you got it wrong. - tommy miller x f!reader
summary: tommy overhears a conversation between two familiar people.
word count: 8.5k lol sorry
disclaimers/tags: minors dni. age gap (reader is in her mid-twenties). miscommunication. detailed smut. lots of 'good girl's. one instance of spanish. just horny, tbh.
read my pinned post! | cross-posted on ao3
"He's an old man, Tabby. You can't flirt with him like you would a guy our age and expect it to have an effect."
Boredom leads you to rearrange the boxes under the bar while your friend finishes sweeping the room. Julian will likely have another breakdown when he sees that you moved 'his' stuff for the third time in two months. How hard can it be to find the three bottles of Rosé left in the world?
She groans, leaning her weight against the broom and miserably blinking up at the ceiling.
"C'mon, what was your plan? To bat your lashes at him as much as possible, then flirt with someone else in front of him in hopes that his jealousy muscle hasn't atrophied since his early twenties so he ends up at your door in one, maybe two nights? Never gonna happen. You can throw yourself at him and still, when he sits down on that comfortable armchair at night, crackling knees and sore back, he is forgetting all about you."
Tabitha's mouth hangs open, defiance and stubbornness reigning over her soft features.
"He's not that old!"
You tsk at her, narrowing your eyes. "He kind of is."
Both of you end up giggling so hard you have to bend over the counter, trying to alleviate the pain in your abdomen. Tabby has her back to you, trying to continue sweeping through her laughter, and you take the opportunity to really think about this situation.
It sucks to discourage your friend. But you have seen Joel. You have hunted with him, helped him pick a book for the kid from the limited library you started in one of the rooms in your cabin, let him help you with your aim. He's alright, but also a severely guarded man not looking for someone to break down his walls.
Unless he's prepared to surprise you, which doesn't really sound like him, Tabby is probably not his type. Bless her gorgeous face, but you don't understand how someone who saw her childhood get ripped away by the apocalypse could stay so chirpy and bright.
Although, you have to wonder how much of your advice derives from a genuine desire to protect your friend from getting rejected by a tactless older man and not your own selfish reassuring.
Except it isn't Joel who caught your eye. His goddamn brother, with the shiny dark curls and the breathtaking dimples. Delicious accent that makes him sound equally intimidating and enticing contrasting with how kindly his gaze falls on everyone in Jackson.
He is temptation wrapped in a fur-collared denim jacket and you feel like a weakened, doubt-filled young religious whose resolve threatens to shatter every time he walks by.
Shame creeps up your spine as you regretfully imagine what he would think if he knew. Would he make fun of you to his brother? This girl who barely got a taste of the real world before it went to shit when he had spent the better part of his life in it, he probably thinks of you as primitive.
The women you picture him with before the outbreak were elegant and intelligent, attractive. You learned the bare minimum in FEDRA's school before joining and subsequently fleeing the Fireflies. You can hunt. You have killed. You're a fighter, not quite a poet or a lover.
Just as importantly, their sexual lives had not yet been stunted by the outbreak. You lost your virginity to an officer in the QZ in exchange for rations. There were some other inexperienced boys in the Fireflies. You stopped looking for sex after arriving in Jackson, feeling like there was simply no space for seduction in the apocalypse. And if it wasn't sexy, it was not enjoyable. What was the point?
So now you feel like a sexless, unattractive, uneducated thing disguised as a woman.
"Okay, my wise friend, what do you suggest then?" You look up from your hands and she rolls her eyes at your puzzled expression. "I'm not giving up so easily, this is the most exciting thing to happen around here in a while."
Tommy walks in at the right time. He knew it was cleaning and restocking day for the Tipsy Bison, and it had not escaped his mind exactly which duo never failed to volunteer for the task. So when he heard Tabitha's suggestive tone, he couldn't help but linger behind the kitchen door.
"Tabby, what-"
"No, c'mon, I wanna know. Let's say you couldn't stand another day without putting your hands on Miller," Tommy nearly drops everything. "What would you do?"
His fingers are turning red, intertwined with the holes in the heavy plastic boxes, holding his breath as if he doesn't want to scare a tauntingly innocent prey.
And then you sigh, a laugh coasting your tone.
"My best guess is to just take it, right? Like I said, can't expect him to play the game at his age, probably doesn't have enough stamina to keep it going." At this point, you're just pushing your friend's buttons, but Tommy can't see that across the door, feeling his grip tighten. "He might entertain it but then again, at the end of the day, all he wants is that comfy couch to lay his aching back on. If you want anything to happen, you quite literally have to go ahead and rob that old man blind of his dignity."
The other young woman bursts into laughter. He doesn't know whether to be offended or incentivized by the way you took him for a debilitated senior.
If you only knew the sinful amount of times he thought of you under the enveloping pressure of the shower, the image of your concentrated furrow in the early morning light as you waited at the gates for Joel, completely unaware that he was watching you, fueling the rapid strokes as he tugs at his own cock. Maybe if you knew about the juvenile shame that washes over him when he passes by and greets you like he hadn't just jerked off thinking about what you looked like under the thick winter clothes, guilt shooting through his body when you smile at him so sweetly and unsuspecting. Would you mock his awkwardness when he asks Joel how hunting went and his brother gives him a reprimanding look?
He's not proud of it. In your own words, he's an old man. And you had the right idea, even if a little misguided, that he wouldn't do anything about it. It's not a matter of virility, it's that he didn't want you to be put off by his interest. He didn't want to make you feel too uncomfortable to hunt with his brother again or lend Ellie books. He had accepted you would be nothing but a terrible late-night habit.
Except now he heard you share these urges, he might have to show you he can offer a lot more than you think. Out of spite.
"Holy shit, you fucking minx. Where have you been hiding all that spirit?"
Tommy can picture your nonchalant shrug. "That is between me and my showerhead."
He hears you break into giggles but it's not enough to cover the sound of the glass bottles knocking against each other as the heavy boxes almost slip from his sweaty hands. The laughter stops abruptly and he knows he can't just hide anymore, so he takes a deep breath and kicks the swinging door open.
Color drains from both faces, spines snapping up and eyes widening.
"Girls."
For the sake of your friend, you recover quickly, sharing a polite smile at the unexpected visitor and redirecting your gaze strategically to what he's holding.
"Hey, Tommy." In the background, he sees Tabitha wave awkwardly and try to spit out his name, but her mouth is likely too dry and it comes out more like a scratchy noise. "Let me take those off you."
He freezes. "What?"
Your hands extend in front of him. "The boxes."
"Oh," No, not your clothes, pervert. "I got it, sweetheart, thank you."
He's not gonna miss the chance to demonstrate he's not as worn and weathered as you think, easily bending down to set the crates on the floor by your feet. When he comes up again, he makes sure to roll up his sleeves before heading back outside to get the rest. Something an old girlfriend said was infallible and for some reason, over twenty years later, he's actually putting it to the test.
"That's all of 'em." You're crouched under the bar, pushing the boxes into the restricted space and somehow making them fit, when he sets the last one down. "While I'm here, d'you need anythin' else?"
"Uhm," Tapping over the bottles, his fingers squeeze his buckle as he watches what are delicate hands for someone as capable as you. And then you smile up at him. "I think we're okay, thanks."
It's much stronger than him, which is embarrassing to admit, but his eyes travel down your neck to your cleavage. All you did was take advantage of the fact you were inside and shed a layer and he used it to leer at you. Feeling bad, Tommy smacks his lips and nods to both women, stopping to take a much-needed breath as soon as he is back behind the door, massaging his forehead when he really actually wanted to slap himself.
"Do you think he heard us?"
Your heart is nearly beating out of your chest.
"Sure hope not, I don't want trouble with Miller of all people."
He practically sprints outside.
"Call me crazy but I'm pretty sure Tommy Miller was checking you out." Her hands come up when you glare at her. "Just saying he was enjoying the view from above."
"You know we're taking three hours to clean a very tiny space, right? C'mon, we don't have all day."
Touching the back of your neck, you know the hair standing up is a terrible sign that you actually entertained what Tabby said, despite what rationale tried to convince you of. But you truly don't want trouble, refusing to waste time dreaming about things that were likely not there. So you pick up the abandoned rag and return to wiping down the counter, dreading the moment you'll see him again.
-----------
You're barely done drying your hair when you hear a knock on your door.
"Coming, just a second!" You yell from the top of the stairs hoping they hear it. Still wrapped in your towel, you run back to the bedroom and push your head out of the window to see Tommy in his signature jacket. "Shit."
Quickly dressing up in jeans and a T-shirt, you're descending the stairs when you realize you forgot to put a bra on. Fuck it, who knows, he might not notice.
You have to hide shaky hands behind the door when you greet him.
He's shivering and the tip of his nose is pinkish, so you step forward and nudge him inside. "Jesus, Tommy, come in."
"I'm sorry-"
"Sorry, I was getting dressed." His eyes swiftly move down and then back up over your figure and you feel the air in the room become thinner. "What do you need?"
He lifts a hard-cover novel.
"Joel asked me to return this." He had volunteered. "Ellie wants to know if you have anything funnier."
The rare instance of Tommy sort of joking pulls an earnest grin from you, which quickly turns into a frown. Do you have anything remotely comical?
You take the book from his hands, already mechanically inspecting its state while walking to the room you've turned into a modest library. Child or not, you've made rules for everyone who wants to borrow from you, and the example being returned in the same condition is a crucial one.
He follows you feeling pathetically shy, strings of his heart pulled as you become lost in trying to find the kid something she might like. That concentrated furrow steals the oxygen from his lungs.
He's not shy about watching you, however, and your dextrous fingers placing the old book in its spot while running over engraved titles that could satisfy Ellie's request.
"What the fuck in here is funny?"
"Funnier. Just has to be funny-er."
He notes, trying to help, but you mostly ignore him. So he lays back, leaning his hips against a desk in the corner, and watches your profile as you take your time choosing the right book.
Your jeans are a little baggier than he's used to seeing you in, but he can still trace the shape of your ass. He thinks about having caught you fresh off a shower. Your hair looks fluffy and smells of some sweet fruit he can't think of right now. And then your breasts, which he immediately noticed were not restricted beyond your T-shirt, perfectly pronounced by the fabric clinging to them.
"Ah, duh."
You tap the side of the shelf with ringed fingers - did you put them on for whoever was at the door or did you shower with them? When you touch yourself, do you keep them on? God, he needs to stop - moving to the other side of the room and getting on your tiptoes to reach a book at the top.
Tommy crosses the room slowly, stopping right in front of you and looking at the cover.
You had never noticed he towered over you, he seemed so much shorter next to Joel. To be fair, you had never been this close to him. Tabby saying he enjoyed the high view he had of you earlier echoes through your mind and you clear your throat, hand coming to your neck to mindlessly scratch at it while you give him a brief rundown of the example.
"It's, uhm, kind of a challenging read so you can tell her she can take as long as she wants with it."
"Is it funny?"
He's joking with you again, so close the air out of his nose pushes the hair away from your face, velvety tone sounding especially provocative.
"In that layered, twisted sense of humour style, yes. Honestly, I think it's right up her alley."
"Sounds like you know your literature."
Such a simple word shouldn't sound so sensual just because he's saying it, in his accent.
"Sometimes I feel so deficient because of FEDRA's shitty education, I'm just trying to catch up on the off chance the world goes back to normal and I have to offer it something again." His eyes raise from the book and it takes everything in you not to look away, kind smile making you feel queasy. You actually feel horrible for admitting you think you're a little bit stupid, so you move on fast. "Believe it or not, most of them came with annotations, so it's not really me. It's whoever was studying them first."
"That's kind of how it goes, though, right? I mean, you read someone else's thoughts and then come up with your own. Plus, stupid people don't know the word deficient." Despite the nerve-wracking eye contact, you find enough strength in yourself to give him an appreciative smile. "Anyways, it's nice to see this other side 'f you."
You take a step back. "Other side?"
"Well, you know, I practically only see you hunting, on patrol or helpin' my brother skin a deer. This is nicer."
It's like a bucket of cold water. It's your fault for even giving a shit that you're so unappealing it surprises him you read.
"Right." Your insecurity instantly shows in your voice, so you cough and turn away from him, pretending to dust off the shelves. "I get it."
Tommy doesn't move. His mind is whirring trying to figure out what your sudden removal from his personal space meant. You're reserved, sure, but he's never seen you embarrassed.
"What? What did I say wrong?"
Even with the uncomfortable chuckle underlining his words he sounds so fucking sincere it heats your skin. What would Tabby do if this was her and Joel? How would she graciously come back from this?
"Nothing." Your hands are tucked away in your back pockets and you smile at him. It's fake and empty, but it's the best you can do. "Do you need any-"
"I just thought-" You speak over each other again, which makes him laugh. But you look away from him. He feels an overwhelming need to explain himself. "I overheard you and Tabitha talking the other day."
"OhmyGod." Your hand comes up to cover your eyes in shame and he feels worse, rushing out an apology. "You didn't tell him, did you?"
Tommy changes his footing, a deep frown taking over his face. "Tell who?"
You're hugging yourself by this point, gesturing nervously at the man in front of you, ready to make a plea in your messy friend's name.
"Joel. You didn't tell him?"
His stomach sinks.
"You were talking about Joel?"
"Well, yeah." Now you're chewing on your fingernail, bugged-out eyes crashing him into reality. "Fuck, this is so- I don't know how much you heard but I didn't really mean it."
Tommy is three years younger than Joel, who you basically called a dusty sack of bones, so hearing your words must have put any consideration he had for you under the ground.
He's stuck furrowing his brow at the book.
"I really am sorry you heard that. But you won't tell him, right?"
"It's fine. Secret's safe with me."
He finally comes back to himself, shaking the book in his hand and leaving you in the improvised library. When the sound of the front door shutting hits your ears, you allow a guttural groan to leave your chest.
How did it get so much more embarrassing than it already was?
-----------
No, he doesn't tell Joel that the young woman he had a secret pining for was actually pining for his own brother.
But he watches both of you more closely when you leave for the day. You act pretty composed next to someone you wanted to do undignified things to. He shudders.
His annoyance quickly turns into comical tragedy, bitterly laughing at the whole thing.
It's just he really doesn't think Joel aged that well. Maybe for someone in their age range whose options were scarce in Jackson, but for a gorgeous woman like you, it was such a waste.
Then it dawns on him that, fuck, that's probably what you think of him. He laughs so loud it attracts the eyes of the people passing by him. You made him crazy.
He spends the rest of his day buried in construction work.
The thing is Joel's so...rugged. The man snarls more than he speaks. He is either in the woods, from where he comes back sweaty and dirty, or blending in with the furniture in the house with Ellie. Bless him, but he's unsalvageable.
Maybe that's it. You like the lonely, borderline non-verbal, oblivious ones. He can actually see it now. You were great hunting partners, quiet and objective, maybe that's all you want in a man.
He's so lost in his thoughts that he doesn't hear one of the other men working by his side calling his name. "It's getting dark out. Aren't you going to trivia night? Shannon asked about you, you know."
There's a goofy smile on the man's face that he immediately writes off. He didn't talk about women like that before, he's not gonna start now. That's something his brother taught him. If you run your mouth about women, the less likely you are to get any. It worked wonders for him. But apparently, he's completely lost it.
"Right behind you, Earl."
He wasn't gonna go, but then, of course, trivia night is when you're usually behind the bar helping Julian. He was just gonna drink and watch.
He's surprised to see Joel is there, in a team with Tabitha and Ellie. You're right where he thought you'd be, hands on your hips as you listen to the man most likely complaining that you fucked up his crate system.
Before he can get a drink, Shannon and Earl pull him to their table.
An hour consisting of getting every answer wrong is more than polite enough, so he excuses himself to the bar.
"Hi!"
You greet him with such a beautiful wide grin that he instantly resents Joel. Is your good mood due to spending most of your day with his brother or the realization that he in fact did not spill your secret?
He asks for a drink so that he can linger around for a minute.
Your eyes are moving through the crates under the bar when the man next to you sighs.
"Right in front of the Rosé, which you shoved into the fucking pits of hell down there."
"I think, Julian, that if someone living through the end of the world orders a glass of Rosé it is your duty as a self-proclaimed expert to suggest they order anything else."
Tommy chuckles, seemingly happy to watch your incessant bickering as you make his drink, and you are happy to make it for him.
It's a relief to see he didn't get completely pushed away by the odd conversation you shared and, even better, he stuck to his word. Joel seemed none the wiser during your hunting trip. Of course, he doesn't seem like the kind of man who would betray your trust over something so trivial. You have to suppress a ridiculous dreamy sigh.
Still, you can't pretend you didn't stay up that night thinking about what he said. Not that it hadn't already crossed your mind that you weren't the most desirable woman in Jackson, but it stung to hear it said so clearly.
When you hand him the finished drink, you can feel your smile falter.
"Maybe you should go back, the next round is about to start."
Tommy glances behind his shoulder to the table where they didn't seem too bothered by his absence.
"Think they're doomed with or without me."
Your hands find the back pockets of your jeans and it reminds him of the tragic scene at your cabin.
"Shannon's smart. Went to a university and everything, didn't she?"
It comes out a lot more biting than you had intended and you have to physically resist the urge to cringe at your insecurity rearing its ugly head again.
He doesn't seem to pick up on it, instead timidly shaking his head and smiling behind his glass. "Yeah, think so, 'm not sure."
You don't know where else to look as he sips his drink, feeling the awkwardness of that previous moment returning.
"Your brother's team is doing well."
Pointing your chin to the score kept on a tiny chalkboard, they are indeed in second place.
"Mostly Ellie, I'd say." The burn of the alcohol washes down his throat and he can't resist the dig at his own blood. "I doubt Joel retained any academic knowledge, he could barely do it then."
A hand slides through his locks to hide the shiver jealousy causes in him. But you don't seem to care, snorting at his words.
"Oh, I'm sure. But Tabby's wits are unmatched, alright? Even if she is stupidly reckless at times." You give a quick glance around you to make sure Julian is out of earshot. "And I know she wouldn't pass up the opportunity to impress your brother."
Albeit at the expense of your best friend, it was kind of rewarding to have an inside joke with Tommy. Possibly bolder than you should risk being, you lean closer to him, supported by your forearms. Not bold enough to look him in the eyes this close yet.
"Thank you, by the way, for not selling her out. I told her she was out of her depth since Joel is so closed off - and I promise what I said was just to try and spook her out of it - but I guess she's not letting up."
Tommy follows your eye line to where his brother sits in between the young girl and your friend, who's not at all subtle about smiling and batting her lashes in Joel's direction.
Holy fuck.
"Wait a goddamn second."
His voice gets significantly rougher and his eyes narrow. You want to move back but you're frozen in place. His finger comes up, pointing between you and the other side of the room.
"You were talking about Joel. And Tabitha. Your friend is the one fantasizin' about my brother?"
You shush him, desperately clinging to his gesturing hand and pinning it to the counter.
"Why do you look so happy right now? Yes, we've been through this already!"
The way his smile grows three sizes makes you question his processing abilities but also if your friend might have a chance with the man.
"For fuck's sake, woman, I thought-" His eyes are quickly flicking between yours, and you feel him softly hold your hands. "I thought..."
It takes you a minute and then it comes crashing down. You sober up quickly, standing straight and letting your hands slip from his.
You take a deep breath, suddenly capable of maintaining eye contact.
"What did you think, Tommy?"
While his absurdly lovely eyes look up at you, Julian sneaks beside you with two bottles in hand.
"Can you put these in the freezer for me?"
"Sure."
You barely register the alcohol being shoved into your hands and swinging the door into the kitchen. The icy breeze of the freezer is what brings you back.
It's truly ridiculous that your legs are shaking this bad and puking in the trash can seems like a real threat right now.
So, yes, you're acting like a teenager. But is it your fault you haven't been this attracted to another human being since your school days? As far as you knew, you weren't even capable of these feelings anymore.
And isn't it equally horrible and wonderful that there's a chance he feels the same way? For you, of all people. You're lucky to even experience that past teenagehood, let alone well into an apocalypse.
When you return, chugging half of a beer, he's gone. You spot him back at Shannon and Earl's table.
You've never seen him more casual, back against the wall and big boot propped up on the spindle of the woman's chair, and yet you can pinpoint one vein in his neck that's pulsing like crazy.
At that moment, he catches you staring. Both of you quickly look away and you hand Julian the second beer you had grabbed, clinking the bottles in the name of a long night.
Tommy has to ask Shannon what time fucking trivia is scheduled to end. She says eleven. So he would probably have to wait until one, one-thirty for the Tipsy Bison to clear out. He could always make up a white lie - you were assigned to patrol in the morning or something. Anything to get you out of there.
While he waits, he has to endure conversations he can't be bothered to pay attention to, even entertaining his brother for a while. He truly hates himself for feeling vindicated, hiding his petty smile behind his fist while they talk.
To be fair, you didn't say anything about how you felt toward him. He just knew you weren't after his brother. But if the big hopeful eyes you gave him tonight - paired with the nervous way you acted in your library - mean anything it's that he isn't allowing room for any more misunderstandings.
Every five minutes or so he looks at the clock, legs bouncing in anticipation like he's a damn teen.
-----------
Julian and you make a good team, so by the time there's only a handful of people left at the bar, you have basically already finished cleaning the place.
He's entertaining the group of young men at his end while you set the last glass on the drying rack. With the corner of your eye, you can see Tommy - back in his glorious denim jacket - saying goodnight to Earl outside.
Your heart is very close to pumping out of your chest, and that familiar cold shock shoots up your spine, neck hair standing up. All at the prospect of this much older man waiting for you, for undisclosed reasons.
He walks back inside as you're drying your hands, unrelenting in his eye contact. Can he tell you're close to taking a chunk out of the inside of your cheek?
"Can I trouble ya for a last one, Julian?"
Tommy takes his seat at the opposite end of the bar. You have no choice but to stand there and pretend to wipe down dry surfaces.
A few minutes later, the young men are turning in and waving their goodbyes. Still four fingers left of beer in his bottle.
Your assigned co-worker stops next to you and leans almost all of his body weight against your side, his tattoed arm around your shoulder, yawning.
"Jules, you can go, I'm almost done. Plus..." Hopefully, his half-asleep state covers your audible anxiousness. "Tommy can help me lock things up."
His head turns back to look at the single man sitting at the bar, and for a moment you think he might be suspicious of something. But if there's something you like about Julian is that he's got a mean face and always sticks to his own business, no one else's.
"Thanks, kiddo." He lays a kiss on the top of your head and turns when he's halfway out the door. "I'm trusting you, Miller. What am I saying, you pretty much run this place, do whatever you want."
A nervous chuckle passes your lips but you can't help but cringe at the nickname. Julian is older than you, so 'kiddo' is perfectly appropriate. But he's a good ten years younger than Tommy.
There's an inevitable awkwardness when you turn around. He's already looking at you.
"What can I help ya with?"
You notice the change. He's not drunk, not completely sober, he's flirting.
"Maybe put these in the freezer while I clean those last few glasses?"
"Yes, ma'am."
He circles behind the bar - and like a coward, you immediately turn your back to him - and picks up the box with ease, disappearing into the kitchen.
Comfortable three minutes pass by as you finish putting everything in place and he returns to the bar with no more bottles to carry. He actually comes across as totally innocent when he looks up, waiting for another order from you.
Terrified to disappoint him, you point out the buckets of dirty ice, rag water and spilled alcohol. "Need to throw those out back."
Tommy promptly picks up both buckets and you know the reason for his giggling is because of the way you rushed to hold the door for him.
You open the back door so he can throw the water out in the snow, whispering an earnest 'careful' as he stamps down the two steps so sincerely his heart truly flutters.
He perches the empty buckets on two nails on the wall and turns back to you, who's leaning on the doorframe, one foot planted firmly on the last step and the other on the second.
The weak lamp outside shades his thighs - and most importantly, his nose - so perfectly that you have to stop yourself from whining.
"So you thought we were talking about Joel. But you only figured out it was for Tabitha tonight. Which means that for the past few days, you've been thinking I wanted to fuck your brother?"
Tommy can't suppress the chuckle that explodes out of him from honest shock at your crudeness, especially mixed with how ridiculously serious you look.
"To put it bluntly, yes." He speaks slowly, savoring the moment. "But, initially, I didn't even know it was Joel you two were talking about."
He delights in the way your whole expression shifts into genuine hesitation.
"Well, then-"
Your arms are crossed, brow adorably caved in as you look into the sky trying to figure it out on your own, as if he isn't right there with confessing eyes and a thirsty mouth.
"Can't tell you how hard it was to hear you thought I was a frail old man, sweetheart. But somethin' about 'rob him blind of his dignity' was promising."
Just as he hoped, he managed to catch the exact moment realization flashes across your beautiful eyes, lips leisurely pulling up into a grin. He comes close to losing it when you bite them to hide your embarrassment.
"I am surprised you're up this late." His turn to blush and look away from your teasing. "But frail is not what my thoughts call you."
"No?" Tommy purrs, licking his lips and coming up to the last step before you. You're still slightly above him, but he wouldn't have to stretch much. "So you're not put off by the age gap?"
He's on the brink of giving in but he needs to make sure you understand and are okay with this first.
Your eyes soften and then quickly sharpen again when you lean forward. "Put off? No. Curious? So bad."
Just that easy, your lips brush and Tommy closes the distance. A large hand envelops the side of your face, his thumb caressing up your cheekbone. Without much thought, you take a step back while grabbing a fistful of his collar, bringing him up with you.
A shiver runs down your spine when you can feel the switch in the height difference, Tommy now towering over you and pulling you flush to him by the back of your neck. His warm touch is enough to pull the first whimper from your lips.
Quickly, he disconnects your mouths and leans back on his heels, still cradling your face. As if his looks weren't enough, he smells woodsy, like vintage expensive furniture.
When the depression in between his brows doesn't give, you start feeling nervous again, realizing that you might've not thought this through. This is Joel's brother, Maria's second hand, the closest thing Ellie has to an uncle. It could end really badly for you.
A joke slips out before you can stop it. "Kinda hoped you would last longer than this."
He laughs, sliding his hand under your hair and bunching up the locks in his fist, short fingernails scratching your scalp. The way your sweet eyes flutter closed and delicate fingers cling to his jacket tightens the feeling in his stomach. How does he tell you that you almost feel too good to take? That the sound you made was the stuff of dreams and he's scared of what you can do to his reality.
It's insane that he spent all this time craving you, thinking about showing you what he could do, and now he's hesitant.
"Tommy," It's barely a whisper. "What's wrong?"
His heart breaks a little from the audible insecurity in your voice, despite how meekly you spoke.
"Just wanna make sure I don't ruin somethin' precious."
The laugh comes from your lips now, your eyes opening to invade his. "Fuck, I was counting on you doing just that. You have something to prove to me, old man."
As if you read his mind, that wanton admission was the exact switch Tommy needed flipping.
His fingers slide from your neck and curl around your wrist at the same time as he turns around to shut the door. When he turns back, he wastes no time forcefully pulling you to him.
Lips clashing, you whimper again when you feel his tongue pushing against yours. Tommy tastes like bitter whisky and cinnamon sticks.
With unapologetic hands around your ass, you're picked up without a struggle and set down on a cold steel surface. He's already doing so much better than you had experienced before.
"Tommy, your jacket." You whisper in between sinful sloppy kisses. His hands come up to try and help you with the buttons, but you quickly shove them away and redirect his touch to your thighs. "No, that's mine."
You were very serious about it, the commanding tone not helping the painful growing stiffness in his jeans. He has to hold back from humping the fucking table when your calves wrap around him.
The higher his hands travel up your legs, the hotter the need in your core grows, and the seam of your pants isn't going to help much when what you desire is probably a lot more girthy and satisfying.
When you slide the jacket down his arms, you take advantage of the moment to cup his bulge, and he immediately buckles. His hands fly to your waist and the squeeze is both painful and delicious.
"Fuck, angel-" He practically growls in your ear. If this was another one of his shower thoughts he wouldn't have bothered stalling, but he's dedicated to proving himself to you. "Do ya think you can hold on a little longer? I need to see my good girl's pretty tits."
Your halted movements don't go unnoticed by him, soothing hands back over your thighs. No one's ever been that filthy, needy and thoughtful with you before.
Doing your best to keep eye contact, you curl his fingers around the hem of your shirt and let him pull it over your head, revealing the strawberry-red bra.
You might actually kill him.
Before he can attach his lips to your chest, you push him back, gripping the remaining fabric on his upper body and rushedly pulling it off. His torso is taut and tanned, fine dark hair painting the muscles and highlighting his sturdy build. The sound of your scoff surprises him.
"Of course you look this good in your fifties. Seriously, Tommy?"
"I'm tellin' you, I'm a very active man, princess."
With that, he pulls you by the waist of your jeans, biting into your neck at last. As his teeth trail down to your breasts, his hands sneakily unbutton your jeans.
If he did plan it he's fucking evil, because the same moment his lips attach to your left nipple, his hand slips under your panties.
Your gasp is loud, pulling on his pristine curls as revenge. His tongue swirls devotedly over your breast, fingers curling torturously slow inside.
"Holy fuck, Miller." Your nails scratch as low on his back as you can reach, feeling his muscles tense up. "We're wrong for doing this on top of the fucking table."
Maybe childishly, the thought of there being a 'we' between you and Tommy fucking around is enough to make your walls clench on his fingers, but then he circles your clit lazily and you have to bury your head on his neck to muffle your moan.
You can't help but grind down on his hands, brain completely fogged by your urgent need, and when you do you end up knocking your hips into him and he groans.
"Lift." He almost rips the jeans down your legs, taking your shoes off in record time. "That's far from the worst thing I'm gon' do to you, sweetheart."
All of these pet names are leading you down an irreversible path. But Tommy doesn't give you enough time to think about that, pulling your underwear to the side and getting on his knees.
Your hands are white-knuckling the edge of the table in anticipation, the shiny buckle of his belt drawing your attention first. Watching the youngest Miller lock his hands under your thighs and pull you as near as possible to his mouth, gently setting your bare feet on those same dirty jeans you had seen him wear all the time, was probably the closest you'd ever get to experiencing immersive art in this world.
Tommy hooks his index and middle finger under the cotton piece, yanking it as much as he can without actually ripping it, but you definitely hear a tear. Then his beautiful mustache is burning against your clit as he sucks on as much of you as his mouth can take.
When his tongue comes into play, you know it won't take much longer. Unlike him, you have nothing to prove, you're only here to enjoy yourself.
"Tommy, baby, please. I don't think I can-" It's a pathetic plea, more similar to a whine. "I'm-"
The knot deep below is on the verge of breaking when Tommy reinserts his fingers, arching them perfectly into the most important spot, and your hand desperately grips his curls.
Before you can scream, Tommy comes up and silences it with his own lips, tongue pushing your noise down your own throat. Your body shakes and he helps you ride his fingers with his free hand on your waist, your arms wrapped around his neck for support.
When he finally lets you breathe, noses bumping, you catch the obnoxious smirk on his face.
His hands soothe your back. "Did I hear that right, princess, you called me 'baby'?"
As if you weren't already in a dire state, he's decided to use it against you, while purposefully intensifying his maddening accent. Blanking completely for good answers, you swallow roughly. "I- I didn't mean to."
"Don't stop for me, I don't mind."
The sight of his long dimples when he grins pisses you off to the point of pulling him for a rough kiss with a plan, enjoying his incredulous laugh when you bite into his lip.
"Now, how the hell am I supposed to hide that, hm?"
"Not my problem."
For the first time tonight, you see his lovely dark eyes turn cloudy, tongue poking the wound you just gave him.
"Scared me for a sec, angel, thought I might not see that wild side of yours tonight. I'm not done with you yet."
He takes your mouth again, feeling rewardingly comfortable doing it, and snakes up to unclasp your bra. As soon as it falls, his hands are unashamedly grabby.
Despite how spent you feel, it's remarkably easy for him to pull more whimpers from you. Something about the way his touch just fits. When he locks your legs around him and picks you up again, your sore muscles feel grateful.
He only puts you down when you recognize the scratchy feeling of the back door against your shoulders.
You wait patiently and quietly, still catching your breath, as his calloused hard-working fingers take their time sliding your underwear down your legs and then shoving them in the back pocket of his jeans.
Without taking his eyes off your body, Tommy starts undoing his pants, buckle first. The sound of the metal sets your core on fire again and you subconsciously rub your thighs together. Of course he sees it, smiling with his eyes and holding your chin with his thumb.
"Good girl."
He lets you get away with an eye roll and a half-hearted huff, aware you're just a little embarrassed. After all, it's a sight he never imagined he would be privileged enough to see - your naked, worked body waiting to take more of him.
When he finally frees himself, you can hear your breath hitching, and he probably can too. Before you can stare at the sculptural veins for too long, your eyes close in humorous dejection. You're never gonna find another man like this.
Your salivating mouth doesn't go unnoticed by him, large palm raising your head again.
"Listen to me. I promised I'd show you what I can do, so we're not doing that tonight, alright?"
Picking apart his words, your eyes lift slowly, challenging. "Not tonight? Don't promise more than you got, Miller."
Expert hands extend and open your neck for his lips, as he spins you around and helps you lean against the door.
"One night ain't enough for everythin' I wanna do to you, princess." Your hair is swept over to your front, caring touch sliding down your back and guiding your hips back into him. You can feel his length grazing your swollen clit, inhaling sharply. "Now, just nod for me if my good, perfect girl is ready to take my cock."
Resting your forehead on the door, you take another deep breath and nod.
He slides all the way inside, completely stretching you out, and you have to bite your hand to keep from screaming, tears already pricking at your waterline.
"Is this okay?"
Your hand also muffles the whine you release at how shaky his voice comes out, dripping lust for you. When your lips detach from your blemished skin, you answer him.
"Shit, Tommy, you're perfect."
His forehead bumps your shoulder as he chuckles and you're trying really hard not to think about how cute that is. "I'm gon' move, yeah?"
Nodding seals your fate once more.
Tommy removes himself halfway, slowly putting himself back in, and the sticky noises live up to scenarios you only ever dreamed of. Pleasure like this existing was something you had completely lost hope in.
"Need you to keep talkin' to me, princess."
"Yes, Tommy, please just-" His left hand snakes around your waist and slides down your front to apply pressure to your clit. "Fucking move, please."
He can barely call what's left of your voice a whine, it's a needy little croak. And it drives him fucking crazy.
Pulling and pushing again, he starts with a slower pace, delighting in the constrained noises you let out with the smallest thrusts. What he's keeping from you is that he is simply setting you up to really start fucking you, framing your figure snugly against his strong thighs so that you can feel everything without having to make any effort. He was not bluffing about showing you how good he is.
Picking up his rhythm, he can hear you struggle to breathe a little.
"I don't wanna hurt you, sweetheart."
You have the nerve to laugh.
"Getting my expectations dangerously high."
Just like that, Tommy thrusts into you so hard you slip from your elbows to your hands, almost crushed against the door. The sadist in him really enjoys your first full moan.
"You want it rough, baby?"
Honestly, your throbbing clit could answer for you. "Yes, I do. Fuck me as hard as you can, Tommy."
With nothing holding him back, he pushes himself into you until his balls are clapping against your ass, and then plain rails you.
His strokes are so massively powerful you're pushed to your tiptoes, body completely wrapped by him, feeling the tip sliding inside and hitting your cervix over and over.
You're rendered speechless, uncontrollable moans not even registering to your ears muffled by the absurd sound of flesh hitting flesh and your own juices being fucked into you, coating his cock.
"God, you're so fucking good, ángel." He's whimpering in between short breaths, movements never faltering, and you can feel his belly caving in and out against your back. "Perfect fucking pussy, ya lo sabia."
You grab onto his arm, nails digging into his skin, and he knows you're close. So he slows down again, cock fucking up into you, while the pressure he had on your clit becomes a rubbing.
"Tommy-"
You can't manage more than that right now.
"I know, I know, you can finish, baby. It's okay." Walls clenched around him, your body shudders a couple of times, nails leaving marks on his arm. "That's it, my good girl."
It's only when you're done squirming and your grip on him loosens that he picks up the pace again. Almost instantly, you're whimpering and blabbering complete nonsense.
He's so close, but he doesn't want to stop until he has proven to you that not only he can make you come, he can overstimulate you until you're mewling.
It doesn't take long and you're scratching up his skin once more, this time orgasming with his name ringing out from your throat repeatedly. Then he stops.
The act of trying to pull out after he stopped, your walls letting go, is so excruciating that he ends up thrusting again and you whine in exhaustion. He laughs against your neck.
"That's your fault."
You're so used up you actually mutter I'm sorry.
He takes mercy on his pretty baby and removes himself completely, not wasting any time before catching your slumping body and turning you around. His hand keeps a careful pace around his painfully pulsing cock until your eyes open.
You watch him tug on himself, one arm extended to the door, large biceps flexing while white fluid spurts from the head. He tries to look at you for as long as he can, but his eyebrows almost knot together and his eyes screw shut, groans breaking through gritted teeth.
He looks gorgeous when he finishes, weight leaning on you as he tries to recover, moaning and panting deliciously into your ear.
Your hands are running up and down his back soothingly when he steps back, pulling your legs around his waist and picking you up. You could spend eternity embraced with him, but he sets you back on the floor next to your discarded clothes.
Once you're both dressed, turning off the lights, you lock the back door and he waits in comfortable silence. He's in his denim jacket and worn boots, blushing nose and visible breath in the snow, same as always but also prettier than ever.
Before you can return to reality and say goodnight, Tommy grabs your hand and leads you all the way to his cabin without uttering a word.
He helps you into the shower and you pick some snowflakes off his hair and mustache.
When you're in his bed, changed into one of his flannels, he speaks.
"It doesn't have to happen again if you don't want to."
You scoff. "What are you, the Mary Poppins of fucking? Finding miserable women and thrusting happiness back into their lives, then leaving?"
He laughs at your terrible offhanded joke. "I'm not goin' anywhere."
"Good, I don't want you to."
Tommy sees your big hopeful eyes again and doesn't fight the urge to cradle your face and kiss you, long and sweet.
"You know all I learned is that I should call you old more often, right?"
He pecks you again, laughing into your lips and grabbing your ass so he can pull you flush to him.
"Such a smart girl."
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