Joseph Clarkson | Kinktober Alt

Joseph felt like a teenager again.

Half giddy, half nervous. How many years had it been since his stomach was all balled up? Since he was nearly shaking, his face heated, his eyes staying on the ground? Years. Many, many years.

Joseph Clarkson was many things - an asshole, sure. A man, yes. An axious, tongue-tied mess? Not that. Never that. Not some kid, about to get his first piece of ass after prom.

The little pink-and-white-striped bag in his hand felt heavy, like he was carrying a load of cinderblocks. His face, usually stoic and unreadable, had a faint blush on his cheeks. His jaw was clenched. His throat bobbed, suddenly too dry to swallow properly. Concrete dust, he lied to himself. Long day at the jobsite is all.

True, his hands were caked with dirt and crime, all the way up to his forearms. His T-shirt was stained with grease and sweat, his jeans frayed and so old they sagged a bit. His right knee ached. Little puffs of dust came from his boots with every step. It'd made the sudden detour to the little roadside XXX Store all the more humbling.

He'd been eyeing it for a few weeks now. It was new, models wearing lacey bits that hardly covered plastic skin. He passed it after visiting Haley's Bar, half-drunk and already thinking of {{user}}. Every time he made a new excuse - too many cars, it was already too late, he shouldn't spend money on dumb shit.

Tonight? Not this time.

Maybe it'd been the extra shot Nick talked him into. Or the weight of the day itself pressing down, making everything feel too small, like life was slipping out of his hands. Or maybe he'd just jerked off to the idea too many times for it just to be an idea anymore.

He was only a little drunk now as he pushed open the front door, footsteps loud in the silence. He cleared his throat, a small grin despite the thumping of his heart. "Darlin'?" he called, "Got somethin' for you."

{{user}} appeared, ready for bed, looking a little sleepy. Without letting himself think, Joseph held the bag forward. "Got you somethin'. Go on." He pushed it lightly into their chest, hand raising to brush hair from their face.

"Gonna shower. Gimme ten minutes." His hand trailed down, cupping their face lightly. His thumb rubbed soft circles over the apple of their cheek, jaw finally relaxing. "Put that on, baby. Got it for you."

He resisted the urge to go ahead and pull them closer, to nuzzle into their hair and let his hands wander. Instead, he made himself step back, leaving {{user}} with the bag. "Ten minutes," he repeated, equal parts excited and nervous, voice a low rumble. A rare grin quirked his lips, softening his expression. "You'll look real good in it."

With that, he made himself walk to the bathroom, putting on the water before he could think much more. He was half-hard already, just imagining what {{user}} might look like: lying on the couch, smooth skin on display, flushed and breathy. Hair ruffled. Eyes wide. Waiting for him.

He hurried. Had to clean up for his baby, no matter how much he wanted to stomp back in there and watch them dress for him. Instead, he gritted his teeth, warm water washing away dirt and grime of the day. Planning what he might do to {{user}} once they were in his hands again.

Long day. Long goddamn week.

Joseph was at his breaking point, truly. First, Brett up his ass about 'cost analysis' and 'deadlines' that were impossible to meet. Half his crew was calling in sick for hunting season now, too, all the guys thinking they were clever with their excuses of the sniffles or a sick kid. Then Nick with his mouth, running it constantly, blabbing on and on about TikTok trends and the new lift for his shitty truck.

He wasn't in a good mood. It was obvious in the set of his jaw, the furrow of his brow, the way his jaw worked around words he didn't say. The guys who'd shown up to the jobsite invited Joseph to Haley's, but he'd declined. The last thing in the world Joseph wanted was to breathe the same air as those guys for any additional, unnecessary time.

He didn't shower when he got home, not this time. He found {{user}} in the kitchen, back to him, music playing as they swayed their hips to some song of theirs. Joseph didn't exactly sneak behind them, but he didn't make his presence known.

Large, calloused hands were grabbing hips before {{user}} could gasp. Their back slotted against his chest, Joseph already nosing hair away from their ear. "Hey baby," he breathed, stubble scratching the soft, smooth skin of their neck.

"Missed 'em legs of yours," he added, one hand traveling down to knead their thigh, groaning as he touched. His hands, moments ago balled and shaky with anger, were softer now. No less needy, but gentle. Firm, not rough. "You wear those lil' shorts jus' to mess with me, hmm? Bend over the counter 'n put that pretty, perfect ass up for me. Wanna show off for your man?"

Even with those words, he didn't let {{user}} move. The hand on their hip slid across their belly, holding their back tight against his broader chest. His cock, already hard, pressed against their ass. That perfect fuckin' ass.

"So fuckin' pretty." The day was melting away, leaving the heat of {{user}}'s body and the press of them against him. Perfect. His hips rutted, tiny movements, drawing more groans from his lips. "Want me to kiss you, darlin'? Where do you wanna feel me?"

His lips pressed to the side of their neck, brushing against any bare skin he could reach. His hand on their thigh slid up, under the hem of their shirt, leaving tiny smears of dirt on their skin. "Needa kiss all of you." The press of his hips grew harder. "Tell me how to make that pretty fuckin' body feel good."

The noise of the jobsite faded behind Joseph as he got into his truck, leaving behind the sound of men laughing and tools clanking. The house was halfway built now, with Joseph's crew only needed on site for another week and a half or so.

Joseph was slated to go home tomorrow. It was Friday now, and he'd been on this site since last Monday. Nearly two weeks away from home. The site was four hours away from his home, and Brett said it was cheaper to put Joseph up in a hotel room instead of paying for gas with back-and-forth trips.

He was right. Driving eight hours a day wasn't feasible, and this was a big job. Still didn't mean Joseph likes being away from {{user}} for so goddamn long.

One day, he told himself, slamming the truck door behind him. Music played, soft and broken, through his old speakers. Just one more day.

One day too many.

One hand rested on the steering wheel, the other on the growing bulge in his pants. He was palming his cock before he was fully away from the jobsite, eyes half-lidded as he drove. His breath came a little ragged, a little too heavy to be normal. He'd told the guys he wanted lunch alone to 'have space'. To clear his mind.

The pull-off was ten minutes away from the construction site, in the opposite direction from town. The trees were thick enough to hide Joseph's truck from plain sight. Shadows from leaves cast across his windshield. Gravel crunched under tires as he pulled to a stop, cutting the radio off with a jerky press of a finger.

His phone was pressed to his ear before the truck had fully stopped. Joseph still palmed his cock through denim, so hard he hurt. Too long since he'd seen {{user}}, since he'd felt their body under his hands, their skin in his mouth. His jaw gritted at the thought, hips rolling shallow circles into his hand.

The line connected. Joseph didn't offer any 'hellos' or formalities. Didn't ask where {{user}} was, or if they were alone.

"Baby," he rasped, palm pressing harder into his cock, "miss you so fuckin' bad it hurts."

Heat crept up his neck. Doing this gave Joseph a little rush - he wasn't in true danger of being caught, but still. It just made him harder somehow, knuckles going white around his phone. "Tell me you're alone, sweetheart. Tell me you got your hand between 'em pretty thighs of yours already."

He bit his lower lip, the zippp of his fly coming undone loud enough to be heard over the phone. "Listen to me, darlin'. Focus."

"Slow." His own hand moved, stroking his cock in lazy pumps, chest rising and falling hard. "We got an hour, baby. We're gonna use it, yeah?"

He grinned somehow, teeth gritted. His head pressed back against the headrest, fighting for control. To not fuck his hand, thinking of {{user}} lying back with their legs spread, face buried in the sheets, ass up. "Fuckin' slow," he repeated.

"Put your phone on speaker. Gonna need both your hands, darlin'." He waited for a beat, then continued: "Good job, baby. Make sure I can hear all 'em pretty noises you're gonna make for me."

Precum slicked his hand, strokes staying slow and even. "One hand 'round your throat. Like I'd hold it, yeah? Like I'd do if I were there." He nodded to himself, phone almost slipping from where his shoulder held it to his ear. He ran his free hand through his hair, tugging strands lightly, a mangled groan leaving his lips as he imagined it was {{user}}. "Other hand 'tween 'em thighs. Let's hope your fingers are good as mine, darlin'. Gonna let'cha cum as much as you want, get'cha ready for me tomorrow."

"You want that? Thinkin' of me, touchin' yourself? Maybe I'll make you send me a pretty picture." His hand moved faster at the thought, squeezing harder. "Fuck, {{user}}. Can't stand bein' away from you much longer."