Orange Slices (Joel Miller x f!reader)

Chapter Sixteen

A heat radiating across your cheek draws you from your drunken sleep. Your eyelids are heavy as they slowly flutter open. Immediately, you are blinded by a bright light. Instinctively, you bring your hands up to cover your eyes, slowly spreading your fingers to acclimate your vision.

A sunbeam sneaks through an uncovered corner of the boarded-up window, spreading a thin streak of warm light across the darkened room. The corner of the cardboard used to board the window began curling in on itself most likely from the melting snow leaking through the poorly sealed edges.

Your head feels fuzzy, a tingling sensation quickly forms at the base of your neck as you swing your legs over the side of the couch, propping yourself upright. As the fuzziness intensifies and your head begins to spin, a small painful groan escapes from your throat and you slump back against the cushions of the couch, pressing the heels of your palms firmly against the sockets of your eyes. The pressure seems to soothe the ache a bit, offering you some sense of relief.

Steadily sucking in some of the stuffy air, you take a few deep breaths, desperate to gain a sense of clarity before having to go on patrol. You desperately hoped the influx of oxygen would solve the painful state of your hangover.

A soft snore causes you to drop your arms and open your eyes. Joel is sprawled out on the couch in front of you. One leg is bent, his foot firmly pressed against the concrete floor; the other leg is straight, his ankle propped up by the cushioned armrest and his ankle dangling just past the edge. He has one hand resting just below his ribcage, his shirt had become twisted against his torso at some point during the night, exposing a sliver of skin just above his pantline. You continue to let your eyes wander, your lips parting slightly as your mouth becomes dry.

Another soft snore comes from him, drawing your attention away from his lower section, and you slightly smile to yourself, now watching his silhouette as a whole; specifically the smooth rise and fall of his broad chest.

You let out a groan as you push yourself off the couch, tugging on the light pull of one of the lamps. You didn't want to wake Joel–not yet. However, you wanted enough light to move around freely.

As the room illuminated, you looked toward Joel, partially afraid the much brighter light than anticipated would wake him. He remained still, another snore filling the silent room.

Running your hands along your face, you lightly slap your cheeks in a desperate attempt to wake yourself fully. You take in the now lit-up room before you as you turn slowly on your heel. Empty bottles of liquor lay on their sides, both on the coffee table and the floor. The records had been spread across the floor in front of the player that remained on. You slightly cringed at the fact, wondering how much power it must have drained from the generator.

Between the empty bottles and records, the events of last night flooded your memory. Joel holding you against his body, the steady sway of the two of you becoming one, the low vibration from his humming in your ear, his breath moist and wet against your neck.

A small shiver crawled down your spine the more you thought of it.

The rest of the night was a blur, honestly. The two of you drank...endlessly, apparently. And you talked–about what? You can't remember. You don't exactly recall when you laid down, if it was you or Joel who called it night, or how late you stayed up. And although patrol would surely be a bitch to do with your hangover, you weren't entirely sure if you regretted any of it–the drinking, the dancing, the talking.

You let out a drawn-out exhale, bringing you back to the present moment. Staring for a moment longer, you decide to tidy the place up. It's not a crime that you and Joel were there–the forgotten building wasn't owned by anyone–but it'd be the best if no one suspected you were there with him, alone.