RPS: Thunderstruck [A Slow, Comfortable Screw Against The Wall] (JA/GH)
How did this happen? I'm asking myself that same question. Let me just say this:
A. I promise that the Supernatural fics are forth-coming! Jensen is just popular in my head and everyone wants a taste.
B. I have no true explanation for where this fic came from. I mentioned the idea once, in a comment to kashmir1 . Obviously, the thought of Gale Harold with Jensen Ackles was so delicious that my mind latched onto it and wouldn't let it go.
C. I still insist that if this role ever needed to be cast - Jensen would be *perfect* for playing Gale's younger brother. So would Ben McKenzie. Think about it. Let that marinate in your mind for a little while.
D. I admit - I wrote this just to make fangirls go BOOM. I'm probably going to burn in hell. See you guys there!
And thank you to everyone who read or commented on Better Than Birthday Cake. I'm glad it was well received. I appreciate the feedback!
TITLE: Thunderstruck [A Slow, Comfortable Screw Against The Wall]
AUTHOR: Mari [3090]
PAIRING: Jensen Ackles / Gale Harold, mentions of Jared Padalecki [RPS]
RATING: NC-17
CATAGORY: Sex. That's all I've got.
SUMMARY: Gale Harold. Takes Jensen Ackles. Up against a wall.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Jensen or Gale. To my knowledge, this has never happened. It probably never will.
NOTE: Unlike Better Than Birthday Cake, this just came to me and insisted that I stay up and write this. And then wake up and write it more. You may be wondering, "Jensen and Gale Harold? Why?"
Nay, I ask you. Why not?
Slammed against the wall again, Jensen's mouth opens. Surrenders. The older man takes what is offered - hot, sweet mouth, pink, pillowy lips. A girl's lips, a whore's lips, a cocksucker's lips. But that would be too easy, wouldn't it? Too clichéd. He hadn't even gotten the boy on his knees. Yet. But he can do more than just imagine how good that would feel. He runs the pad of his thumb over those lips, rubbing circles into them, coaxing them open.
Jensen fought to keep oxygen in his lungs as his mouth is straight ravaged by this gorgeous man whom he barely even knew outside of TV screens and dreams. His mind was scrambling, trying to figure out how his night added up to this. He started the night off with Padalecki and Welling, hitting the scene in some over-hyped, industry spot on Sunset Boulevard. A run-of-the-mill guys’ night out in West Hollywood, which wasn’t his choice as much as it was Tom’s. He and Jared are content with dive bars, drinking cheap beer and playing pool ‘till four A.M. But what are the chances that Jensen could have met a man like this in any old hole-in-the-wall?
The man's mouth is devouring Jensen's neck. Buttons pop off of his shirt, and then that mouth moves down his chest leaving a trail of hard, hungry kisses. Teeth scrape down tight muscles. Jensen bites down on his lip to hold in a whimper, and that's when he thinks- 'How did I get to this?'
How did he get to this?
Then that mouth is on his and he knows. He tastes orange juice and a tangy undercurrent of peach bourbon. There’s vanilla there, and sweet, ripe berries, and cinnamon, and cigarettes. And he sighs, letting this stranger's tongue sweep over his mouth, cause he's never tasted anything like him.
_________________________
You know the feeling when someone is watching you - carefully, surreptitiously stealing glances of you - from across the room?
Jensen knows it because that same feeling has been following him up and down the room for ten minutes now. Beside him, Jared is describing this 'one time with Jen and Tommy,' and of course, he’s giving it that Padalecki touch, making the story larger than life and more outrageous than it really is. But he loves to tell the story, so Jensen lets him tell it. While he's smirking at Jared's animated hands and the theatrical rise and fall of his voice, his eyes are glancing over Jared's left shoulder, staring back at a man across the room.
Jensen doesn't get a good look at this guy until he's at the bar.
He's dressed sharply and all in black, not unlike Jensen. Nursing a drink with slow, bored sips, his eyes stare at some far away place right above the bartender's head. His whole nonchalant, 'I don't give a fuck' stance looks familiar, but different, too. Like his face is supposed to be lit up with flashing, neon lights in some place more frenetic than the soft-lit, gold glow of Hyde's lounge.
"Hey, man." Jensen greets him, taking his own spot at the bar.
The stranger nods, acknowledging him only by raising his glass. "Hey."
Silence settles between them. Jensen drinks from his bottle of Guinness more and more, just to try and feel less awkward. He has obviously just been imagining this guy's eyes chasing him from one corner of the bar to another. Now that he feels sufficiently embarrassed, he's going to slink back to Jared and hope his friend doesn't call him on it.
Jensen is up and turning around, but the stranger's voice stops him.
"Don't think I was giving you the evil eye over there. You just looked familiar."
"Yeah? How so?"
The man looks him over, his eyes never straying further down than Jensen's chest. He looks like he's struggling to place a name with a face. “Aren’t you on that show on The CW?"
"Supernatural. Yeah. I’m Jensen---"
"Ackles?"
"Yeah. Wait, I know you. You're Gale---"
"---Harold."
"From---"
"---Queer as Folk, yeah."
Jensen takes Gale's offered hand.
"Brian Kinney watches Supernatural."
Gale smiles wryly. "Dean Winchester watches Queer as Folk."
Touché.
"I'm just messing with you, man. Trust me. I won’t be calling you Brian all night.” Jensen shrugs, grinning easily. “Not too many people admit to watching my show."
"Yeah well, not too many people admit to watching mine."
The two men grow quiet again. Jensen bites his lower lip, worrying that tender skin as he tries not to sound starved for conversation with the other man. "Sorry if I'm being a pain in the ass, but...you've got an accent on you. Where are you from?"
"Noticed that, huh?" Gale rubs his chin, hardly hiding a smirk. "I'm from Georgia."
Georgia, Gale says it like a true Southerner, with that low, rumbling tone that's molasses married with whiskey. It hits Jensen like summer lightning and goes straight to his cock. He tries not to look downright awestruck, so he just doesn't say anything for a little while.
"Ah, you like that?"
Jensen blinks, suddenly noticing that he missed his cue to say something witty. Gale's eyes seem to sparkle and Jensen doesn't know what to do. He pointedly ignores Gale's gaze, looking out over the crowd. "Southerners are just hard to come by in L.A."
He feels Gale's eyes sweeping over him appraisingly. "...Texas?"
"That obvious?"
Gale nods in affirmation. "That obvious."
Jensen rubs the back of his neck, draining his bottle of beer. The more he and Gale talk, the more he knows that the other man has not stopped staring. He just has stopped feeling it so keenly. "Well, I'll leave you be," He announces, setting his empty bottle down in front of him. "I gotta go find my friend, anyway. He requires constant supervision..."
Gale's hand shot out for Jensen's wrist, keeping the younger man's hand on the bar. "Wait." His voice is like velvet- a little soft, a little rough. "Stay. Have a drink. On me."
"Nah, don't worry about it."
"C'mon. One drink. Call it Southern Hospitality."
How's one more drink going to hurt? Jensen vaguely tries to recall how much he already had. The burn in the back of his throat is courtesy of four shots of Patrón. Maybe more, he's certain he lost his ability to count correctly around three beers ago. Wasn't there some rule about mixing beer with tequila? A rule he obviously didn't follow.
Jensen slants his eyes at the drink in Gale's hand. It looks interesting to someone who is usually just drinking from a can or a bottle. It’s a reddish-gold that makes him think of grapefruit. He asks, motioning at the glass. "What're you drinking?"
Gale doesn't tell him. Instead he offers him the drink, saying, "Taste it."
Jensen takes a short, cautious sip, and then another. The drink was like a Screwdriver with more of a kick, just sweet enough to make him forget he was drinking alcohol.
"It's good. What's it called?"
Gale grins, his lips curving into a smile against the glass. "A Slow Comfortable Screw Up Against the Wall."
'Cause a martini would be way too boring.
Jensen laughs in surprise, then laughs harder and longer because he knows Gale is serious. His laughter breaks up the tension that Gale has put there, the tension that was brewing and churning between them ever since Jensen stepped up to meet Gale at the bar. Gale laughs, too, even more so when Jensen asks, "What's in it?"
"Taste it again," Gale instructs, holding the glass to Jensen's lips. Jensen drinks again, and their eyes meet over the top of the glass. "What do you taste?"
Jensen picks the easiest thing right out the gate. "Orange juice."
"Yeah, there's a lot of that. What else?"
Jensen licks his lips, tongue darting out for a flickering moment. "Peaches. Cherries. Something kinda spicy. And vanilla?"
"The peach, that comes from the Southern Comfort. Cherries…well, I'm thinking that’s the sloe gin. The vanilla might be from the SoCo, or the Galliano floating on top. And there's vodka, too. You just can't taste it."
Jensen's impressed with Gale's slow, careful explanation said in an easy Southern drawl. "It's good."
Gale calls the bartender over before looking back at Jensen, eyes lingering over the younger man's body.
"Want one?"
_________________________
Slow, comfortable screws taste like peaches, oranges, and spicy, sweaty skin.
Jensen's breath is caught in the back of his throat. His thighs are wrapped tight around Gale, as if he was trying to scale the older man. All while Gale is trying to climb inside, find the deepest, hottest place in Jensen and touch it over and over, again and again.
A sharp thrust up and Jensen is loudly moaning like a whore cause he wants it. He doesn't care who hears him. It's never been this way before. Never had someone he just met. Every thing he knows about Gale, he knows through a IMDb profile. Yet that doesn't stop him. He throws his head back, releasing a long growl low under his breath. Gale tastes that exposed skin, the tip of his tongue trailing up from collarbone to jaw before he takes that skin between his teeth and bites. Jensen gasps, thighs tightening reflexively, nails dragging down the older man's chest.
Jensen just leaves behind long rows of pink scratches over Gale's shoulders and down his pecs, stopping short right above his nipples. But on Jensen's neck, at the corner of his jaw and close to his ear, there's a blushing, burning spot growing redder as Gale sucks on it.
Gale is drilling into him, pushing him further up the wall, pressing him into the door so hard that he swears the wood grain will be etched on his back as a permanent memory. Another thrust up, and the metal hinge of the front door is scraping up Jensen's spine. He curses in surprise, fingernails latching on to Gale's shoulder, grasping desperately to keep his whole world from tilting over. His heels are digging into the back of Gale's thighs, though he still can't keep himself from falling. He slides down the wall, sinking on Gale's waiting cock.
"Mmm, god damn. So tight." Gale growls. He savors the sight of Jensen in his arms- panting, sweating, blushing, eyes shut tight. His lips - God, those lips - forming a perfect, round "O" as he tries to breathe only a little bit at a time. "Jensen. Jensen, look at me."
Jensen slowly opens his eyes. Their eyes meet. Two pairs of matching hazel-gold eyes, muddy and darkened with lust, locking together.
"I want you to remember this." His voice is even. Determined. His hips cant in and out, slow and easy and torturous. "I want you to feel it for days."
Jensen manages to grind out one word - "Harder." His hands are slipping and scrabbling up Gale's chest. He tries to hold on. He's breathless; his words are dry and broken as he speaks. "Make me feel...make me feel it"
Jensen can just get lost in this, die and go to heaven for this. His back arches against the wall and he collapses against Gale's hard chest. Every time he thinks the older man is going to let him fall, he just tightens his arms around Jensen and pushes in harder, harder, harder.
Jensen tightens an arm around Gale, holding onto the man's back. He doesn't realize that he's pulling Gale's hair as he rises up and falls down, rolling his hips and riding Gale. His breath his hitched in the back of his throat and he groans, "Almost there."
Gale stops.
"No you're not,” he says, murmuring the words against Jensen's ear.
Jensen is weak, shaking, ready to beg, ready to explode all over Gale's chest. How could he stop? He can't stop now. He was so fucking there, so fucking close.
"Please," he sounds almost anguished as he repeats it again. "Please, God. Gale, please."
"No," Gale says with impossible control. He steps back from the wall, easily carrying Jensen with him like he was a child. "You're too pretty to fuck up a wall."
_________________________
Gale Harold is trying to kill him.
Jensen shudders, staring at the man above him. His heavy-lidded eyes - whiskey colored eyes, bedroom eyes, I'm going to break you apart and you're going to love it eyes. How does he keep falling for pretty packages with eyes like that?
Gale has Jensen's legs resting on his shoulders, bending the younger man exactly the way that he wants him. Jensen hangs in anticipation. He can't move, can barely even breathe. His body is still burning, still remembering how Gale felt inside him only a few minutes ago. Gale tilts his head, kissing a spot behind Jensen's knee. His hands stroke the inside of Jensen's thighs until the younger man is whimpering, warning Gale that he's going to come. He won't. They both know that. The way Gale is handling him - speeding him up before cooling him down, bringing him to the edge before pulling him back - Jensen knows he won't be coming until Gale lets him.
Just when Jensen's heart slows down, and his cock has stopped throbbing with that insistent, immediate need for release, Gale presses Jensen's knees to his chest and pushes inside. Jensen grits his teeth, just barely screaming out loud, fingers gripping the sheets tight enough to rip them. Gale is rocking against him, and Jensen is suddenly thinking of snakes. Temptation. Corruption. It's the way Gale rises up on his arms as he moves inside him. It makes Jensen think of cobras.
Gale dives into Jensen, steals hungry kisses as his cock fills Jensen. He goes slow, but deep and Jensen feels like he's being fucked up against something. Wall or bed, the feeling was the same. His back still burns.
Their separate orgasms are heartbeats apart so they blur together. Jensen feels every muscle tense then release. He lets go of Gale's hair, hands sliding down the man's ears, down his jaw, to rest on the bruises he left on Gale's shoulder. Gale collapses on top of him. They pant together. Their hearts thud-thud-thud in a steady, fast beat; Gale thinks this may be what a heart attack feels like. After a long, long while, he raises himself up on one arm. Clear little droplets - sweat, or maybe tears? - are collecting together, slipping down Jensen's cheek.
He doesn't know what it is, but he kisses it away all the same.
_________________________
Screw you, we're from Texas. Screw you, we're from Texas. We're from Texas baby, so screw you...
Jensen laughs in his sleep, even though it aches when he moves. Damn. It's awesome to know when Jared is calling without even looking at the phone. Following the sound of the twangy ringtone, his hand blindly feels for the cell phone on the bedside table. He's not sure how it got there.
"Padalecki," he croaks. His throat is scratchy-sore, and he doesn't remember why. His mouth is dry, like he's been sucking on cotton balls and licking dirty ashtrays all night. His stomach flip-flops. Ooh, best not to think about dirty ashtrays.
"Oh, man. You just sound rough," Jensen can hear the hint of smug laughter in Jared's voice. "Who did you get into last night?"
Uhh...good question. His bed is rumpled, but empty. All the clothes that litter the floor are his own.
"Uhh..." Jared mimics. Jensen hardly realizes that he had said that out loud. "I saw you heading out early with some dude. Ringing any bells?"
"Oh. Oh, right. Gale...Harold."
"No shit? That dude from that show that Sandy made me watch all the time?"
A show about hot gay men fucking and partying? It's on the tip of Jensen's tongue to point out that Sandy probably didn't need to bust out the handcuffs to get Jared to watch. Sandy was playing Grace before she even realized it. "...Right. That show."
"You hit that?" Jared asked with palpable awe in his voice. Jensen's not so sure what he did. The night before is burning up before his eyes in a blaze and a blur. His body is telling him he didn't hit that. He got mauled by that.
"Uh...yeah."
"My little Jenny is growing up so fast..."
"Shove it up your ass, Jared. And don't call me Jenny."
"Hey now. No need to get bitchy. I just wanted to know you were okay."
Jensen falls back against the pillows with a little thud. He catches a whiff of cologne in the air, a smell that's familiar but not his own. It's citrus and spice and probably expensive and far too classy. Southern Comfort comes to mind. His voice softens, "I'm okay."
"Good. So what're we doing tonight? We could check out Hyde again if you want, but I'm down for just watching a game."
"I'll--um, I'll get back to you on that."
"All right. Talk to you later, man."
"Later, Jay."
Dropping the phone onto his bed, Jensen stares up at the ceiling, trying to remember everything about last night from start to finish. He has to, has to convince himself that he didn't spend all of last night jacking off to Queer as Folk reruns, or getting fucked by a man who looked like Gale Harold if he squinted while wearing tequila goggles.
He feels a weak, buzzing vibration on the bed before he hears a familiar guitar riff, and Brian Johnson's gravelly wails bursting from his cell phone.
I was shakin' at the knees...Could I come again please? Yeah the ladies were too kind! You've been - thunderstruck!
Jensen laughs, reaching for the phone. He can’t remember the last time he used that ring tone. He eyes the phone's screen, and then he nearly drops it.
He bolts up in bed, staring incredulously, trying not to be too surprised. Then he tries not to feel so satisfied.
New Message From... Gale
From: Gale
Dinner tonight? You pick the place. I'll pick the after party. I hope that's not too presumptuous of me.
"Presumptuous?" Jensen stretches, closing the cell phone and tossing it aside. "Not at all."
He doesn't respond right away. Gale can wait it out for a little while. Besides, Jensen's still trying to cool down. Get a hold of himself. Stop shaking, stop walking that way like he just got well fucked.
So he goes to the kitchen and guzzles down a half-quart of orange juice right out of the carton before he realizes what he's doing.
NOTE: If you want an idea of what Gale Harold would smell like on *your* pillow, the cologne Jensen smells on his is Prada Amber Pour Homme
EDIT (4/13/07) - Some people don't know who Gale Harold is. *gasp!* So I added a fic banner featuring Jen and Gale, for your viewing pleasure.
A. I promise that the Supernatural fics are forth-coming! Jensen is just popular in my head and everyone wants a taste.
B. I have no true explanation for where this fic came from. I mentioned the idea once, in a comment to kashmir1 . Obviously, the thought of Gale Harold with Jensen Ackles was so delicious that my mind latched onto it and wouldn't let it go.
C. I still insist that if this role ever needed to be cast - Jensen would be *perfect* for playing Gale's younger brother. So would Ben McKenzie. Think about it. Let that marinate in your mind for a little while.
D. I admit - I wrote this just to make fangirls go BOOM. I'm probably going to burn in hell. See you guys there!
And thank you to everyone who read or commented on Better Than Birthday Cake. I'm glad it was well received. I appreciate the feedback!
TITLE: Thunderstruck [A Slow, Comfortable Screw Against The Wall]
AUTHOR: Mari [3090]
PAIRING: Jensen Ackles / Gale Harold, mentions of Jared Padalecki [RPS]
RATING: NC-17
CATAGORY: Sex. That's all I've got.
SUMMARY: Gale Harold. Takes Jensen Ackles. Up against a wall.
DISCLAIMER: I don't own Jensen or Gale. To my knowledge, this has never happened. It probably never will.
NOTE: Unlike Better Than Birthday Cake, this just came to me and insisted that I stay up and write this. And then wake up and write it more. You may be wondering, "Jensen and Gale Harold? Why?"
Nay, I ask you. Why not?
Slammed against the wall again, Jensen's mouth opens. Surrenders. The older man takes what is offered - hot, sweet mouth, pink, pillowy lips. A girl's lips, a whore's lips, a cocksucker's lips. But that would be too easy, wouldn't it? Too clichéd. He hadn't even gotten the boy on his knees. Yet. But he can do more than just imagine how good that would feel. He runs the pad of his thumb over those lips, rubbing circles into them, coaxing them open.
Jensen fought to keep oxygen in his lungs as his mouth is straight ravaged by this gorgeous man whom he barely even knew outside of TV screens and dreams. His mind was scrambling, trying to figure out how his night added up to this. He started the night off with Padalecki and Welling, hitting the scene in some over-hyped, industry spot on Sunset Boulevard. A run-of-the-mill guys’ night out in West Hollywood, which wasn’t his choice as much as it was Tom’s. He and Jared are content with dive bars, drinking cheap beer and playing pool ‘till four A.M. But what are the chances that Jensen could have met a man like this in any old hole-in-the-wall?
The man's mouth is devouring Jensen's neck. Buttons pop off of his shirt, and then that mouth moves down his chest leaving a trail of hard, hungry kisses. Teeth scrape down tight muscles. Jensen bites down on his lip to hold in a whimper, and that's when he thinks- 'How did I get to this?'
How did he get to this?
Then that mouth is on his and he knows. He tastes orange juice and a tangy undercurrent of peach bourbon. There’s vanilla there, and sweet, ripe berries, and cinnamon, and cigarettes. And he sighs, letting this stranger's tongue sweep over his mouth, cause he's never tasted anything like him.
_________________________
You know the feeling when someone is watching you - carefully, surreptitiously stealing glances of you - from across the room?
Jensen knows it because that same feeling has been following him up and down the room for ten minutes now. Beside him, Jared is describing this 'one time with Jen and Tommy,' and of course, he’s giving it that Padalecki touch, making the story larger than life and more outrageous than it really is. But he loves to tell the story, so Jensen lets him tell it. While he's smirking at Jared's animated hands and the theatrical rise and fall of his voice, his eyes are glancing over Jared's left shoulder, staring back at a man across the room.
Jensen doesn't get a good look at this guy until he's at the bar.
He's dressed sharply and all in black, not unlike Jensen. Nursing a drink with slow, bored sips, his eyes stare at some far away place right above the bartender's head. His whole nonchalant, 'I don't give a fuck' stance looks familiar, but different, too. Like his face is supposed to be lit up with flashing, neon lights in some place more frenetic than the soft-lit, gold glow of Hyde's lounge.
"Hey, man." Jensen greets him, taking his own spot at the bar.
The stranger nods, acknowledging him only by raising his glass. "Hey."
Silence settles between them. Jensen drinks from his bottle of Guinness more and more, just to try and feel less awkward. He has obviously just been imagining this guy's eyes chasing him from one corner of the bar to another. Now that he feels sufficiently embarrassed, he's going to slink back to Jared and hope his friend doesn't call him on it.
Jensen is up and turning around, but the stranger's voice stops him.
"Don't think I was giving you the evil eye over there. You just looked familiar."
"Yeah? How so?"
The man looks him over, his eyes never straying further down than Jensen's chest. He looks like he's struggling to place a name with a face. “Aren’t you on that show on The CW?"
"Supernatural. Yeah. I’m Jensen---"
"Ackles?"
"Yeah. Wait, I know you. You're Gale---"
"---Harold."
"From---"
"---Queer as Folk, yeah."
Jensen takes Gale's offered hand.
"Brian Kinney watches Supernatural."
Gale smiles wryly. "Dean Winchester watches Queer as Folk."
Touché.
"I'm just messing with you, man. Trust me. I won’t be calling you Brian all night.” Jensen shrugs, grinning easily. “Not too many people admit to watching my show."
"Yeah well, not too many people admit to watching mine."
The two men grow quiet again. Jensen bites his lower lip, worrying that tender skin as he tries not to sound starved for conversation with the other man. "Sorry if I'm being a pain in the ass, but...you've got an accent on you. Where are you from?"
"Noticed that, huh?" Gale rubs his chin, hardly hiding a smirk. "I'm from Georgia."
Georgia, Gale says it like a true Southerner, with that low, rumbling tone that's molasses married with whiskey. It hits Jensen like summer lightning and goes straight to his cock. He tries not to look downright awestruck, so he just doesn't say anything for a little while.
"Ah, you like that?"
Jensen blinks, suddenly noticing that he missed his cue to say something witty. Gale's eyes seem to sparkle and Jensen doesn't know what to do. He pointedly ignores Gale's gaze, looking out over the crowd. "Southerners are just hard to come by in L.A."
He feels Gale's eyes sweeping over him appraisingly. "...Texas?"
"That obvious?"
Gale nods in affirmation. "That obvious."
Jensen rubs the back of his neck, draining his bottle of beer. The more he and Gale talk, the more he knows that the other man has not stopped staring. He just has stopped feeling it so keenly. "Well, I'll leave you be," He announces, setting his empty bottle down in front of him. "I gotta go find my friend, anyway. He requires constant supervision..."
Gale's hand shot out for Jensen's wrist, keeping the younger man's hand on the bar. "Wait." His voice is like velvet- a little soft, a little rough. "Stay. Have a drink. On me."
"Nah, don't worry about it."
"C'mon. One drink. Call it Southern Hospitality."
How's one more drink going to hurt? Jensen vaguely tries to recall how much he already had. The burn in the back of his throat is courtesy of four shots of Patrón. Maybe more, he's certain he lost his ability to count correctly around three beers ago. Wasn't there some rule about mixing beer with tequila? A rule he obviously didn't follow.
Jensen slants his eyes at the drink in Gale's hand. It looks interesting to someone who is usually just drinking from a can or a bottle. It’s a reddish-gold that makes him think of grapefruit. He asks, motioning at the glass. "What're you drinking?"
Gale doesn't tell him. Instead he offers him the drink, saying, "Taste it."
Jensen takes a short, cautious sip, and then another. The drink was like a Screwdriver with more of a kick, just sweet enough to make him forget he was drinking alcohol.
"It's good. What's it called?"
Gale grins, his lips curving into a smile against the glass. "A Slow Comfortable Screw Up Against the Wall."
'Cause a martini would be way too boring.
Jensen laughs in surprise, then laughs harder and longer because he knows Gale is serious. His laughter breaks up the tension that Gale has put there, the tension that was brewing and churning between them ever since Jensen stepped up to meet Gale at the bar. Gale laughs, too, even more so when Jensen asks, "What's in it?"
"Taste it again," Gale instructs, holding the glass to Jensen's lips. Jensen drinks again, and their eyes meet over the top of the glass. "What do you taste?"
Jensen picks the easiest thing right out the gate. "Orange juice."
"Yeah, there's a lot of that. What else?"
Jensen licks his lips, tongue darting out for a flickering moment. "Peaches. Cherries. Something kinda spicy. And vanilla?"
"The peach, that comes from the Southern Comfort. Cherries…well, I'm thinking that’s the sloe gin. The vanilla might be from the SoCo, or the Galliano floating on top. And there's vodka, too. You just can't taste it."
Jensen's impressed with Gale's slow, careful explanation said in an easy Southern drawl. "It's good."
Gale calls the bartender over before looking back at Jensen, eyes lingering over the younger man's body.
"Want one?"
_________________________
Slow, comfortable screws taste like peaches, oranges, and spicy, sweaty skin.
Jensen's breath is caught in the back of his throat. His thighs are wrapped tight around Gale, as if he was trying to scale the older man. All while Gale is trying to climb inside, find the deepest, hottest place in Jensen and touch it over and over, again and again.
A sharp thrust up and Jensen is loudly moaning like a whore cause he wants it. He doesn't care who hears him. It's never been this way before. Never had someone he just met. Every thing he knows about Gale, he knows through a IMDb profile. Yet that doesn't stop him. He throws his head back, releasing a long growl low under his breath. Gale tastes that exposed skin, the tip of his tongue trailing up from collarbone to jaw before he takes that skin between his teeth and bites. Jensen gasps, thighs tightening reflexively, nails dragging down the older man's chest.
Jensen just leaves behind long rows of pink scratches over Gale's shoulders and down his pecs, stopping short right above his nipples. But on Jensen's neck, at the corner of his jaw and close to his ear, there's a blushing, burning spot growing redder as Gale sucks on it.
Gale is drilling into him, pushing him further up the wall, pressing him into the door so hard that he swears the wood grain will be etched on his back as a permanent memory. Another thrust up, and the metal hinge of the front door is scraping up Jensen's spine. He curses in surprise, fingernails latching on to Gale's shoulder, grasping desperately to keep his whole world from tilting over. His heels are digging into the back of Gale's thighs, though he still can't keep himself from falling. He slides down the wall, sinking on Gale's waiting cock.
"Mmm, god damn. So tight." Gale growls. He savors the sight of Jensen in his arms- panting, sweating, blushing, eyes shut tight. His lips - God, those lips - forming a perfect, round "O" as he tries to breathe only a little bit at a time. "Jensen. Jensen, look at me."
Jensen slowly opens his eyes. Their eyes meet. Two pairs of matching hazel-gold eyes, muddy and darkened with lust, locking together.
"I want you to remember this." His voice is even. Determined. His hips cant in and out, slow and easy and torturous. "I want you to feel it for days."
Jensen manages to grind out one word - "Harder." His hands are slipping and scrabbling up Gale's chest. He tries to hold on. He's breathless; his words are dry and broken as he speaks. "Make me feel...make me feel it"
Jensen can just get lost in this, die and go to heaven for this. His back arches against the wall and he collapses against Gale's hard chest. Every time he thinks the older man is going to let him fall, he just tightens his arms around Jensen and pushes in harder, harder, harder.
Jensen tightens an arm around Gale, holding onto the man's back. He doesn't realize that he's pulling Gale's hair as he rises up and falls down, rolling his hips and riding Gale. His breath his hitched in the back of his throat and he groans, "Almost there."
Gale stops.
"No you're not,” he says, murmuring the words against Jensen's ear.
Jensen is weak, shaking, ready to beg, ready to explode all over Gale's chest. How could he stop? He can't stop now. He was so fucking there, so fucking close.
"Please," he sounds almost anguished as he repeats it again. "Please, God. Gale, please."
"No," Gale says with impossible control. He steps back from the wall, easily carrying Jensen with him like he was a child. "You're too pretty to fuck up a wall."
_________________________
Gale Harold is trying to kill him.
Jensen shudders, staring at the man above him. His heavy-lidded eyes - whiskey colored eyes, bedroom eyes, I'm going to break you apart and you're going to love it eyes. How does he keep falling for pretty packages with eyes like that?
Gale has Jensen's legs resting on his shoulders, bending the younger man exactly the way that he wants him. Jensen hangs in anticipation. He can't move, can barely even breathe. His body is still burning, still remembering how Gale felt inside him only a few minutes ago. Gale tilts his head, kissing a spot behind Jensen's knee. His hands stroke the inside of Jensen's thighs until the younger man is whimpering, warning Gale that he's going to come. He won't. They both know that. The way Gale is handling him - speeding him up before cooling him down, bringing him to the edge before pulling him back - Jensen knows he won't be coming until Gale lets him.
Just when Jensen's heart slows down, and his cock has stopped throbbing with that insistent, immediate need for release, Gale presses Jensen's knees to his chest and pushes inside. Jensen grits his teeth, just barely screaming out loud, fingers gripping the sheets tight enough to rip them. Gale is rocking against him, and Jensen is suddenly thinking of snakes. Temptation. Corruption. It's the way Gale rises up on his arms as he moves inside him. It makes Jensen think of cobras.
Gale dives into Jensen, steals hungry kisses as his cock fills Jensen. He goes slow, but deep and Jensen feels like he's being fucked up against something. Wall or bed, the feeling was the same. His back still burns.
Their separate orgasms are heartbeats apart so they blur together. Jensen feels every muscle tense then release. He lets go of Gale's hair, hands sliding down the man's ears, down his jaw, to rest on the bruises he left on Gale's shoulder. Gale collapses on top of him. They pant together. Their hearts thud-thud-thud in a steady, fast beat; Gale thinks this may be what a heart attack feels like. After a long, long while, he raises himself up on one arm. Clear little droplets - sweat, or maybe tears? - are collecting together, slipping down Jensen's cheek.
He doesn't know what it is, but he kisses it away all the same.
_________________________
Screw you, we're from Texas. Screw you, we're from Texas. We're from Texas baby, so screw you...
Jensen laughs in his sleep, even though it aches when he moves. Damn. It's awesome to know when Jared is calling without even looking at the phone. Following the sound of the twangy ringtone, his hand blindly feels for the cell phone on the bedside table. He's not sure how it got there.
"Padalecki," he croaks. His throat is scratchy-sore, and he doesn't remember why. His mouth is dry, like he's been sucking on cotton balls and licking dirty ashtrays all night. His stomach flip-flops. Ooh, best not to think about dirty ashtrays.
"Oh, man. You just sound rough," Jensen can hear the hint of smug laughter in Jared's voice. "Who did you get into last night?"
Uhh...good question. His bed is rumpled, but empty. All the clothes that litter the floor are his own.
"Uhh..." Jared mimics. Jensen hardly realizes that he had said that out loud. "I saw you heading out early with some dude. Ringing any bells?"
"Oh. Oh, right. Gale...Harold."
"No shit? That dude from that show that Sandy made me watch all the time?"
A show about hot gay men fucking and partying? It's on the tip of Jensen's tongue to point out that Sandy probably didn't need to bust out the handcuffs to get Jared to watch. Sandy was playing Grace before she even realized it. "...Right. That show."
"You hit that?" Jared asked with palpable awe in his voice. Jensen's not so sure what he did. The night before is burning up before his eyes in a blaze and a blur. His body is telling him he didn't hit that. He got mauled by that.
"Uh...yeah."
"My little Jenny is growing up so fast..."
"Shove it up your ass, Jared. And don't call me Jenny."
"Hey now. No need to get bitchy. I just wanted to know you were okay."
Jensen falls back against the pillows with a little thud. He catches a whiff of cologne in the air, a smell that's familiar but not his own. It's citrus and spice and probably expensive and far too classy. Southern Comfort comes to mind. His voice softens, "I'm okay."
"Good. So what're we doing tonight? We could check out Hyde again if you want, but I'm down for just watching a game."
"I'll--um, I'll get back to you on that."
"All right. Talk to you later, man."
"Later, Jay."
Dropping the phone onto his bed, Jensen stares up at the ceiling, trying to remember everything about last night from start to finish. He has to, has to convince himself that he didn't spend all of last night jacking off to Queer as Folk reruns, or getting fucked by a man who looked like Gale Harold if he squinted while wearing tequila goggles.
He feels a weak, buzzing vibration on the bed before he hears a familiar guitar riff, and Brian Johnson's gravelly wails bursting from his cell phone.
I was shakin' at the knees...Could I come again please? Yeah the ladies were too kind! You've been - thunderstruck!
Jensen laughs, reaching for the phone. He can’t remember the last time he used that ring tone. He eyes the phone's screen, and then he nearly drops it.
He bolts up in bed, staring incredulously, trying not to be too surprised. Then he tries not to feel so satisfied.
New Message From... Gale
From: Gale
Dinner tonight? You pick the place. I'll pick the after party. I hope that's not too presumptuous of me.
"Presumptuous?" Jensen stretches, closing the cell phone and tossing it aside. "Not at all."
He doesn't respond right away. Gale can wait it out for a little while. Besides, Jensen's still trying to cool down. Get a hold of himself. Stop shaking, stop walking that way like he just got well fucked.
So he goes to the kitchen and guzzles down a half-quart of orange juice right out of the carton before he realizes what he's doing.
NOTE: If you want an idea of what Gale Harold would smell like on *your* pillow, the cologne Jensen smells on his is Prada Amber Pour Homme
EDIT (4/13/07) - Some people don't know who Gale Harold is. *gasp!* So I added a fic banner featuring Jen and Gale, for your viewing pleasure.