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spacehondacivic · 9 months

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Kisses of Fire [j.m.]

Summary: You and Joel get caught up in a champagne-filled domestic dream, and your impulses are too strong to resist. Aka, you and Joel sing and dance in the kitchen until you can't deny your feelings any longer.

C.w: slight dub con because of alcohol consumption, mentions of parental loss, age gap (reader is in her 20s), unprotected pinv, lots of praise, pet names, Joel is a sweet talker, fluffy dancing and cooking with Joel, size kink?, creampie, squirting, oral sex (f receive), mentions of oral sex (m receive), breeding kink if you squint, mutual pining?, idk I probably missed some let me know!

A/n: Hello! I am alive! I started a new job and it's been pretty crazy but I am pleased to bring you my first Joel Miller fic and my first contribution to the Dbf!joel subgenre that has been one my favorites lately. enjoy!

~3.5k

“Joel, the sauce is going to burn.” you stumble through a laugh, trying to focus the little clarity of your mind on the chicken browning in your ceramic pan. He had insisted on opening a glass of champagne to congratulate you on your new job. It was sweet and dry, exactly what you liked, and it went down easy.

You were sitting around the coffee table gushing and hardly letting the man get a word out, and then he asked if you were hungry, and well you hadn't yet eaten and with your stomach growling at his words, he was very insistent.

In truth, you'd always looked out for each other, you'd help pick up Sarah from school, on occasion try new recipes in his much larger kitchen, and in turn, he'd fix your sink leak, install a new shower head, or even build you a new coffee table.

Here standing in his kitchen you felt so comfortable, stirring the pasta with one hand and rummaging through his cabinets for oregano with the other. It could've been the alcohol or the decade-long crush on the older man that was driving you wild.

With a rush of melody, you realized where he disappeared as the fun rhythmic beat of Be My Baby echoes through the living room and into the kitchen. Joel's words barely call above the song, “Oldies okay?”

You turn to answer him, only to catch him jamming out to the song behind you as he strides cool as a cucumber back into the kitchen. “More than okay.” You’re beaming, enjoying the music and the laid-back demeanor of his slight dance and groove.

You've cherished the few moments of joy since your father passed away a few years ago, singing with him and Sarah in the car, bullying Joel onto a rollercoaster, and summertime BBQs complete with movie marathons.

This felt different. Not only was Sarah noticeably absent, but there was an electric hum of something between you, it was almost palpable. Chalking it up to the alcohol, you settle back into your rhythm of taking care of the food in front of you with extra sway to your hips and occasionally singing into the wooden spoon like a microphone.

Joel returns to your side, stirring the thick sauce before grabbing a spoon from a drawer and tasting it. He moans around the cheap metal, throwing his head back in exaggerated ecstasy.

Hoping the heat from the stove disguises your blush, you carefully accept a spoonful he offers you after he cools with a few quick purses of his lips, humming in agreement.

“What did you say this recipe was called?” When he's been drinking, his Texan drawl lengthens, and you swallow around the lump in your throat, lord have mercy.

“Marry me chicken? It's said to get a man to marry you on its own…” you try and let your voice trail off as he grabs a colander and begins to strain the noodles for you, and before you can think you add, “I thought it would be good practice.”

You catch something in his face as he looks toward you, now mouthing the words to a song by Simon and Garfunkel, but your brain is a little too fuzzy to dissect it completely. Turning off the heat, you quickly add bacon and parmesan before tossing the chicken and sauce mixture on top of Joel's freshly strained pasta.

He hovers over you like he hasn't eaten for days, grumbling something about sweet torture as you garnish his bowl with freshly grated cheese. Turning your attention to the table you see a second bottle of champagne adorning a small dining set, and your flukes full and awaiting your attention, and your blush returns, what is happening to you?

Dismissing himself to turn the music lower, you set his plate down and settle into your chair beside his. Briefly, you consider refusing another glass, you were supposed to drive home, but his slightly tousled curls and the nonplussed smirk on his face as he walks into your field of vision wash over your body like a cool shower on a hot Austin evening, refreshing, revitalizing, and rewarding you with his simplistic beauty.

The way his eyes fell to yours with each silly verse, speaking to each moment you’ve swooned over him in private and cementing the swell of your heart. He sits and you both immediately dive into the food, moaning in unison at the salty and creamy flavor. “I get it.”

“For sure.” You confirm, shoveling more into your mouth as delicately as you can in your haste. “I’ll keep it in my back pocket for sure.” You both laugh and reach for your champagne for a toast.

“To the luckiest man in the world.” This time, he does a piss poor job of covering his shock, and you don’t dare let the moment slip from your grasp, setting your fork down, and reaching to settle your hand on his forearm, tenderly running your fingers over the rough-tanned skin.

The affection seems to coach a weight from his shoulders, as the tension in them drops and he meets your eyes with a deep and wicked sense of playfulness. Holding his gaze, and touching the lips of the flukes together you smile innocently, and hum as the cool bubbles coat your tongue and lift your confidence higher with every passing moment.

In a flash you feel the energy in the room shift, as silence flirtatious eye contact is shared between smaller sips of champagne and groans of delight, you find your eyes lingering longer on the base of his throat and the purse of his lips around the tip of the glass.

In your stupor you miss his devilish grin, he’s chasing the feeling of your gaze on his skin, drinking in the slip of your guard, and suddenly the incredible food you prepared for him is not nearly enough to sate him.

It’s his turn to stare, watching as your lips part in a soft pant as he takes a lingering swig from his glass, imagining how delicious this could pair with the taste of your pussy. Fuck, he’s so hopeless, you could talk him into anything, yet you sit and torture yourself undressing him with your eyes and practically projecting your dirty thoughts onto his chest.

When your eyes meet again your breath catches in your throat, some snarky comment you bury beneath the burning fire on your cheeks. “Joel…” it’s an invitation, a plea, and your heart stands still in its cage in the breath between your words and his mouth on yours.

His beard and moustache are rough against your lips, but the kiss is hungry, and not nearly as vulnerable as you feel. It's a clash of tongues and teeth, your bodies are drawn together like the world is stitching them together with desperate rough movements.

You can taste the rich sweet champagne on his tongue as it drags over yours, tilting your head back with a soft hand on your throat. Standing to his feet, he breaks the kiss with a reluctance you feel, but he’s ushering the plates off the table in a single trip, setting them on the counter to be dealt with later. The complaint dies in your throat, as you let your brain devour him in a primal sense. The broad expanse of his chest rising and falling in heavy needy breath, the veins in his neck as he tilts his head to return the same hungry stare, you don’t make it past his biceps before his hands are on your sides, directing you to stand but only for a mere second as your practically lifted onto the kitchen table.

His mouth is on yours again, hot and determined, your mind is made up, and he can feel it in each little whine he swallows. Confidence surges through him, bolstered by the hum of alcohol in his system, and he leans over you guiding you to your back, while he slots himself between your legs.

You part them quickly, wanting to feel him pressed against you more than you want to breathe, and rather than following you he kisses down the smooth skin of your calves and begins working on the button of your shorts, yanking them up and off with a dexterity that would surprise you had it been anyone else.

The thin cotton panties are not your first choice of sexy intimates, but it doesn’t seem to phase him as his gaze holds at the growing wet spot pooling in the fabric. His index fingers ghost over the seam of your pussy. “Are you sure?” He kisses the words across your skin, moving along the inside of your thighs as his stubble draws the nerves in your skin taught.

You blink your eyes a few times, almost not believing and basking in the warmth of his breath. Your mouth falls open in a pant as you throw your head back onto the table, in any other circumstance it would've hurt. “Yes…Joel…please.” Each word takes a lungful of air worth of effort.

There's a dark chuckle as if taunting you for being so pathetic, as he nibbles on the skin of your inner thigh, you feel goosebumps spread across all your skin, unaware if it's from shame or the heat of his mouth muttering sweet nothings into your skin.

“So pretty,” he coos letting two fingers trace over your slick panties, “Spread out on my table for me,” he presses harder but slows his movements to a beautifully slow taunt, “A fucking meal.”

The chair moves sharply back with his movement, as he pulls your underwear to the side and licks at your hole for his first taste. His mouth is feverish in appetite, licking and sucking and caressing each part of your sex, the assault is overwhelming at first, the movements so erratic you’re unable to focus on anything but trying to breathe. Cantering your hips against his mouth his rough palm stalls one of your thighs from closing, the hand is firm and warm commanding you to obey in just its presence. “More,” you beg, again the pleasure dulled as he slowed to listen.

His free hand goes to the waistband of your underwear running along its length and tickling the skin, before you feel a rough tug at the fabric and hear the tearing sound before you can even comprehend what’s happened. The fabric disappears and the soft table mat you are perched on protects you from the cool wood of the table. He mumbles more things into the flesh of your mound, and he kisses at the exposed skin of your hips, “Sweet little thing.”

You throw a hand over your eyes, losing yourself to the embraces and brushes of pleasure he showers you in. He settles back between your legs, pinning them to your chest with his arm and working two fingers slowly into your tight heat. The stretch is pleasant, and he lets his tongue lave over the top of your sex. “Joel.” You whimper feeling his knuckles curl inwards brushing against a bundle of nerves that has your vision lulling white. Each stroke feels like it's pulling your soul from your body, and an unfamiliar pressure builds as he coaxes the orgasm to the surface with his tongue swirling over your clit.

You explode, soaking the table and his hungry waiting mouth feeling the clear gush of liquid pool beneath you and coat your thighs. “Oh god, I’m sorry I-” you stammer, not having experienced this yourself before.

Joel’s attention snaps to your eyes, “Don’t.” It's a warning, his eyes dark and muddled with something animalistic you’ve only seen when he’s angry. “You’re going to do it again.” he sits straight, and you realize he’s still fully dressed as he stands on his feet, dwarfing you against the table, undoing the length of his belt.

Unsure if your breathing is coming fast or if he is moving slowly, undoing the buttons of his flannel, and exposing skin that you’ve seen countless times before, but as each button is freed and his shirt spills open, you struggle to keep your breath even. Thick tanned skin, soft to the touch but cords of practical muscle run through his pecks, and down his well-defined biceps hold your eyes still, as your heart clips away steadily. You mumble something about his muscles, fawning over him like you’ve done so many times before, but unafraid to get caught this time.

He peers down at you, maintaining eye contact through your spread thighs as you lay waiting gawking at him like you always have, the loose leather of his belt is tugging the jeans down his hips slightly exposing the soft flesh of his stomach and the feather-light trail of hair disappearing below his jeans. He longed to reduce you to a babbling drooling mess, he wanted to mark your skin his and fill you so full his traces would linger on your cunt for days. Days, he knew it wouldn’t be easy to stop, he felt like he was running downhill and his legs were jelly beneath him, hurtling towards some sort of self-destructive meltdown. But the sweet tang of you lingering in his mouth, splashed across his chest, on his dining room table.

You were perfect, even more so than he thought possible. He ached, the jeans strangling his thick cock, he longed to free himself and sink into you. “Come here.” he stepped closer, back between the welcome squeeze of your thighs, and he wondered if he would need a new table.

You sat up barely even with his chest and when you're close enough he brings you in for a deep and filthy kiss, giving you a chance to taste your slick from his tongue and to groan as your hand settles over the hard length of his cock in his pants. You allow a finger to trace over the outline surprised when your hand keeps finding more of him to play with, fighting the urge to squeak in delight as each kiss grows in fervor.

If Joel hadn't suggested otherwise, you would've happily been fucked to bliss on the table, but as one of his hands falls to cup the supple flesh of your ass you're lifted into his sturdy arms. Now even this isn't a first, but your cunt is pressed flat to the ripped muscles of his abdomen and you can't help but trail feather-like kisses and nips across the thin skin covering his Adam's apple, half tempted to suck a bruise into his skin as he whines lowly into hair.

He traverses the stairs with ease, fingers squeezing and playing with your ass as he does so. As you enter his room, he leans in for another searing desperate kiss, nipping and tugging on your bottom lip almost painfully slow.

The bed is plush, more so than you expect, the sheets feel cool and inviting as you settle into them, not daring to turn your attention away from Joel for a second. The moon is the only light in the room, but it's bright enough for you to drool over the large bulge he reveals as he shucks his jeans.

“Something you want darlin?” that all-knowing chuckle, call your attention to his face, always handsome but there's a depravity and a hunger in his eyes that is a little bit intimidating.

“I-” You struggle to decide what exactly it is you want to do, part of you wants to let him lay down and have you suck his cock dry, and the other part wants to see you bent in half stuffed full of his cum.

Your stumble only brings another dry chastising chuckle, “Don’t worry honey, I'll take care of you.” His dark boxers leave little to the imagination, the fabric pulled tight across him as the curve of his cock is pinned to the curve of his hip. He’s huge, bigger than you could’ve dreamed, and by the looks of it nice and thick, you would be happily limping around in the morning.

He plants his hands next to your legs, crawling up your body until he’s even with your mouth, his skin radiating heat and his mouth meets yours once more. The taste of you is still lingering in his mouth, spurring you on.

The clothed hardness of him presses against you, insistent and delightfully relieving the tortuous pressure building at your core. You run your hands against the muscles of his back, at first gently caressing but as his teeth skim your pulse you dig into the flesh with your nails. “Joel…” you whimper, knowing if he wanted to drag this any further you'd have no choice but to beg, there's something so addictive to his power and the way he looks at you. He knows what he's doing to you, he knows the way you shift your hips to grind against him is a silent plea, he wishes he could withhold longer, but each hitch in your breath coaxes more precome spilling into his boxers, he hasn't been this hard since he was a teenager.

He hushes you, soothing you with a hand running over your hair, and shoves his boxers down to free himself. He lets the weight of his cock slide over your sex, the thick head catching deliciously on your clit and allowing it to get coated in what's left of your cum. You both groan into another kiss, “Condom?” The question shocks you into reality briefly, but you quickly shake your head no, not bothering an attempt to form any words.

You swear you hear a whimper in his half-lidded chuckle, but you try to focus on the feeling of his body pressing against yours, the heat of him and the rich smell of his skin the taste of his mouth as he kisses you through a few more lazy strokes.

He runs a calloused hand over the soft skin of your throat before sliding it around and into the hair at the back of your neck, tilting your eyes to his As he lines up and slides in a single brutal thrust. Your body tenses at the stretch, but the pleasure is immense and Joel's mouth parts in a pant so beautifully you crack a wickedly seductive smile.

As he begins to canter his hips, his grip on your hair gets tighter, holding your eyes to his, his pelvis grinds delectably against your clit, as the ridges of his cock and the angle of his hips drag along your walls. You wonder if you'd been able to take it if it hadn't been Joel, you don't think you've ever been this fucked out in your life. He presses your legs slightly further apart nudging at your cervix, and grounding down.

The orgasm rips through you before you know it, the shake in your legs and your panted obscenities only encourage him further. “Fuck, good girl,” your hips love on their own grinding up fucking yourself through the climax as a second wave of white-hot pleasure soaks his abdomen and your thighs, “So good baby.”

Your head drops, body limp and wrecked he kisses along your cheeks and forehead, giving you a moment to catch your breath.

He moves quicker than you can register what's happening, his boxers are on the floor and suddenly you are straddled over his lap dropping down onto his cock as he buries his face in your tits. Tongue drags deliciously over your nipples as he lets you adjust to the new angle, you rest your head on top of his, kissing his sweat-damp hair and rocking your hips slowly. You didn't think he could feel any bigger, each slight rock nudges almost painfully against your cervix, words no longer forming in your brain and breath escaping in squeaks.

You let yourself get caught up in the moans and praise failing out of Joel nonsensically, the drag of his stubble on your skin overstimulating, you bear down on him and shiver as you hear the hitches in his breathing. “Where?” you almost miss it, his voice is hoarse, desperate, strained even.

“Cum inside me.” you can't suppress the smirk, “I want it.” It's your turn to pull his head back, looking deep into the rich dark brown eyes as they admire you, he chews on his lip. His shoulders hunch as you feel him twitch, his grip tightening on your hips as he uses the last bit of his strength to bounce you on his lap and fuck up into you as he cums deep and hard into your wrecked swollen pussy.

You suppress a shutter, you feel like you're made of gelatin and you slump against his body, going completely slack.

He waits a few moments to collect his wits and allows you both to catch your breath. “Should I start a shower?” You laugh, hoping to skirt over any sort of rebuff.

“Sure,” he massages the flesh of your ass, “I'll take care of the leftovers.” You're overwhelmed with a sense of relief, both letting out a massive sigh at the same time, and laughing once you make eye contact again. You feel his heartbeat against your chest and lean in for another kiss, the complicated stuff can come later, but the smile he gives you as he tilts his chin up slightly for thekiss, makes you feel like it's all going to be more than you could've dreamed of.

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