in his chest when you laughed, and a tightness in his jeans when you would strip to your tank top and fan yourself in one of your ‘tropical moments’, a thin film of sweat glistening on your skin that he wanted to lave with his tongue. But you were too kind, too bright, too beautiful to want him. He felt you could see his tainted soul when your bright eyes held his gaze.

“You havin’ some?” Joel offered up his cup of coffee.

“If I get desperate,”

“You don’t know what you’re missin’ darlin’,”

“I know very well what I’m missing,” you wiggled your socked toes near the fire. You spend the next hour idly chatting before making sure the barricade was holding before settling down for the night, zipping your sleeping bags together so your body heat would carry you through the night when the fire died. Sharing a bed or a sleeping bag wasn’t new to either of you so there was no embarrassment as you both got comfortable, ensuring your weapons were in reach before bidding each other goodnight.

Some of your most restful nights outside the walls of Jackson have been laid up against Joel, his warmth and musk lulling you towards sleep; eyelids suddenly heavy and muscles relaxing, sinking into the makeshift bedroll. Your slumber came so quickly you didn’t notice Joel pressing his lips softly to the top of your head.

Joel noticed it was an unsettled night for you, tossing and turning, but you remained asleep, so he just assumed you were uncomfortable. If you weren’t having a nightmare there was no reason for him to wake you. If he did, you’d probably kill him with a spoon.

A thud startled Joel awake, and he felt you curl into him, a small moan rising from you.

“Sssh!” came softly from your lips.

“It wasn’t me,” his voice was dry, and low from sleep. He felt you stiffen in his arms at the thought of an intruder or infected. His arm instinctively pulled you tighter into him as he surveyed the room. There was nothing and no one in the room besides the two of you and he started to relax. “Think your boots just fell over darlin’,”

As you both relaxed your sleep addled brains took a moment to register that Joel’s bare hand laid firmly in the middle of your very bare back. The realisation was almost in unison and you both looked down under the covers. Somehow during the night, you had stripped yourself of everything but your knickers.

“Oh fuck!” you clung onto Joel to try and hide yourself while he oscillated between amused, embarrassed, and turned on.

“The fire ain’t even that warm,” you could hear his amusement in his tone, but couldn’t see the struggle in his face with yours buried in his chest, cheeks burning furiously.

“It’s you!” you thump your fist into his chest.

“Wha…?!”

“You’re like a furnace, I must have started with a hot flush,” you look down at yourself again and Joel’s eyes follow suit, his gaze being met with your cleavage, your breasts pressed tight to his chest. He couldn’t stop the small groan that escaped his chest and his hand curled into a fist at your back. All he could think of was pushing is face into your soft flesh and inhaling your scent.

The sexual sound of his groan, the tight fist at your back lit a fire in you, and your pussy started to throb. You snapped your head up so quickly, trying to get a read on him that you headbutted his chin, his head reeled back as you swore in tandem.

"Oh fuck, Joel! I’m so sorry!” you instinctively rise and cradle his face in your hands surveying the damage. His eyes were watering slightly but he was otherwise unscathed. Having slid up his body Joel was very aware of you pressed against him, thigh almost encased by his own, breasts sitting high on his chest, so close he could probably just about reach their soft swell with the tip of his tongue. You watch Joels’ gaze fall to your cleavage, bounce up to your eyes before focusing on your lips. His warm hands squeeze your hips, and when you speak his name it’s a breathy question, one which he understands immediately, nose brushing against yours.

“Yeah,” he utters before your lips make contact. A shiver of adrenaline ran through you, causing you to inhale deeply through your nose because no way in hell were you letting your lips leave his. A small grunt parts Joel’s lips and you take your opportunity to delve your tongue into his mouth. His hands leave a blazing hot trail up your back as you shift to straddle him under the covers, his hips bucking immediately as your hot core presses against his hardening cock.

“Fuck…wanted you for months,” he spoke with your earlobe perched delicately between his teeth.

“Really?!”

“Yeah, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he looks up at you. “I tried to stop it, tried not to let you in…” he squeezed two handfuls of your backside.

“Let me in?!”

“I…I ain’t…fuck…I tried not to let you in,” his words may fail him, but his actions don’t as he places your palm over his heart as it heaves beneath his ribs. You crash your lips to his once more, kisses becoming feverish and sloppy, both of you fumbling with the buttons of his shirt as you grind against him, whimpering at the feeling of his hard cock caged in his jeans. Forcing you to sit up he pulled his shirt and t-shirt off over his head, both of you erupting in goosebumps as the cold air hits your warm skin.

“Oh shit darlin’, you’re so pretty,” he took the opportunity to gaze upon your bare body, palming your breasts gently, feeling your nipples tickle against his palms. He lowered his head to suck one nipple into his warm and wanting mouth, delighting in the gasp that rises from your throat. In this position his denim covered cock hits your clit just right and you begin riding him like that, slipping your fingers into his soft curls to anchor yourself against him. The undulations of your hips were as frustrating as they were relieving for the ache of his stiff cock.

“Joel…” you whimper as you get closer to your release, your soaked pussy clenching around nothing, the coil in your abdomen about to snap.

“Mmm, that feel good darlin’?”

“Yeah, oh fuck Joel, I’m gonna cum,”

“Cum all over me darlin’, I got you,”

“I want you inside me, want you to fill me up,” you wrap your arms around his neck and speak against his lips as you near your precipice.

“I will baby, I promise, but you gotta cum for me first, ‘kay? Cum for me and I’ll give you anythin’ you want,” He kissed his way along your jaw as you clung to him and your breaths stuttered, he buried his face in your neck laving your skin with his hot tongue as he listened to all of your sweet moans and whimpers in his good ear. You break against him, hips bucking, and a torrent of filth pouring from your lips, punctuated by moans of his name and calls to the almighty as lightening spread through your body.

“Oh fuck Joel,” your hands snake back into his hair and he throws his head into your touch as you gently scratch his scalp. You rest your forehead against his, a stupid, satiated smile plastered on your face.

“Good?” his eyes twinkled and his lips curled.

“Great!” you held his face in your hands and kissed him softly.

“That was so goddamn sexy, seein’ you come undone like that,”

“Let me see you,” you run your hands over the broad expanse of his chest.

“Yes ma’am,” he smiled as he rolled you both over so you were laid on your back. Everything seems to slow for a moment as you look up at him; the light from what’s left of the fire dancing across his strong features. As your fingers wander gently over his brow his eyes close at your delicate touch.

“I can’t believe you want me too,” you air your insecurities, not actually meaning to do so out loud. His eyes spring open, his gaze holding yours as an incredulous look sits on his face.

“Why wouldn’t I want you?!” he asked as though it’s obvious.

“Because I am currently feeling like an aging, sweaty mess. There are so many women in Jackson, younger, perkier, you could have your pick,”

“I think you’re overestimating my appeal,” he chuckles self-effacingly. “Besides…” he dips his head and lowers his voice to a low growl “…I have picked. Why would I want a girl when I want a woman…when I want you,” he punctuates his sentence with a strong roll of his hips. “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, I can’t promise I’m gonna last but I wanna be inside you, feel ya squeezin’ me,”

“I want it Joel, I want you inside me. I need to feel you, need you filling me up,”

“Yeah?” he looks up, eyes dark and studious of your features as he unfastens his jeans. You both shift so he can shuck them down enough to free his aching cock.

“Oh fuck, you’re going to feel so good,” you take in the heft of him and lick your lips.

“Think you can take me darlin’?” he asks in a gentle tone, rubbing his length along your soaked folds as he hooks your sodden panties out of the way.

“Yeah, just…slowly,” you give him a little wink. He notches the head of his cock at your entrance and watches for any signs of discomfort as he pushes in achingly slowly. Every ridge and vein of his cock, every adjustment of your soft walls around him was felt keenly. Your back arched into him as he became fully seated within you, his hands ran up to cup your breasts as you moaned in unison. “Fuck, you feel so good,” your hips squirm beneath him.

“Hold on sugar, jus' need a minute,” his twinkling eyes showed a playful warning.

“That’s three terms of endearment and it’s not even dawn,” you tease.

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No! I really like them, they sound so good in your Texan drawl,”

“Well then sugar…darlin’…sweetheart…” he began to plant sweet kisses over your face and neck with each word, finishing on a drawl filled “honey piiee,” as he smiled into the crook of your neck making you giggle, and he gasped as the action made you clench around him. His response was to grind his hips into yours.

“Move for me Joel,” you slid one leg up his side to further open yourself to him.

“I’m not gonna last darlin’,” you saw the worry flash across his features.

“I don’t care, I just want to feel you, want to watch you cum for me,”

“Goddammit.” He lunged forward and pushed his tongue into your mouth as he finally started moving his hips. His grunts, your sighs, the sound of skin on skin, with the wet sound of your pussy taking him was a beautiful, pornographic symphony.

“Oh god, oh god you feel so good, fuck,” you pant into his ear as you hold each other close, sweat slick bodies sliding against each other.

“Ngh! Feel so good sweetheart,”

“Fuck yes, your thick cock is perfect. I want you to cum for me Joel, let me see you,” his hips speed up, balls slapping against your backside and his brow is furrowed in concentration.

“Keep talkin’” he stutters out.

“I’ve got you, cum for me baby, give me that big cock and then paint me. Cum all over me,”

“Yes…yes…” he quickly slipped himself out and fisted his slick cock, thick ropes of cum decorating your stomach as he swore and groaned through his release. He looked wrecked, and so fucking sexy, features slack, dark eyes hooded, a thin film of sweat highlighting all of the curves and divots across his chest and shoulders. He supported himself at arm’s length as he caught his breath, shivering as your fingertips danced across his torso.

“That makes two of us,” he chuckled. “Give me a minute and I’ll get you cleaned up,” he rested his forehead against yours.

“You look incredible,” you sit up and kiss him, wiping the disbelieving look from his face. “You do, so strong, so handsome…so fucked,” you grin.

“No need to worry yourself,” you grab a t-shirt and wipe yourself off.

“Hey! That’s mine,”

“So was the mess,” you both chuckle, then soon he’s laid you down and wrapped himself around you, sighing softly as your fingers play in his hair.