Fic: The Things You Deny (The Things I Embrace)
Title: The Things You Deny (The Things I Embrace)
Author: tawg
Word count: ~1,000
Rating: R
Pairings/characters:
Notes:Written for round six of blindfold-spn, posted here
Prompt: Jacob/Jimmy in a classic sex pollen/fuck or die scenario. Dirty talking would also be appreciated.
The Things You Deny (The Things I Embrace)
The door is ripped open with clumsy fingers and two figures tumble into the room, pulling near and shoving away, a stumbling dance of a fight. Their faces are close though, always so close.
“- Your fucking hunt that went wrong.”
“I didn’t ask you to come along. ‘Take samples for posterity!’ Who does that?”
“Excuse me for thinking that we might be able to learn something from some goddamn demon flowers.”
“You’re a physicist! What the hell are-” but his words are cut off by a mouth sealing over his, tongue gritty with a bittersweet powder, stubble rubbing against stubble and hands are gripping at hips and grasping at hair as they stumble through the room.
“Clothes,” one of them says. “Off.”
“Shower,” the other counters. “Now.”
There’s no gentle pause, not artful strip. Just two pairs of boots covered in dust stumbling over the transition from carpet to tiles, two shoulder blades impacting with the cold, smooth tiles of the shower cubicle, and two mouths colliding and consuming as clumsy hands reach for the taps. Water pours down heavily, too cold and too fast, making them both gasp and jolt against one another. Neither moves away. Kissing in the cold rain of chemically treated water until their clothes are soaking, until the dust covering them both is turning to mud and washing slowly, sluggishly down the drain. One of them pulls away, sucking in a needed breath of air.
“I can’t believe you took you mask off.”
“You pulled it off me.”
“Then I can’t believe you let me.” Fingers tighten in hair, pulling a head back, and lips find the appetising line and stretch of a throat. “Can’t believe you let me get away with any of it.”
“Fucking idiot. Too damn cocky to tie you own goddamn- hnng.” Words cut off with the desperate shove of warm hands under wet clothes. Layers pushed and manhandled until sodden shirts and jackets litter the floor of the shower cubicle, creating islands and continents under the weight of the flood.
“God, Jimmy, you have such a filthy mouth sometimes.” Teeth biting the soft flesh of an ear lobe, lips sucking and hands groping and the swollen leather of a belt is eased through the shiny metal buckle. “Don’t stop. Don’t you ever stop cussing like that, Jimmy.”
“Would have been fucking fine if you hadn’t turned up.”
A snort of laughter. “You’re the one who dragged me into this.” Boots toed off awkwardly, filled with water and only getting wetter as they’re kicked to one side. “Turned up, out of the blue and grabbed me. Your hands, Jimmy. Fuck. Always want them.”
One pushes the other back against the wall, the spray around them finally heating up. “God, you’re messed up.” Kissing hard, brutal, hypocritical.
“You make me better though. Jimmy, Jimmy I need-”
Hands grasping flesh, grabbing a hip and digging the thumb in hard against the line of the bone. Grabbing the heavy wet denim and shoving it down, tips of fingers tangling in cotton underpants that have been stolen and traded so many times neither can remember the original owner. A palm sits hard against aching-needing-wanting. Two bodies pause, foreheads pressed together and mouths huffing shared breath into each other’s lungs. A line, an equator of morality drawn between these two shifting landmasses, continents straddling the equator and then a twist of hips leads to an embrace of this tropical heat and borders are redrawn, sending them tumbling into some foreign place that feels entirely too familiar.
“Yes. Fuck. Like that, Jimmy.”
“Shut up,” a hard response to delirious words. “For once in your life just shut up.”
“Don’t stop. Never stop. Fuck, Jimmy, want you inside.”
“Jake-”
“Want you so close, want you here, Jimmy. Fucking need you.”
“Jacob,” a pause for a hard kiss, wet and dirty in the shower head rain, teeth clashing and lips caught between. Collateral damage and one twin tastes blood as the other tastes frenzy. “Jacob, shut up.”
“I want you. Want to fucking choke on you-” Lips sealed against lips, a tongue mapping out the roof of a mouth while the reciprocating space is warm and welcoming, so hard to leave. Wet denim shoved down pale thighs and the water is hot enough to make skin blush and scald but never hot enough to wash the sensation of familiar hands mapping virgin topography, to wash away the unsurprised cartography of identical bodies moving with instinctive complement - a push met by a retreat, a bite returned with the caress of lips. A face buried in the juncture between shoulder and neck, the bridge of a nose pressed hard and awkward against the appealing curve of a clavicle and in return wide blue eyes stare up at a watermarked ceiling with unblinking intensity. Muffled noises of reluctant carnality contrasted with clear words of “Yes” and “Jimmy” and “God” and “Fuck”.
The water turns cold, making skin prickle and bodies peel apart. Nipples are hard nubs of flesh and the mess of chocolate brown hair is painted black with the wetness. Mud and life and sperm and fervour are washed off identical bodies, catching on the hairs of a leg and the itch of wet socks that are bunched at the ankle. A mess of a mistake mooring its traits in the fjords of ruined clothing and avoided gazes.
In the morning, between waking up alone and staring at the ceiling of an empty room, they talk.
“Jimmy-”
“I don’t remember, okay?”
“Jim.”
“I don’t... I don’t care, alright? Whatever the f- whatever happened, let’s just forget about it. I’m going to load up the car.”
A sigh, the sound of keys being pick up off a bedside table, the almost-slam of the door. The sound of a single sheet moving over a naked body. A small noise: sadness, frustration, lust. A name, and the feeling of a palm cupping flesh.
They won’t talk about it, he’ll play by that rule. But nothing can make him regret it.
Author: tawg
Word count: ~1,000
Rating: R
Pairings/characters:
Notes:Written for round six of blindfold-spn, posted here
Prompt: Jacob/Jimmy in a classic sex pollen/fuck or die scenario. Dirty talking would also be appreciated.
The Things You Deny (The Things I Embrace)
The door is ripped open with clumsy fingers and two figures tumble into the room, pulling near and shoving away, a stumbling dance of a fight. Their faces are close though, always so close.
“- Your fucking hunt that went wrong.”
“I didn’t ask you to come along. ‘Take samples for posterity!’ Who does that?”
“Excuse me for thinking that we might be able to learn something from some goddamn demon flowers.”
“You’re a physicist! What the hell are-” but his words are cut off by a mouth sealing over his, tongue gritty with a bittersweet powder, stubble rubbing against stubble and hands are gripping at hips and grasping at hair as they stumble through the room.
“Clothes,” one of them says. “Off.”
“Shower,” the other counters. “Now.”
There’s no gentle pause, not artful strip. Just two pairs of boots covered in dust stumbling over the transition from carpet to tiles, two shoulder blades impacting with the cold, smooth tiles of the shower cubicle, and two mouths colliding and consuming as clumsy hands reach for the taps. Water pours down heavily, too cold and too fast, making them both gasp and jolt against one another. Neither moves away. Kissing in the cold rain of chemically treated water until their clothes are soaking, until the dust covering them both is turning to mud and washing slowly, sluggishly down the drain. One of them pulls away, sucking in a needed breath of air.
“I can’t believe you took you mask off.”
“You pulled it off me.”
“Then I can’t believe you let me.” Fingers tighten in hair, pulling a head back, and lips find the appetising line and stretch of a throat. “Can’t believe you let me get away with any of it.”
“Fucking idiot. Too damn cocky to tie you own goddamn- hnng.” Words cut off with the desperate shove of warm hands under wet clothes. Layers pushed and manhandled until sodden shirts and jackets litter the floor of the shower cubicle, creating islands and continents under the weight of the flood.
“God, Jimmy, you have such a filthy mouth sometimes.” Teeth biting the soft flesh of an ear lobe, lips sucking and hands groping and the swollen leather of a belt is eased through the shiny metal buckle. “Don’t stop. Don’t you ever stop cussing like that, Jimmy.”
“Would have been fucking fine if you hadn’t turned up.”
A snort of laughter. “You’re the one who dragged me into this.” Boots toed off awkwardly, filled with water and only getting wetter as they’re kicked to one side. “Turned up, out of the blue and grabbed me. Your hands, Jimmy. Fuck. Always want them.”
One pushes the other back against the wall, the spray around them finally heating up. “God, you’re messed up.” Kissing hard, brutal, hypocritical.
“You make me better though. Jimmy, Jimmy I need-”
Hands grasping flesh, grabbing a hip and digging the thumb in hard against the line of the bone. Grabbing the heavy wet denim and shoving it down, tips of fingers tangling in cotton underpants that have been stolen and traded so many times neither can remember the original owner. A palm sits hard against aching-needing-wanting. Two bodies pause, foreheads pressed together and mouths huffing shared breath into each other’s lungs. A line, an equator of morality drawn between these two shifting landmasses, continents straddling the equator and then a twist of hips leads to an embrace of this tropical heat and borders are redrawn, sending them tumbling into some foreign place that feels entirely too familiar.
“Yes. Fuck. Like that, Jimmy.”
“Shut up,” a hard response to delirious words. “For once in your life just shut up.”
“Don’t stop. Never stop. Fuck, Jimmy, want you inside.”
“Jake-”
“Want you so close, want you here, Jimmy. Fucking need you.”
“Jacob,” a pause for a hard kiss, wet and dirty in the shower head rain, teeth clashing and lips caught between. Collateral damage and one twin tastes blood as the other tastes frenzy. “Jacob, shut up.”
“I want you. Want to fucking choke on you-” Lips sealed against lips, a tongue mapping out the roof of a mouth while the reciprocating space is warm and welcoming, so hard to leave. Wet denim shoved down pale thighs and the water is hot enough to make skin blush and scald but never hot enough to wash the sensation of familiar hands mapping virgin topography, to wash away the unsurprised cartography of identical bodies moving with instinctive complement - a push met by a retreat, a bite returned with the caress of lips. A face buried in the juncture between shoulder and neck, the bridge of a nose pressed hard and awkward against the appealing curve of a clavicle and in return wide blue eyes stare up at a watermarked ceiling with unblinking intensity. Muffled noises of reluctant carnality contrasted with clear words of “Yes” and “Jimmy” and “God” and “Fuck”.
The water turns cold, making skin prickle and bodies peel apart. Nipples are hard nubs of flesh and the mess of chocolate brown hair is painted black with the wetness. Mud and life and sperm and fervour are washed off identical bodies, catching on the hairs of a leg and the itch of wet socks that are bunched at the ankle. A mess of a mistake mooring its traits in the fjords of ruined clothing and avoided gazes.
In the morning, between waking up alone and staring at the ceiling of an empty room, they talk.
“Jimmy-”
“I don’t remember, okay?”
“Jim.”
“I don’t... I don’t care, alright? Whatever the f- whatever happened, let’s just forget about it. I’m going to load up the car.”
A sigh, the sound of keys being pick up off a bedside table, the almost-slam of the door. The sound of a single sheet moving over a naked body. A small noise: sadness, frustration, lust. A name, and the feeling of a palm cupping flesh.
They won’t talk about it, he’ll play by that rule. But nothing can make him regret it.