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God, you can’t fathom the set of events that led to this moment: the stupid patrol missions, the meaningless match of you and Joel, the most irrelevant pair there could ever be (well, irrelevant except your little, tiny, barely consequential crush on him), his grumpy ass sitting in the corner annoyed yet lenient (a true grace as you touched his nerve with all that attempts to deepen the conversation or your high pitched “Five more minutes!” and “Please!”s in the morning, alas surprise, he was more so annoyed with himself for how much he let you get away with it )as you sifted through every nook and cranny, finding little stuff of use and the cards. It was meant to be a drinking game, posing all sorts of questions, and probably intended for people younger than you. Well, maybe not you, but definitely Joel.
But, this moment-
Your giggles and comments on the cards that were met with his groans and quips were cut sharp when the prompt on them caught you off guard, and the room was immediately silent. Even the shuffle of his bag while he rummaged through it was practically non-existent, thus your first reaction, an embarrassing squeal, had made him turn to you. Fuck, you felt so small and alive to the core when Joel raised his eyebrow, quietly asking you what made you stop, and also challenging you to keep going, even though he could already imagine the reason.
“Uhm, nothing, we can skip this one.”
“No, I want to hear it.” This was probably his wicked way to get payback for all the nuisance you’ve caused him, yet there was no grin behind his words, only the gruff you desperately adored. It was enhanced due to tiredness, no surprise there, and it was visible even from the outside, his huge shoulders slightly sagging, hair mussed up, muscles left bare for your viewing pleasure as he settled into the cabin you two would spend the night.
You pressed your thighs together first, the words “guess the color of my underwear” and Joel himself occupying your mind at the same time already doing things to you. Realizing each second that the silence lasted was making this more awkward, you cleared your throat. “It- it says guess the color of my underwear.”
Then, his eyes became fixated on you, up and down and up again, burning into you, and you cowered, blinking. That was the moment realized that he had thrown his bag aside, standing in the middle of the room, his attention solely on you now. there was an element to his aura that you hadn’t seen before, some sort of pressure and resistance, a flame engulfing his skin.
“I don’t have to. I already know.”
You didn’t know what possessed you to say “Then say it.”, your shaky breath already betraying your bravado.
His heavy boots thudded, echoing as he walked towards you, pounding in your ears while your heart was pounding in your chest so much so that it probably was visible from the outside, but it even got worse as he held your chin, redirecting your face to establish eye contact, a deeper one this time that you couldn’t run from. You couldn’t help but keen into his touch, straightening your back and feeling the muscles of your lower body twitch.
“Black. Lacy on the sides. With the little bows.”
Shit.
Yes, naturally, the patrol partners saw each other in every possible scenario in the couple of days the mission lasted, so there was nothing out of the ordinary that he saw you in your underwear while you were getting ready for bed- but that details, meant he looked, not just saw. Joel looked at you.
And that was a fact your brain had trouble processing.
“How-” The basic question was all you could utter, and even that was interrupted, shutting you up for good. Even while confessing, he was the one in control, finally having the courage to speak his mind, set free by your obvious intrigue. The faintest of wavering in his voice only added to his strength, his true self, his true feelings.
“But my favourite is the pink one. Thin enough to fly in the slightest of breeze. Hiding basically nothing. Especially that secret tattoo you have.”
In a few seconds, the information “of course, neighbors may occasionally see each other’s laundry hanging in their garden” was shadowed with “Joel sees me through my bedroom window- fresh out of the shower or after hot summer nights and possibly more.” Subsequently, you wondered, what else did he do? Did he hold out his breath as he discovered his chance? Did he try to abstain, only to fail after a week? Did he replay the scenes in his mind as he talked to you during the day? Did he touch himself, imagining it was your hand- and hoped more?
His thumb caressed your lip, the thick callouses dragging across the sensitive skin, and you took that as a yes to your unasked questions. In return, you peeked out your tongue to lick it, pulling him in as he released a content hum. In search of being closer, you rose to your knees, holding onto his wrist, and his other hand slithered across your thigh, dancing around the hemline of the t-shirt you called a pajama.
“So, you want to prove me right?”