the perfect storm
1.4k drabble / joel miller x f!reader
masterlist
rating: 18+ MDNI
warnings: no outbreak. smutty smut smut. established relationship, masturbation (f, toy), hints of brat tamer!joel, praise kink, no use of y/n
summary: after a boring, rainy morning of joel working from home, you stay nestled in your shared bedroom to have some fun on your own. you're pretty sure you're quiet about it.
A/N: here's a little drabble. i've decided to write more of the "dancing is a dangerous game" fic, and it will indeed be a series. until then, enjoy!
On days like this, dreary as it is, Joel works from home. His days are usually surrounded in piles of blueprints, phone calls, meeting demands. He hates telling people they can't come in, but it's just too dangerous and redundant to send his guys to work in muddy and rainy conditions. They'd just have to go back home, anyway.
Today happens to be your day off, and it's spent in bed for most of the morning. You exhale a sigh of relief when sounds of rain against the windowpane that wakes you.
Joel is home.
Warmth envelops you, but when you roll over you are met with an empty bed. A grumble leaving you when you take note that you're alone – but you're able to hear Joel through the other side of the wall.
Some phone call with a client.
A yawn waves through your lungs, limbs stretching in either direction as you settle into the white duvet set you convinced Joel you both needed. Bat of the eyes, pout of the lips. Compromise.
From the other room, you only hear Joel's replies. On any other occasion Joel is a man of few words, but when he works he's still pragmatic, yet speech is fluid as it drawls out of his southern mouth. Because of this, you assume he's wearing the earbuds you got him as a gift, a grin forms your features at the thought.
You remember giving them to him. He made more of a fuss at how much they cost, how he'd 'just lose 'em anyway, might as well take 'em for yourself.'
On days like this, even in your mindseye, you see his hands – all too big for them – maneuver the buds into his ears.
Fondness pangs your heart.
However, these thoughts were flooded by a way more mischievous thought: if you can't hear his customers speaking, he can't hear you.
This has your hands wandering over your body, over the black silk pajama set Joel got you after you spent weeks looking at it in passing because nothing goes unnoticed with Joel Miller.
Especially when you touch yourself without him in the room.
It's not that Joel minds. He, if anyone, knows the importance of autonomy and not letting people tell you what to do.
Or at least that's what he lets you believe.
It's more... he likes to know. Wants to be around, or be told before you're going to play with yourself. And if he's not around, he wants details and explicit demonstration of what you did. Of how you get yourself off.
Exactly the way your breath hitches when your fingers graze over your clit. What makes your back arch the most.
His eyes hooded, head hung low like a hungry wolf who's been scrapped one too many times. Taking you in, taking account.
You enjoy letting him have this control over you, and it's more or less a jackpot.
So to do this without him knowing, while he has to work, is in itself naughty. Naturally, you must do it.
Besides, it's your body and you can do whatever you choose to with it. You picture the devilish smile of agreement spreading across his face at the roar of your sovereignty.
You're giddy when you lean over to the bedside table, taking out your vibrator from the drawer like a friend that visits. You like to use it on yourself, but Joel likes to use it on you, too and just seeing it sends a shiver over your skin.
It starts off slow. On your back, your legs splay lazily under the sheets – the sound of rain is sensual in nature and it's literally and metaphorically the perfect storm to put you in the mood.
Your arms stretch overhead, letting out a soft yawn as you take in the way your skin feels against the plush fabric of your bedding.
Mornings as slow as this one (at least for you) deserve appreciation. Joel's voice still delivering messages back and forth to clients in the background.
Then, your hands wander. Your nipples over your camisole, across your stomach before finding your tits under the silk. You gasp at way it goes straight to your core with the image of the night before in your brain. Joel's mouth somewhere around the area you're now tugging at, rolling the sensitive nubs between your fingers as they peak and stiffen, and you have to bite down against your lip at thought of him.
Of how a trace of him is constantly left on your skin.
It causes you to rut pathetically against the fabric of your sleep shorts, wishing Joel could take the morning off to spend it with you like this. To have a lazy, rainy morning full of slow, carnal sex and pancakes after. You grow wetter at the thought of him between your legs, pumping his thick fingers inside of you. Spreading them apart, leaving your mouth hanging open and it's so good you can't even make a sound.
"Fuck," your moans are breathy, and you're not sure when, but your fingers slipped between your legs, under the hem of your shorts.
Exploring your folds, you're astonished at just how downright lewd the sounds coming from your cunt are. The undeniable gliding of wet skin tempts you to add one finger and then two inside of you.
You work through the whimper at the fact they're not as thick as his. And even though he's not there with you, you can practically see pride and smugness tug at his features, and that makes you pump harder.
Your eyes roll shut, imagining him hovering over you and the fact that his voice is within earshot not only makes it easier, but makes you more aroused. You purposefully brush the spongy bit inside you and your thighs flutter.
It doesn't take much more, it couldn't possibly. Not when you know your body and how quickly it can take you to reach that place, so your free hand searches for the vibrator. The kind that creates a little suction on your clit. The kind Joel uses on you while he's buried to the hilt in you when it already feels like you've taken your limit.
A third finger stretches and explores you when you place the low vibrations on your clit, instantly gasping when you feel the suction and the way your nipples graze against the texture of clothes.
You could cum like this. Your fingers deep, toy mercilessly suctioning the artificial pleasure right to your core, but you're greedy and you want more. Your tongue passes your lips, screwing your eyes shut even tighter as you turn the intensity up on the toy.
It sucks harder, sounds louder – even under the duvet.
That's it, like you can hear Joel in your ear. All gravel in the pit of his throat, nodding against your temple while he watches you.
That's my girl. You gasp then. Mouth in a perfect 'o' shape you ride out the initial wave of self-gratification. So powerful it causes your ears to ring.
A moan of something that sounds like a mixture of fuck, Joel, please falls off your lips.
You bite your lip into the second wave, your orgasm feeling more and more intense as your fingers almost ache from how tightly you’re clenching around them. Clit instantly too sensitive now for the vibrator, you press it down to the lowest setting before cutting it off. You leave it abandoned somewhere on the bed.
One at a time, your fingers leave your pussy. The lack of connection makes you pout to yourself until you're left rubbing your folds lazily. Basking in the afterglow of what you've given yourself. You hum a low sound of approval, legs brushing against the sheets again. Another yawn.
It's only then you blink your eyes open, squealing in surprise at Joel at the door. You jolt – alert and sat up. Eyes wide, adrenaline kicks in. Who needs coffee?!
Joel's arms are crossed, desire dripping off his brow. Your instinct is to apologise, to promise you were going to tell him. Anything, think of anything.
If your heart wasn't racing from your orgasm, it is now.
But he doesn't let you start your sentence. In fact, you can just barely see a smirk form over his face before he brushes the pad of his thumb against his lower lip and you whimper at that.
You whimper at anything he does now because he’s got you. You know he won't let you get away with it.
Caught in the act and vulnerable.
He stays exactly where he is: broad shoulders leaning against the doorframe. Arms flexing through his shirt.
"Do it again."
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