Chapter Text
You’re 99.9% sure that Joel Miller wants to fuck you.
Which is a bold statement, sure. Joel has been the talk of the town ever since he and Ellie showed up a year ago. ( Jackson’s Most Eligible Bachelor, not that he’s aware that’s how the women of Jackson refer to him.) Half the women of a certain age in Jackson are itching to get their hands on him, and with this crowd of folks, whoever claimed that prize would be waving it around town like a red flag.
You know it’s a bold statement, but you have data. All you’ve got to do is figure out how to prove it.
Why would he want to fuck you, of all people? There’s plenty of gorgeous women of Joel's age in Jackson. Joanna? Hot. Leanne? You wouldn’t say no to her yourself. It’s a big pot, and boy, it’s full of honey.
And - not to bring up the elephant in the room - there’s a pretty hefty age gap. You’re twenty-five and he’s, what, nearing fifty? That’s quite a jump. You’re nowhere even close to the same place in life. Your brain is a buzzing hub of nothing more than eat-survive- maybe-copulate. He’s coolly self-assured, confident, smart - well past the point in his life where he’d reciprocate any of your not-subtle-at-all advances.
It’s that .1% uncertainty that keeps you in your place, though. Doesn’t mean you haven’t tried - which is where that 99.9% falls into place.
Joel knows you’ve got a thing for him. You’re never once tried to be subtle with your intentions. You’ve been on patrol with him before, usually just the short morning shift, and you have a frustrating tendency to run your mouth. You’ve been known to touch his arm to get his attention, the back of his elbow when you get startled; it’s completely intentional. He humors you, and you like to let yourself think that maybe, just maybe, he finds it endearing.
So how on God’s Green Earth did you get the idea that Joel Miller wants to fuck you?
Well.
Despite the droves of women clamoring for his attention, he politely turns each of them down. You’ve even overhead him telling Tommy that he’s just not interested. Which is fair, yeah - just because he has choices doesn’t mean he has to pick.
You know Joel wants to fuck you because he’s never - technically - turned you down. At least, not like he’s turned everyone else down. There’s no firm-but-polite thanks but no thanks. He just avoids reciprocating your flirting. Which still isn’t a yes (the .1% is a big, fat knife in your ego), but it’s not the same non-negotiable no that he’s given everyone else.
And you can work with that.
The first time you shoot your shot is while out on patrol. It's just the two of you, owing to the fact that the other scheduled members of your patrol group wound up with food poisoning. So, short-staffed and grumpy, you venture out in the wilderness.
It’s not awkward, per se - you’ve never shut up even once in your entire life. You’re of the belief that if you just keep chattering away, you can stave off the awkwardness, and for the most part, you’re right. Joel humors you like he always does, which you appreciate.
And it kind of just falls out of your mouth before you can stop it. “We should get a drink sometime.”
You’re mortified deep down in your soul, but like, not as much as you should be, you slutty little thing.
Joel chuckles and moves right along without acknowledging your flirting, but he seems a little tiny bit flustered. It’s the tint of red at the tips of his ears, and the flush peeking up under the collar of his shirt. You only catch it for about half a second, but you catch it, and it’s adorable.
The second time you shoot your shot, you get much the same reaction. You’re supervising some of the teenagers on farm duty when Joel stops by to check in. That’s part of his job - making sure all patrols, even the patrols he’s not leading, are running smoothly.
This time, it’s a bit more intentional - just out of earshot of the younger teenagers. “Let’s have a drink tonight.”
Again, Joel laughs softly, and you’re pleased to see the little bit flustered lasts longer this time. The flush is deep, spreading up his neck, and it stays until he gets distracted by the group of rowdy teenagers you’re supervising.
The third time you shoot your shot…
Well, you get your proof.
It’s the middle of summer, and just late enough in the day that the burning red sun has slipped down past the horizon. You’d think that summer in Wyoming would be temperate - comfortable, even - but you’re wrong. It’s fuckin’ hot and only getting hotter as more people show up throughout the night.
You don’t remember whose birthday it is - one of the older teenagers maybe. It doesn’t really matter since everyone is invited to every party in Jackson, young and old alike. It’s rare that anyone gets the opportunity to clean up nice and have fun, so when the opportunity arises, everyone jumps to take it. It’s too hot to wear something nice, but most people have chosen some variation of cutoffs and t-shirt or a dress. You went with the dress option because you’re always hot and you don’t want to be drenched in sweat the whole night. It’s the right choice; there are so many people packed into the community center that the temperature is nigh unbearable.
The moonshine in your cup doesn’t help either. You haven’t had much - just a glass - but it’s potent. You’re sufficiently buzzed when you decide it’s time to get some air and call it a night. You’ve got patrol in the morning anyway, and you don’t want to be yawning your whole shift. Ergo, it’s time to leave.
You bid goodbye to your friends and head out to the porch with the intention to hang out there for a few minutes to sober up a little. Luckily for you, there’s one other person with the same idea as you.
Joel is standing out on the porch and leaning against the railing, a cup held loosely in his hands. Looks like someone decided to put some effort in, and it doesn’t go unappreciated - he cleans up nice, you must say. He’s wearing jeans and a dark gray work shirt that may have been black in a day past - boots, hair brushed, beard trimmed. You’re trying to look respectfully and failing soundly.
You pause at the door because you have an idea. This is your chance. It’s not a good idea, necessarily. It almost definitely won’t work, but your horny little lizard brain is screaming to take your shot. You’re still gonna do it.
You lean against the railing next to him. You can just barely see over the lip of his cup - doesn’t look like he’s taken even a sip from it. “Done for the night?”
Joel glances over at you, and you're pleased to see the corners of his lips twitch upward. "Just about. What are you doing out here?"
"Just gettin' some air - it's awful hot in there," you reply, fanning yourself. You can feel sweat beading at your neck and running down your back. Might be the heat. Might be nerves. Probably both. "I figured I'd come outside and cool down before I call it a night."
"It's not much cooler out here," Joel comments, and you nod in agreement.
"Not much," you say. You've taken to fanning yourself by plucking at the collar of your dress. "But it's better than being sandwiched between all those people."
"True."
You turn so that your back is resting against the railing, still pulling on the collar of your dress. It's a calculated movement, since Joel is tall enough that, if he angles correctly, he can see straight down your dress. He notices, grins an almost embarrassed grin that's nearly too soft to catch, and looks away pointedly. You notice.
Joel knows what game you're playing.
Good.
"You've got patrol tomorrow, right?"
Joel nods. "Yep. Afternoon patrol."
"Tragic," you comment, nudging his arm with your elbow. You move to pull your hair up away from your neck. "Looks like I've got morning shift with Charlie then.”
You catch Joel’s eye following the long line of your neck. He pulls his gaze away again, looking down into his cup to distract himself. "Charlie's alright."
"Yeah," you agree. You bunch your mass of hair up into a bun and tie it up out of the way. "But I like you better."
Now, that snatches his attention back to you. You’re bold - you’re always bold - but never this forward.
Joel raises an eyebrow and peeks down at the cup you left on the railing. "You feelin' alright? How much have you had?"
"Oh, just a glass," you say, shooing him offhandedly with a wave of your hand. "I'm always like this - you know that."
"I know."
"You like it," you tease, and you don't really care to stop yourself from saying it.
That makes Joel look down. Like, really look down. The fleeting drag of his gaze rakes over your body, appreciating your lightly damp skin and curves tucked away in your faded old sundress, and it feels like the summer night gets ten degrees hotter.
"You're not wrong."
Oh.
You slide in just a hair closer so that your shoulder brushes his. “So, I’m right? You do like it?”
You catch him chewing on his bottom lip, trying to stop the smile playing across his mouth. “I said you’re not wrong.”
Oh, what a great time for that liquid courage to kick in. You take your chance.
"You know, it's really awful hot out here," you say softly, conspiratorially, making him lean in to listen to you. "That little barn around back is a good place to cool down."
The barn is close to the edge of the woods, not far off from the community center. It’s in the same plot of land, just close enough to be convenient but far enough out of the way of prying eyes. And, well, it’s known community-wide for being a good place to cool down.
“You are ridiculous,” Joel shakes his head, still leaned in close, and replies just as softly. “I am way too old for you.”
You’re almost entirely in his space now, but he’s not pulling away. You’re so close, you could kiss him if you stood on your tiptoes.
“I’m not asking you to marry me, Joel,” you reply. “I’m asking you to fuck me.”
Joel pauses, thinking, and looks up at the sky like he’s waiting to see if lightning strikes one or both of you down. Whatever his Maker tells him must have worked squarely in your favor, because once he’s sufficiently sure he’s not about to be stricken down by a bolt of biblical magnitude, he leans in close and answers.
This time, when Joel leans in, it's to remind you that you are so far out of your element. His voice drops, hardly above a low rumble, and you are stupidly pleased that no one else gets to be privy to this moment. "And what if I say yes? Hm?"
Those pretty hazel eyes search yours, flickering down towards your lips. Fuck, he looks good. He smells good. You’re close enough to count the grays at his temples. Close enough to tell how soft his chapped lips are without even kissing him. It would be awkward as hell if you got caught right now, but, God, you don't even care if someone's watching.
"I sure would like it if you did."
Joel raises his eyebrows. "You sure you know what you're asking for?"
"No," you answer truthfully, and you see the flicker of understanding pass over his face. "But I think you oughta show me."
"Is that what you want?"
You could say yes . But, you figure, why not give something different a shot. You smile sweetly and say, "Please? "
His quiet chuckle is downright defeated, like he thinks you already know what he likes. “Alright, then.”
“Meet you ‘round back in five?”
"Five minutes."
Joel’s not entirely sure why he agreed to this.
Well, scratch that. He knows why he said yes. That's the easy part to figure out. It's nature - a factor of biology that hasn't abated with time. Years of trauma and a lack of available partners festered into a desire for touch and affection, makes him crave it. Just to have someone scratch his head until he falls asleep, rub the back of his neck, massage his shoulders, even just a hug - he's starved for it. That's not even taking into account the want for intimacy, for things better left unsaid and done in privacy.
Maria says the sparkle of newness hasn’t worn off of him, so if it's the touch he craves, he has a surplus of choices. It’s just, for the past year, he's turned down everyone who's expressed interest in him - women his age, in the same stage in life, who likely would have been good matches for him.
Problem is, they want something Joel doesn't think he knows how to give anymore.
So, yeah, Joel knows why he said yes to you - you’re pretty and sweet and so far removed from everything he’s used to. He’s weather-worn and graying and just so tired. And way too old for you. He should probably care about that more, but he really doesn't. Maybe if he was a better man and the world was a little less terrible, he would have said no and left you alone. But you are a tiny bright speck of light in the midst of this dark existence, so he’s not inclined to turn you down.
He's just not entirely sure why he's agreed to this situation. Sneaking around the back of the community center to meet you in the old shed where so many other people have used it for this exact purpose makes him feel like a teenager trying not to get caught. It would be so embarrassing to get caught, literally, with his pants down, especially with someone so much younger than him.
But, by God, it’s gonna be fun.
Joel waits exactly five minutes - exactly - before he excuses himself from the community center. No one even bats an eye. It’s not really uncommon for him to leave a party early - it's more of a surprise if he shows up at all. No one will think to go looking for him.
Back building. Round the corner, back building - exactly where you told him to be in five minutes. The barn, the back building, is unused, generally. It's just an empty shed in case the closets in the community hall ever fill up. It's quiet, out of the way, unobtrusive. Perfect.
The door is unlocked when Joel tries the handle.
You're already waiting for him, and, fuck, do you look good. You wore that dress he likes, the green one with the thin shoulder straps. He’s seen you wear it a few times before to social events like this. It’s just short enough to give him a view of built legs and low-cut enough to show the slightest slope of cleavage. You just look so pretty.
You're eyeing him similarly, and that sparks a special kind of pride deep in his chest.
You’re seated on the table shoved into the back corner of the room, legs swinging free in the air. “Did you lock the door?”
Joel thinks your enthusiasm is cute. "Someone's excited."
"And you’re not?"
Joel takes two strides forward and stops at your knees, reaching down to stop your swinging legs. “Didn't say that.”
Joel runs his hands up your calves, and you settle yourself on the lip of the table. Yeah, the sundress was a fantastic idea.
“No second thoughts?” Joel asks, hiking your skirt up so he can situate himself firmly between your thighs.
“None,” you respond. You wrap your arms around his neck. “You?”
Yes. But not enough to make him stop.
“No,” he says simply.
“Then I think you should kiss me.”
And that’s what Joel does. The first kiss is soft, just a test. Chapped lips against chapped lips. The soft slide of skin against skin. A quiet promise to be taken care of, in the Biblical sense, but kindly. You taste like moonshine, and he thinks he'd like to taste you forever.
The second kiss is not soft. The second kiss is a swipe of tongue over lips and teeth crashing together. It's a bite that's gonna leave a pretty red mark on Joel’s lower lip for a day or so, a reminder that you asked for this and you're not fragile, damn it. It's got Joel bracing himself with his hands on both sides of your thighs, leaning in to get a deeper taste of you.
Thank god for this damn sundress. Makes things a whole lot easier when he yanks you to the edge of the table and drops to his knees for you. You jerk the fabric up out of the way, giving him a lovely view of what he wants to taste. Your underwear gets stuffed in his back pocket, and he's dipping his head down between your legs.
What Joel lacks in the willingness to make conversation is completely made up by the talent of his tongue. He leaves pretty red welts with his teeth on your inner thigh - a perfect match to the one you left on his lower lip - and laves at every mark to soothe your skin before marking you again. You’re slick by the time he deigns to lick your cunt, a sweating mess of please and fuck.
His hair is all fucked up from you raking your fingers through it. You tug on it as he sucks on your clit and grabs your thighs. Your nails drag against his scalp, and his deep growl against your clit makes you squeeze your thighs together around his head. The soft, lewd noises he's pulling from you as he slips two fingers into your cunt are absolutely obscene. He eats you slow and deep, like he knows what you've been dreaming about for months.
Joel hits that spot that makes you keen, and it’s his favorite noise in the world. He does it over and over again, humming like he's pleased when you damn near rip his hair out by the roots.
"Shit, Joel-"
You can't even finish your sentence, reduced to a moaning mess with your legs thrown over his shoulders and your cunt in his mouth. You cum, whimpering his name like a dearly-held prayer.
Joel gives you about enough time to regain your senses before he's helping you ease off the table and turning you to press your back to his chest. He slides his fingers between the straps of your dress, slipping them down over your shoulders. No bra to get in the way, as he's pleased to find. It's too damn hot for that extra layer of clothes, so, to your good fortune, you'd elected not to wear one. Easier access for him to grip your breasts and tease your nipples between his fingers.
His voice in your ear is exquisite, tense and strained and so very, very close to losing his composure. "How was that, honey?"
You have been reduced to nods and single-syllable words. You give him a short nod, barely pant out the word good. He laughs in your ear, pleased with himself.
"Still want me to fuck you?"
A slightly more vigorous nod. You feel his lips against your neck, curved in a quiet grin.
"That's my good girl."
Joel grips the back of your neck with one hand and bends you over the table, hiking your skirt up to your waist. The metal table is cold against your exposed skin, sending goosebumps crawling down your spine. You rock back against him and feel how hard he is through his pants against your naked ass. You hear his zipper splitting through the soft pants and curses and warmth of the night.
The head of his cock teases your cunt and fuck he's huge. This is a far cry from nights of fingering yourself with small, searching fingers. His thick, calloused fingers had given you an indication of what you might be working with, but he's going to well and truly ruin you.
A soft hiss escapes from between his teeth as he eases into you. He's heavy between your thighs, stretching you inch by inch, bit by bit, until he’s seated fully within you. You rock back against him, whining with the need for him to fucking move. He grips your hips and finally, finally moves.
Joel sets a slow pace, but it’s deep and rough. He yanks a handful of your hair until you're standing upright, back against his chest, simply just trying to keep your skirts up out of the way. Slick drips down your thighs, and the wet thrusts make you flush from head to toe.
You're edging towards that line again, and Joel can feel you tightening around him. He's close, hard and throbbing, the sluggish pressure in his gut threatening to spill over.
He’s spent just watching you take his cock so well. "Ready, honey?"
You nod again, words escaping you.
Joel slips his hand down to your clit, circling and circling, not quite enough pressure to make you come but more than enough to make you toe that line. "Want me to make you come?"
"Joel -"
He presses down with the pad of his finger, and you push your hips back against him. He's so close to coming, so close to fucking you full of his spend.
"Where do you want it, baby?"
The first two-syllable word you've said in the past several minutes. "Inside."
Consequences be damned.
Joel thrusts in hard, dipping his fingers down through your folds. "Want me to fill you up, huh? Pump you full of my cum, baby?"
"Goddamnit, Joel, yes- "
"Come for me, and I'll fuck you nice and full."
You come with a moan, gripping his hand where he fingers your clit.
Joel pulls out just long enough to spin you around and lift you back up on the table before he's fucking you, hard and rough, chasing his own end. He cums with one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your hip, while he fills you up.
When he's done, Joel kisses you. He's already broken most of his rules. Kissing you is the least of them.
He helps you down off the table. Good thing you were already headed home for the night because your dress is wrinkled and your hair is mussed and Joel absolutely looks like he just ruined you. You reach up with a grin to smooth out his hair, and he lets you fuss over him with a tiny smirk painting his lips.
Joel helps you get straightened out. "I'll hang around for a few minutes if you want to sneak out first. You know, since you have morning patrol with Charlie…"
You fuss with your hair and decide it’s simply a lost cause. If anyone asks, you'll blame it on the dancing. "You sure you don't want to trade shifts with him?"
"And let you get us in trouble?" Joel teases.
"I'm not saying I'd get us in trouble," you reply, "I'm just saying the watchpost on that route is empty until noon. It's got a pretty good bed…"
"We'll see."
"Hmm, well, I'll see you in the morning."
You wink and flounce out of the barn, shutting the door carefully behind you. You can hear Joel chuckle as you walk out. You’re acutely aware as you sneak back home that you let him keep your underwear.