Comment porn: 4 parts
I don't think it's all that shocking that I got wordier and pornier as I went.
Jared/Jensen | Orange juice and Jensen | for unamaga
Astoundingly, it makes Jensen think of that chant Mackenzie used to do, that little girl game and how she would tug on his hand; shove him to stand on the curb, repeatedly banging her tiny fist against him put a knife in your back and squeeze his shoulder let the juice run down, let the juice run down and shoving him off the giant 'cliff' at the end.
Jensen lets his eyes slip shut now, remembering the short-lived sensation of free-falling.
"Hey, Jare, did your sis ever," but the question dies upon his lips. Jared runs his tongue over the curve of Jensen's shoulder, lapping up the sticky sweetness from where he has pressed the slice of orange. Jensen had chided Jared for wolfing down his room service pancakes and bacon and damn near the whole bottle of syrup but neglecting the fruit garnish.
Seemed Jared took that as an excuse to use Jensen as his own personal juicer.
Now, a thin trickle runs down Jensen's arm, Jared's lips chasing feather light after it. The slick heat of his mouth on the crook of Jensen's elbow, tongue dancing teasing patterns over the thin skin causes Jensen to shudder, leaning back into the sturdy expanse of Jared's chest.
"Taste s'good," Jared's mumbling, fingers trailing damp and sticky over Jensen's chest. He twists one nipple between his fingers, causing Jensen to arch, and Jared to shift, and suddenly Jensen's flat on the white linen, Jared's mouth suckling the juice away as his fingers continue upward, slide past Jensen's lips.
The flavor bursts on his tongue - sweet tang of sunshine and Jared - and Jensen sucks hard, drawing them in deeper, needing to taste and feel, needing to come.
Hell, if this is all it's gonna take to get Jared to eat fruitfully, Jensen's god damn sure gonna make sure the guy is beyond healthy.
Sam/Dean | dirty fight sex | for amara_m & ellel
It's always - ALWAYS - an instant shift, crack of lightning against the sky. Only instead of separating the molecules of air, charging them outwards and electric, it's a magnetization.
They crash together with the same force as in combat, only face to face, not the strength of pressing broad shoulders together and taking on the night. There is weakness to that, Dean knows - hell, Sammy knows too - so he continues the charge; brute force and cat-like reflexes tumbling Sam to the ground, pining him at wrist and hip.
I told you, shift of hips, pull of metal teeth. You could have, rough, frantic nips along smooth flesh; breathless kisses and sweep of fingertips over a ragged tear, bloody and red. Sam simply pants, hips working, eyes locked on Dean, Always, never gonna...
There's mud caked in Dean's hair, half his face seemingly in shadow, dark and unknown. Sam wants to drag his hand over the rough surface, flake it away and see Dean, his, pure, unblemished by everything that should have taken him away long ago but he's trapped, here, beneath Dean. Dean, real and solid and grounding and lifting him up all at once, trailing spit-slicked fingers along the inside of Sam's thigh.
He bucks upward, tiny rocks digging into his back, harsh panting swirling away into the cold night air, and allows himself the pleasure of struggle. Fights and fucks because that's what they do, how it is; and the shift into something more isn't that difficult at all.
Sam/Dean | Wincest tickling | for deidre_c
"Knight Rider? Seriously, Dean, this is about as gay as you can fucking get."
Dean's mouth drops open in a scoff, catching the flickering shadows of blue and green on Sam's face. The apartment is dark, Dad gone off on the hunt, and really? His stupid 16 year old brother is gonna lecture him on the gayness of a classic fucking television show?
Dean doesn't even think about it...just pounces.
Sam is all long limbs and pointy elbows beneath him; flailing and kicking and good god? Was that a screech?
"C'mon, Dean, ge'off me," Sam protests. He struggles against the carpet, foot catching on the sofa cushion and damn near crashing it down onto Dean's back.
"You do NOT insult Kit," Dean says. Pants, because damn, Sam is growing more and more every day and the fight isn't as one sided as it used to be. One large hand comes crashing down on the back of Dean's neck, blunt nails scraping over skin in an attempt to get free.
So Dean changes his tactics.
Pressing one arm hard against Sam's chest, Dean digs the other into his side, right under Sam's ribs and wiggles his fingers. There's a shocked gasp as the motion registers, Sam's mouth falling open into a perfect 'O' before he starts to quake and shudder under Dean, gasping and crying out.
"Dean, no," Sam hiccups, "Don't. I can't..."
But Dean's not letting up, not until his point is made clear, not until Sam takes it back. Takes it back or pisses his pants laughing because Dean knows just how ticklish the motherfucker is. Slides his hand down to get behind Sam's knee, presses it up with his chest and keeps moving.
"Fuck, Dea-n." Sam's stomach is twitching, the muscles convulsing with every gasp and groan, every flicker of Dean's fingertips over smooth skin. He allows his hand to brush under soft cotton and linger for just a moment, just the briefest, barest touch. There are tears forming at the corner of Sam's slanted eyes and the sight of his brother beneath him, falling apart at the skate of Dean's palms over his ribs...
He pulls his hand away, disgusted with himself. There's no excuse for...he can't...
Sam's panting, collecting lung-fulls of air and staring up at Dean with a fierce determination. Dean knows then that he is completely screwed, that Sam's not gonna let this go and tomorrow, a week from now, hell, when he least expects it, there's gonna be a bitch of a retribution to pay.
Only it doesn't take days, weeks, months. Sam's hand is still curled around the back of Dean's neck and he tugs, pulls Dean's head down and clatters their teeth together, presses a wide and hot mouth over Dean's lips. Dean panics, his mind reeling, and then Sam is fisting his other hand in Dean's shirt, pulling him down and in with calves and tongue and fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. This isn't how it's supposed to go.
Except apparently it is. Apparently the shift and slide of Sam's hips against his own - hard and wanting and oh good god that's good - the curl of fingers through hair at the nape of his neck; the catch in his own breath that answers Sam's...apparently that's all there is.
Dean shoves the niggling of no, wrong to the back of his mind and rides it out, learns the taste of Sam as he licks into his mouth, finds the heat and weight of Sam's cock in his palm, discovers the melody of his cries when he shatters, falls apart and comes.
Realizes after just how far away the boy he knew has faded and grown.
Sawyer/Claire | Now that's material for a crack fic: someone having to wait until the batteries charge so they can have sex - the toy's batteries, that is. (brilliant prompt, no???) | for fosfomifira
He tries not to think about it as a blow to his masculinity, but...it's damn hard not to.
For god's sakes, the damn thing is neon green.
Sawyer eyes the vibrator warily, jumps when Claire's soft palms slide along his back, tickle up his sides. "Please baby," she murmurs in his ear, pressing her lips right below and really, miffed or not, James Ford is not one to back down from a challenge.
And those fools on the island had all though the girl was nothing but sugar and spice. Hell, she was spicy alright.
Claire slides around, settles herself in Sawyer's lap. The bright blue lace of her bra is a stark contrast to the creamy porcelain of her skin, and Sawyer forgets the toy sitting on the nightstand for the moment (charging, and wasn't that a bitch, having to wait for batteries to charge before she'd let him touch her). Nuzzles into her skin, fingers curling over slender hips, tongue dragging a wet line up her breast bone.
"Please," she pants again, grinding her hips down, scraping cotton boxers with silk. The scent of her is heady, filling the air and Sawyer simply nods. Settles her back on the pillow. Her hair fans out, golden and shimmering and she stares down, eyes half-lidded and full of lust.
Sawyer works his way down her body, lips pressing a random trail, tongue flicking out to taste her skin. She melts into him, pressing up, creamy and sweet, threads her fingers through his hair, still, after all this time, bleached lighter by the sun.
He may have settled down, but fuck if he was gonna follow rules. Australia didn't want him there? Well fuck them.
Sawyer peels Claire's panties off with a roll of fingers, drags them down her thighs. Then he's up, devouring her mouth with his own; hot, open kisses, pleas against his lips as he works two fingers between her legs, presses in and rocks the heel of his hand. She's wet, so wet, and Sawyer forgets himself for a moment until she nips at his lip with sharp teeth.
"C'mon. Do it," Claire says. Presses the vibrator into his palm, dares him with glittering eyes.
"Yeah." Then he's twisting her hair in his hand, tugging her head back and biting at her collarbone. Claire lets out a small cry, shifts beneath the press of his cock on her hip. "Turn over."
She sucks her lip between her teeth, watching and considering. He knows she trusts him - has said so much with much more at stake - knows this is all part of the game. Part of the push/pull.
Leisurely, Claire rolls over, sliding her thigh against him with practiced ease as she goes. That earns her a swat, flesh flaring pink, the imprint of his palm brightening her ass. She only gasps, shivers, shifts back as a silent plea.
"You're a slut for it, ain't ya," Sawyer breathes against the small of her back. Wraps one hand against her hip and jerks her back so her ass is high in the air. "Want it again?"
Claire moans, broken and high, and Sawyer slaps her again, traces the swollen flesh with his tongue. She's dripping, thighs spread, knees braced wide on the mattress and Sawyer thinks he might just come at the sight, lose it at the serpentine motion of her spine as he clicks the vibrator on and sinks it deep inside.
A litany of filthy cries fill the room, curses to make a sailor blush but Sawyer is not that, so he just twists his wrist, fucks the green latex between the apex of Claire's legs, listens to her keen and arch, drowning out the dull buzz of the toy.
He feels dizzy he's so hard, but if Claire wants to play, wants to challenge, he's gonna give her what she asked for, gonna make her fall apart so hard she'll never think to toy with anything but Sawyer again.
Spreading his free hand over her ass, he parts her. The welts from where he hit her are hot under his fingertips, but not as hot as the ring of muscle before him, not as hot as the folds of skin his hand brush against as he fucks into her with the vibrator. He runs a slow swipe of his tongue over her, presses her even further open with thumb and mouth and Claire cries out, a sharp note slicing through the room. Shudders under his hands, comes wet and hot and sticky along her thighs.
Sawyer flips her, withdraws the toy and tosses it to the side, sliding his shoulders under her legs instead. He holds her down, licks at her until she's screaming, coming a second time and flooding him, hotspicysweet.
He finally comes, minutes later, buried inside her hot, tight embrace, the taste of her slick on both their lips.
YA'LL WILL GET SAM POPPIN CHERRIES LATER, K? K.
Jared/Jensen | Orange juice and Jensen | for unamaga
Astoundingly, it makes Jensen think of that chant Mackenzie used to do, that little girl game and how she would tug on his hand; shove him to stand on the curb, repeatedly banging her tiny fist against him put a knife in your back and squeeze his shoulder let the juice run down, let the juice run down and shoving him off the giant 'cliff' at the end.
Jensen lets his eyes slip shut now, remembering the short-lived sensation of free-falling.
"Hey, Jare, did your sis ever," but the question dies upon his lips. Jared runs his tongue over the curve of Jensen's shoulder, lapping up the sticky sweetness from where he has pressed the slice of orange. Jensen had chided Jared for wolfing down his room service pancakes and bacon and damn near the whole bottle of syrup but neglecting the fruit garnish.
Seemed Jared took that as an excuse to use Jensen as his own personal juicer.
Now, a thin trickle runs down Jensen's arm, Jared's lips chasing feather light after it. The slick heat of his mouth on the crook of Jensen's elbow, tongue dancing teasing patterns over the thin skin causes Jensen to shudder, leaning back into the sturdy expanse of Jared's chest.
"Taste s'good," Jared's mumbling, fingers trailing damp and sticky over Jensen's chest. He twists one nipple between his fingers, causing Jensen to arch, and Jared to shift, and suddenly Jensen's flat on the white linen, Jared's mouth suckling the juice away as his fingers continue upward, slide past Jensen's lips.
The flavor bursts on his tongue - sweet tang of sunshine and Jared - and Jensen sucks hard, drawing them in deeper, needing to taste and feel, needing to come.
Hell, if this is all it's gonna take to get Jared to eat fruitfully, Jensen's god damn sure gonna make sure the guy is beyond healthy.
Sam/Dean | dirty fight sex | for amara_m & ellel
It's always - ALWAYS - an instant shift, crack of lightning against the sky. Only instead of separating the molecules of air, charging them outwards and electric, it's a magnetization.
They crash together with the same force as in combat, only face to face, not the strength of pressing broad shoulders together and taking on the night. There is weakness to that, Dean knows - hell, Sammy knows too - so he continues the charge; brute force and cat-like reflexes tumbling Sam to the ground, pining him at wrist and hip.
I told you, shift of hips, pull of metal teeth. You could have, rough, frantic nips along smooth flesh; breathless kisses and sweep of fingertips over a ragged tear, bloody and red. Sam simply pants, hips working, eyes locked on Dean, Always, never gonna...
There's mud caked in Dean's hair, half his face seemingly in shadow, dark and unknown. Sam wants to drag his hand over the rough surface, flake it away and see Dean, his, pure, unblemished by everything that should have taken him away long ago but he's trapped, here, beneath Dean. Dean, real and solid and grounding and lifting him up all at once, trailing spit-slicked fingers along the inside of Sam's thigh.
He bucks upward, tiny rocks digging into his back, harsh panting swirling away into the cold night air, and allows himself the pleasure of struggle. Fights and fucks because that's what they do, how it is; and the shift into something more isn't that difficult at all.
Sam/Dean | Wincest tickling | for deidre_c
"Knight Rider? Seriously, Dean, this is about as gay as you can fucking get."
Dean's mouth drops open in a scoff, catching the flickering shadows of blue and green on Sam's face. The apartment is dark, Dad gone off on the hunt, and really? His stupid 16 year old brother is gonna lecture him on the gayness of a classic fucking television show?
Dean doesn't even think about it...just pounces.
Sam is all long limbs and pointy elbows beneath him; flailing and kicking and good god? Was that a screech?
"C'mon, Dean, ge'off me," Sam protests. He struggles against the carpet, foot catching on the sofa cushion and damn near crashing it down onto Dean's back.
"You do NOT insult Kit," Dean says. Pants, because damn, Sam is growing more and more every day and the fight isn't as one sided as it used to be. One large hand comes crashing down on the back of Dean's neck, blunt nails scraping over skin in an attempt to get free.
So Dean changes his tactics.
Pressing one arm hard against Sam's chest, Dean digs the other into his side, right under Sam's ribs and wiggles his fingers. There's a shocked gasp as the motion registers, Sam's mouth falling open into a perfect 'O' before he starts to quake and shudder under Dean, gasping and crying out.
"Dean, no," Sam hiccups, "Don't. I can't..."
But Dean's not letting up, not until his point is made clear, not until Sam takes it back. Takes it back or pisses his pants laughing because Dean knows just how ticklish the motherfucker is. Slides his hand down to get behind Sam's knee, presses it up with his chest and keeps moving.
"Fuck, Dea-n." Sam's stomach is twitching, the muscles convulsing with every gasp and groan, every flicker of Dean's fingertips over smooth skin. He allows his hand to brush under soft cotton and linger for just a moment, just the briefest, barest touch. There are tears forming at the corner of Sam's slanted eyes and the sight of his brother beneath him, falling apart at the skate of Dean's palms over his ribs...
He pulls his hand away, disgusted with himself. There's no excuse for...he can't...
Sam's panting, collecting lung-fulls of air and staring up at Dean with a fierce determination. Dean knows then that he is completely screwed, that Sam's not gonna let this go and tomorrow, a week from now, hell, when he least expects it, there's gonna be a bitch of a retribution to pay.
Only it doesn't take days, weeks, months. Sam's hand is still curled around the back of Dean's neck and he tugs, pulls Dean's head down and clatters their teeth together, presses a wide and hot mouth over Dean's lips. Dean panics, his mind reeling, and then Sam is fisting his other hand in Dean's shirt, pulling him down and in with calves and tongue and fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. This isn't how it's supposed to go.
Except apparently it is. Apparently the shift and slide of Sam's hips against his own - hard and wanting and oh good god that's good - the curl of fingers through hair at the nape of his neck; the catch in his own breath that answers Sam's...apparently that's all there is.
Dean shoves the niggling of no, wrong to the back of his mind and rides it out, learns the taste of Sam as he licks into his mouth, finds the heat and weight of Sam's cock in his palm, discovers the melody of his cries when he shatters, falls apart and comes.
Realizes after just how far away the boy he knew has faded and grown.
Sawyer/Claire | Now that's material for a crack fic: someone having to wait until the batteries charge so they can have sex - the toy's batteries, that is. (brilliant prompt, no???) | for fosfomifira
He tries not to think about it as a blow to his masculinity, but...it's damn hard not to.
For god's sakes, the damn thing is neon green.
Sawyer eyes the vibrator warily, jumps when Claire's soft palms slide along his back, tickle up his sides. "Please baby," she murmurs in his ear, pressing her lips right below and really, miffed or not, James Ford is not one to back down from a challenge.
And those fools on the island had all though the girl was nothing but sugar and spice. Hell, she was spicy alright.
Claire slides around, settles herself in Sawyer's lap. The bright blue lace of her bra is a stark contrast to the creamy porcelain of her skin, and Sawyer forgets the toy sitting on the nightstand for the moment (charging, and wasn't that a bitch, having to wait for batteries to charge before she'd let him touch her). Nuzzles into her skin, fingers curling over slender hips, tongue dragging a wet line up her breast bone.
"Please," she pants again, grinding her hips down, scraping cotton boxers with silk. The scent of her is heady, filling the air and Sawyer simply nods. Settles her back on the pillow. Her hair fans out, golden and shimmering and she stares down, eyes half-lidded and full of lust.
Sawyer works his way down her body, lips pressing a random trail, tongue flicking out to taste her skin. She melts into him, pressing up, creamy and sweet, threads her fingers through his hair, still, after all this time, bleached lighter by the sun.
He may have settled down, but fuck if he was gonna follow rules. Australia didn't want him there? Well fuck them.
Sawyer peels Claire's panties off with a roll of fingers, drags them down her thighs. Then he's up, devouring her mouth with his own; hot, open kisses, pleas against his lips as he works two fingers between her legs, presses in and rocks the heel of his hand. She's wet, so wet, and Sawyer forgets himself for a moment until she nips at his lip with sharp teeth.
"C'mon. Do it," Claire says. Presses the vibrator into his palm, dares him with glittering eyes.
"Yeah." Then he's twisting her hair in his hand, tugging her head back and biting at her collarbone. Claire lets out a small cry, shifts beneath the press of his cock on her hip. "Turn over."
She sucks her lip between her teeth, watching and considering. He knows she trusts him - has said so much with much more at stake - knows this is all part of the game. Part of the push/pull.
Leisurely, Claire rolls over, sliding her thigh against him with practiced ease as she goes. That earns her a swat, flesh flaring pink, the imprint of his palm brightening her ass. She only gasps, shivers, shifts back as a silent plea.
"You're a slut for it, ain't ya," Sawyer breathes against the small of her back. Wraps one hand against her hip and jerks her back so her ass is high in the air. "Want it again?"
Claire moans, broken and high, and Sawyer slaps her again, traces the swollen flesh with his tongue. She's dripping, thighs spread, knees braced wide on the mattress and Sawyer thinks he might just come at the sight, lose it at the serpentine motion of her spine as he clicks the vibrator on and sinks it deep inside.
A litany of filthy cries fill the room, curses to make a sailor blush but Sawyer is not that, so he just twists his wrist, fucks the green latex between the apex of Claire's legs, listens to her keen and arch, drowning out the dull buzz of the toy.
He feels dizzy he's so hard, but if Claire wants to play, wants to challenge, he's gonna give her what she asked for, gonna make her fall apart so hard she'll never think to toy with anything but Sawyer again.
Spreading his free hand over her ass, he parts her. The welts from where he hit her are hot under his fingertips, but not as hot as the ring of muscle before him, not as hot as the folds of skin his hand brush against as he fucks into her with the vibrator. He runs a slow swipe of his tongue over her, presses her even further open with thumb and mouth and Claire cries out, a sharp note slicing through the room. Shudders under his hands, comes wet and hot and sticky along her thighs.
Sawyer flips her, withdraws the toy and tosses it to the side, sliding his shoulders under her legs instead. He holds her down, licks at her until she's screaming, coming a second time and flooding him, hotspicysweet.
He finally comes, minutes later, buried inside her hot, tight embrace, the taste of her slick on both their lips.
YA'LL WILL GET SAM POPPIN CHERRIES LATER, K? K.