The title amuses me, silly as it is.
And, GAH. I haven't posted a fic in a MONTH. I am beyond excited to do so.
Title: Cook Then Cock [House Rules]
Pairing: Jensen Ackles/Jeffrey Dean Morgan
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,300
Disclaimer: I made this up. Alas!
Summary: I told someone once: I just want Jeff to ravish him, which sounds SO GIRLIE BUT I DON'T CARE. And so here it is. Jeff cooks, Jensen is drunk and pissy and then gets his just desserts.
A/N: I started this fic when JDM was on Rachael Ray and today decided it HAD to be finished. Dedicated to darci_marie who did, indeed, hook me up w/ SPN when I whined and cried about missing JDM. So...maybe my obsession is all YOUR fault, not his ;) Happy birthday darling, hope this brings a smile to your face and a little dance to your pants.
Jensen catches his reflection in the stainless steel of the fridge door. His eyes are blown wide, lips parted and stained deep with wine. His ears ring, blood pounding through his veins like a freight train.
And they haven’t even gotten to the main course yet.
“Jen?”
Jensen shakes his head clear, pressing one palm flat against the slick surface of the refrigerator door, and turns.
Jeff stands in the center of his kitchen - his spacious, fucking professional chef’s kitchen - and waves the gleaming blade he’s grasping lazily in the air.
“Parsley, Jensen. That’s all I need.”
And it’s not that Jensen is trying to be flighty, no, not at all. It’s just that…Jeff stands here in the center of his kitchen, all long and lean and in charge, like…the master of his domain and all that alpha dog machismo shit except Jeff? He…he makes it work, not overbearing at all.
And, yeah, so maybe polishing off the bottle of merlot while nibbling on cheese and watching Jeff work his hands like lightning over the kitchen island, chopping, dicing, filleting, whateverthefuck he was doing…maybe that wasn’t all too wise of a thing to do.
But whatever, Jensen thinks. He’s here and Jeff’s making him dinner and that’ll sober him up, right? Stop the low simmer in his veins, the warm spread of heat in his groin and…
There’s a clunk as Jeff places the knife down on the cutting board and then he’s there, in front of Jensen. Closing his eyes, Jensen takes a deep breath and allows his body to sway, follows the pull of gravity towards Jeff that he eludes simply by being.
Jeff’s arm brushes over Jensen’s, a murmur of heat that sears him to the core and then…a cool blast of air against his back as Jeff pulls open the fridge door. Jensen starts and when he opens his eyes, Jeff is before him, the leafy bunch of greenery held up triumphantly. He hooks his foot in the rung of one of the kitchen stools and pulls it out.
“You’re not gonna help me, obviously, so sit your ass down.” The order isn’t angry, just plain observation. Jensen pours himself atop the stool, palms flat on the counter to steady himself against the nasty sway of the polished top.
Jeff laughs, turning back to the counter and chopping parsley with the swift flick of his wrist. The low rumble of Jeff’s voice pounds through Jensen’s chest like a bass drum, and he has no idea what Jeff is chuckling at, but he doesn’t really like it.
“What?” Jensen snaps. Jeff ignores him, but Jensen’s rather proud that his temperament colors his tone. Very professional. He makes note to use that bit of infliction on next week’s script and stretches for the fresh bottle of wine just out of his reach on the counter.
His fingertips brush the slick surface of green glass and then it’s gone, Jeff snatching it away.
“Oh no, sunshine, I think you’ve had your fill till dinner.”
“What? I…,” Jensen is a loss. His fingers clutch in the open air, and he sways on his stool. The tile floor angles up at him and hey, the Spanish-style clay décor is really quite fitting.
He falls forward with a thud, landing against the hard plain of Jeff’s chest. Somehow, his ass is still connected with the wooden seat of the stool.
Thank god for small favors. Jensen’s not quite sure that an imprint of the tile against his cheek would be half as flattering as the workmanship actually on the ground. He spits out a mouthful of soft cotton and angles his chin to peer up at Jeff’s towering form. His steady, warm, comfortable form.
“You alright there?” Jeff asks, his palm sliding down Jensen’s spine.
The shudder hits him and there’s no denying the affect Jeff has on him. His voice, his touch, his fucking presence. The guy couldn’t be more intense without trying if he…tried.
Jensen throws caution to the wind and presses his lips to Jeff’s.
Except, well. His aim is kind of off and he ends up grazing Jeff’s jaw with his lips instead. The stubble of Jeff’s beard prickles against the heat of his mouth.
“Yeah, you’re not drinking anymore tonight, princess.” Jeff pulls back, his hands a warm weight on Jensen’s shoulders. He settles Jensen on the stool and squeezes once; smiles. “Anyways, dinner’s almost ready. ‘M not having you pass out in a plateful of pasta.”
Jensen is miffed. No one…no one turns him down. What the hell?
And…Princess? He’ll let that slide…for now.
“Wanna. Wanna taste you,” Jensen slurs. Jeff’s eyes darken, the briefest flash of heat glazing his features. He swallows hard and Jensen hungrily follows the bob of his Adam’s apple with his eyes.
“Let’s just give you a taste of my fine cooking and you’ll be fine.”
Jensen pouts, sticks his lower lip out like the fucking champion of the scowl. Why the hell did Jeff have to be so difficult? Sure, dinner, yes. That was all great and fine and dandy and real hospitable of Jeff but wasn’t a host supposed to cater to their guest’s every desire? All Jensen wants is Jeff’s dick in his mouth and he’s damn pissed that he has to work for such a small favor. Greedy bastard. Non cock-sharer.
“Now that’s just not playing fair,” Jeff growls, his hand sliding up the curve of Jensen’s neck. His thumb brushes over Jensen’s lip, rough calluses stroking sensitive flesh and it’s so not what Jensen wants but what the hell. He can roll with it.
He sucks the digit into his mouth, tracing the pad with his tongue and staring up at Jeff from beneath his lashes. If this doesn’t work, Jensen has no idea what will, so he pours all his desire into playing over Jeff’s thumb with his mouth.
It’s pulled away too soon, and Jensen opens his mouth to complain, hell, plead if his has to but he doesn’t get further than a muffled, “Je-ff.”
And no, he is not whining, thankyouverymuch.
Jeff’s tongue traces the inner ridge of Jensen’s lower lip, no easing into it. He just thrusts inside, fitting his lips over Jensen’s, one hand twined in the short hairs at the base of Jensen’s skull. Maneuvering him the way he wants, Jeff presses mouths and hips and chests together and yes, finally, Jensen thinks.
Not that he’s able to think beyond that. Jeff’s stealing away any ability to do so with every curl and thrust of his tongue, every shift of his hips against Jensen’s rising erection. Jensen hooks his leg around the back of Jeff’s knee, tugging him closer still, and moans against Jeff’s mouth at the added friction. It’s like…it’s like his insides are liquefying, bleeding outward into the too tight confines of his skin. Jensen tilts his head and presses his tongue forward, curling it around Jeff’s, savoring the heat and flavor of his mouth.
Jeff sucks on Jensen’s lower lip, gives a sharp, teasing bite with the edge of his teeth, and Jensen hisses, tightening his thighs. He wants Jeff closer, inside, wants Jeff right there and…is he still hissing?
“Shit!” Jeff yanks away as if the graze of Jensen’s cock on his hip was fire or something and what the fuck? Jensen damn nears falls off the stool again as Jeff digs his fingers hard into Jensen’s shoulder and pushes him against the countertop, untangling himself from Jensen’s grasp. Seriously now. This is getting ridiculous. Jensen’s never had to work this hard to get his way. He tells Jeff just that.
Except Jeff is gone. He’s raced back over to the stove and Jensen follows the long, lean lines of Jeff’s body up to where his fingers are wrapped around the handle of a pot.
“Fucking pasta boiled over,” he’s mumbling. Jeff fumbles with the dials, slides the pot back onto the stove, water sloshing over the sides. Jensen just stares. Well then. At least now he knows Jeff isn’t, like, terrified of his dick or something. Food burning. That’s a perfectly understandable excuse.
Though Jensen distinctly remembers someone once saying (growling in his ear while pushing deep inside, sweat pooling along his spine and yeah, but that was a good time) that they’d rather feast on him all day and starve. But, whatever. Jensen will remind Jeff of that later. After they eat.
Sliding off his stool, Jensen pads over to where Jeff is now hunched over the stove.
“Hey,” Jensen says, aligning his body along the curve of Jeff’s spine. He lets his voice drop, aims for sultry and seductive; maybe he can remind Jeff right now what would be a better meal. Sliding his palms deep into the back pockets of Jeff’s jeans, Jensen squeezes. “Anything I can do to help?”
The muscles of Jeff’s back expand as he takes a tremendous gulp of air, sighs. Jensen can feel the vibrations rocket straight through his body. And then…then his damn body answers in response, his stomach rumbling loudly.
Jeff begins to shake beneath where Jensen blankets him. “You…you wanna control that thing, Jen?”
Jensen nips at the skin behind Jeff’s ear in retaliation. “Shut up. You just finish making me my dinner, bitch.” He tugs his hands free and swats Jeff on the ass. “And maybe, if it satisfies me, I’ll pay you back with a little dessert.”
Jeff twists around, leans against the counter. His tee shirt pulls across his chest, rounding at his shoulders. Only Jeff would cook pasta and sauce in a white tee. And the damn bastard doesn't have even a fleck marring the pristine expanse of material.
Even worse? He’s still laughing. At Jensen. He knows that for sure this time.
“What?” And yeah, Jensen thinks, nodding to himself, he’s getting damn good at that snippy tone. Definitely using that later.
Jeff just grins, broad and wide and Jensen’s stomach does that same roller coaster flip-flop that it always does around the man. “’S just cute that you think you’re all big and bad and manly. Like I’m playing housewife to you.” Jeff threads his fingers through the loops of Jensen’s (tight, too tight) jeans, tugging him close. Stumbling a bit, Jensen’s foot lands between Jeff’s open thighs, and he gasps when Jeff grinds forward.
“House rules, boy,” Jeff growls, his lips only millimeters from Jensen’s ear. “I cook, you clean. And I got you a fancy, frilly apron to use just for the occasion.”
Jensen gasps, eyes going wide. Jeff wouldn’t. I mean, Jensen…well, shit. He supposes for Jeff, he would, but…
He looks up, catches Jeff’s gaze, and watches the hard, darkened look go soft, sees Jeff’s eyes crinkle, his cheeks round. The fucking bastard is laughing again.
Jensen huffs, pouts, and shoves Jeff’s shoulder hard. Fucking asshole. Pushing past, Jensen stalks off to the dining room. He’ll…he’ll show that dick - let him finish cooking alone. Yeah. God damn teasing, blue-balling asshole.
Jensen spends the next ten minutes sitting at the table though, imagining pink ribbon binding Jeff to the headboard of his bed. It’s a decent enough appetizer, and by the time Jeff enters, arms laden with steaming plates, Jensen’s mouth is watering appropriately.
~xxx~
Jensen could kill him. Like, murder him in his sleep and feed his body to…to…to some crocodile somewhere and get away with it. Totally. As if attempting to eat dinner with a hard on that could fucking hammer nails wasn’t difficult enough; as if trying to savor each bite of pasta, each meatball that melted in his mouth (while desperately wanting a very different type of meat on his tongue, however good Jeff’s cooking was - and DAMN IT, it was) wasn’t difficult enough, now Jensen’s got his hands submerged in the sink and the ache between his legs just will not go away.
And it’s just…it’s just not fair. Jensen’s been good and worked hard and it’s his weekend free and you’d think that Jeff would see that; would recognize that as a good friend you just don’t leave a guy hard and wanting.
But fine. Jeff wants to play it that way, then…fine. Jensen will just finish washing these damn dishes and say good night and catch a cab home. Call Jared and get him to talk him over the edge. Because Jared is like that. He’s a good friend.
“Still sulkin’, sweetheart?” And Jensen totally does not jump, no sir. The water in the sink does, however, suddenly take on a life of its own and decides to lick at the rolled up sleeves of his button-down and man, Jensen really does not feel like wandering around LA in a damp shirt. Because as soon as these dishes are done…out of here.
“No,” he mumbles, the petulance so thinly veiled in his voice that the answering laugh is rather expected from Jeff. And yeah, at least now Jensen has the upper hand here and is totally all too aware of the reality of the situation. Of Jeff toying with him.
FINE.
Scrubbing the pot in his hand viciously, Jensen focuses all his anger on the shiny surface. He runs it under the faucet and lifts it onto the drying rack, listening to Jeff patter around the kitchen behind him - opening the fridge, putting things back in their rightful place. When he leaves to retrieve the rest of the dishes, Jensen dunks his hands back in again, a splash of water catching him unaware once more. Really should learn to focus, Jensen mutters to himself, annoyed. Stepping back to dry his hands on the dishrag, Jensen unbuttons his shirt and tosses it onto the stool beside him before turning his attention back to the (full, still too full) sink.
He’s just getting the damn crud off the wooden soup spoon when he hears a clatter behind him. Wrists submerged beneath the lukewarm, soapy water, Jensen twists to see Jeff standing in the doorway, brow furrowed. He’s got the dishes stacked in one hand, the other balled into a tight fist.
And Jensen’s just tired now. His head throbs with the dull ache of too much wine, the crotch of his jeans is still confining and his hands are gonna be all dry from the water. “What,” he sighs, the fight drained from him.
But Jeff doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even grant him that small kindness. Well that’s it. Jensen’s been totally wrong about this night and maybe Jeff had invited him over to call off…whatever this is they were doing. The thought has Jensen sagging against the sink, the hard line of the kitchen ledge doing little to lessen the pressure of his cock.
Jeff comes up behind him and slides the dishes into the water, causing it once more to overflow. It seeps into the waistband of Jensen’s jeans; he can feel the material of his boxers sticking to his swollen flesh. Turning flashing eyes on Jeff, Jensen scowls. “The fuck!”
Jeff’s gaze doesn’t falter though. It’s as fierce and intense as the one Jensen knows he himself is wearing. In an instant, Jensen finds himself plastered to the counter, Jeff’s body wrapped around his, hips pinning Jensen in place. Jeff’s got his hands wrapped around Jensen’s forearms, fingers tightening bruises to keep grip on the soapy length of them and his cock is…
Well hello there. Maybe Jensen had been very very wrong about the whole night after all.
“Jeff?” Jensen hates the waver of his voice, the thread of neediness woven through but hell. He’s been practically begging for it all night and to shy away now would just be foolish. “What’re you…”
“Quiet,” Jeff hisses. He nips a firm bite on the skin at the nape of Jensen’s neck, an electric shock that has Jensen gasping. Rough hands smooth down Jensen’s back, Jeff’s fingers dancing over the muscles, each one twitching in succession with the slow drag of flesh on flesh. “Still.”
There’s a tightness in his chest, a lump Jensen can’t seem to swallow around. Jeff’s hands are finally on him, right where he’s wanted all damn night but he can’t see, can’t turn to capture Jeff’s mouth with his own, breath his desire straight to the source. It’s frustrating as all get out and Jensen tilts his head, angles to catch at the flash of scruff burning against his shoulder.
Jeff just pushes him forward. The water sloshes around his arms, suds dripping over the side and dampening his jeans further. There’s the slip-slide of Jeff’s hand over Jensen’s abdomen and then fingers sliding beneath the tight constriction to grasp blindly at his cock. Jensen hisses.
“’S what you wanted, innit?” Jeff purrs the words against Jensen’s neck, his body molded to Jensen’s spine. The fly of Jensen’s jeans is wretched open and as soon as Jeff’s moist palm cups Jensen fully, he sucks in a huge gulp of air; lets own a moan of agreement and breathes.
“Yes, god. Please Jeff.”
“Keep your hands where they are,” Jeff orders. “Don’t you fucking move.”
It’s damn near impossible to prop himself up, Jensen soon finds. His fingers clutch at the edge of the sink but slide over the stainless steel. He leans forward on his elbows, wrists dangling in the water as his jeans slip to the floor, Jeff’s hands tracing right behind. It doesn’t take long for his boxers to go the way of his pants and then Jensen’s standing at Jeff’s kitchen sink, naked save for the puddle of material binding him to the spot.
Jensen’s heart races. He has no idea what Jeff has in store for him and a lesser man would be mindfull of his nudity, he’s sure. But then Jeff’s breath flares liquid fire up from the base of his spine and Jensen’s knees tremble. “You wanted to feel me in you, hmm Jen?”
The response gets garbled in his throat, somewhere between a groan and a shout as Jeff simply flattens his palms on each of Jensen’s ass cheeks and parts him, flicks his tongue over the skin between. Spots dance before Jensen’s eyes, the throb between his legs intensifying anew. “Fuck, I…”
Jeff works around him slowly; steady. Jensen pants, doing his best to stay rooted to the spot but it’s damn near impossible when Jeff’s tongue licks over the ring of muscle and spears forward, lapping at him with rapidly increasing speed. The sink is slick, Jensen’s forehead coming dangerously close to the faucet and he slips further. A wave froths over the side, the bubbles sliding over the cut of Jensen’s hip, curling around his cock like an angel kiss. He gasps again, the metal of his ring pinging underwater as he slaps at the side of the sink and sends another bout of water over the ledge, the near impossibly light slide of water driving him further into neednow.
He can feel Jeff grin against the swell of his ass; feel the burn of stubble on his hyper-sensitive flesh. Jensen’s coming apart under Jeff’s hands and there is nothing he can do - nothing he would want to to stop it.
“’S what you wanted, what you’ve been pouting and throwing yourself around like a cock-hungry slut for, huh?” Jensen has no response; simply thrusts his ass back, arches and curves his spine until Jeff licks at him again, until he curls loose fingers around the base of Jensen’s cock and wets them with the mixture of soap and water slowly sliding down to tickle at his balls. Then there’s blunt pressure, Jeff working two fingers into him to the knuckle, twisting and curling and pressing and Jesus Christ.
He comes with a breathless whimper, Jeff’s lips burning his flesh, fingers stroking Jensen's prostate and not a single digit touching his dick. The water swirls beneath his heavy breathing, ripples flooding out to lap at the edge of the sink, Jensen’s lungs full of the scent of soap and sex. He rests his cheek against the slender metal of the faucet, trying to regain use of his limbs and tongue.
The pressure of Jeff at his back vanishes and Jensen barely has time to turn around and lean against the counter before Jeff is tugging on his arm, maneuvering him a few feet away. There’s no accounting for how long Jensen was collapsed against the sink but apparently is was long enough for Jeff to step back and strip off his shirt and pants. Jensen’s breath catches at the sight of Jeff’s cock, glistening red and hard as it curves towards his stomach and he begins to drop shakily to his knees.
“Oh no, sweetheart,” Jeff growls, pressing Jensen into the island counter. “You wanted me inside you? You’re getting exactly what you wanted.” Jensen’s pants and boxers are kicked free; he’s manhandled onto the counter, Jeff urging him to hop up.
“Jesus, Jeff.” It’s a plea, for what Jensen’s not really sure but his thought process is kind of hazy, so he just allows Jeff to slip between his thighs and bend to finally kiss him. Jensen can taste himself there and licks into Jeff’s mouth hungrily, desperate for the rough play of Jeff’s lips on his; licks past to get at the taste of Jeff. His fingers are wrinkled and pruned from being submerged so long and a puddle of water lies in the crook of each of his elbows, but the flinging droplets could bother him less when Jeff’s cock brushes against his ass.
“Gonna fuck you so damn good,” Jeff says, a promise bitten along Jensen’s jaw. The counter is slightly rough, cold granite scratching at his back as Jeff wraps fingers tight around Jensen’s hips and tugs him to the very edge. Slick fingers press at him once more and Jensen wonders vaguely where the lube came from, if Jeff had planed this all along, but finds he just doesn’t care. Not when teeth scrape against his collarbone; not when Jeff tugs one nipple into his mouth and laves it all while fucking into Jensen with his fingers, scissoring and stretching him wide.
Jensen’s cock twitches, spent but rapidly gaining interest and Jeff doesn’t let up, not for a moment. He’s pushing him, Jensen realizes, pushing and forcing and it’s just what Jensen wants. Heat curls through him, his pulse thundering in his ears and then Jeff is shoving in, one hard, long thrust that has Jensen grasping at the edge of the granite, curling his fingers around and hanging on.
There’s no pause, just Jeff shifting his hips and fucking into him deep. Those warm hands wrap under Jensen’s thighs, press his legs further apart. The burn aches and Jensen gasps, sucks in deep lung fulls of air, feels himself start to spiral almost immediately.
“So god damn gorgeous,” Jeff murmurs. His eyes are at half mast, near black and the growl shoots through Jensen; jolts him almost as much as the sharp slap of Jeff’s hips against the curve of his ass. Jensen’s legs come up; wrap tightly around Jeff’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back to urge him on, drag him deeper. How could he have doubted…
Snapping his hips upward, Jensen groans, his head lolling to the side. There’s still parsley and some other spice scattered over the counter. The heady scent overwhelms him, green speckles catching in his line of sight, mashing into the sweat drenched spikes of his hair. There’s no air left in the kitchen, Jensen thinks, just the heavy weight of need in his lungs, the desire for Jeff radiating in waves, hot and tangible. Jeff slams into him with abandon, hips working and Jensen gets lost in it all, lost in watching the motion of Jeff’s body, the beads of sweat that trickle down his torso and just…glisten. He wants to lean up, lap them away with his tongue but he’s so close already, Jeff grunting above him and pumping forward.
Jensen releases the counter with one hand and wraps it around his cock instead. “Need you so much,” he confesses, too far gone to worry that he’s said too much, too content to care.
“Want…want you always,” Jeff growls, baring his teeth around a moan. His hips snap and brush right there and Jensen’s coming again, heat spreading over his knuckles and onto his stomach. His body clenches tight, sparks exploding in his veins and a high Jensen could ride for days if he could just latch onto it and keep it bottled in his pocket. He wants, needs, can’t imagine not having…
Jeff groans, low and guttural and falls apart before Jensen’s eyes, coming hard inside of him, sparking the flame low in Jensen’s gut until he doesn’t think he can take it anymore. There’s no way this hunger can be just a friendly passing desire. Fingers scramble at Jeff’s back; Jensen tugging him down, leveraging himself up, whatever it takes to get at Jeff and pant the explanation that Jensen can’t voice into a kiss instead.
It’s languid; slow wet heat passing between them as they both catch their breaths, figure out how to twine and curl their tongues around one another once more. Jensen’s legs ache and they fall against the counter, his muscles loose with release, and he winces when Jeff finally slides free. Jensen cracks his neck and slides off the counter onto shaky legs.
He feels sharply sober, even though the rush of adrenaline and wine still chugs through him. He should be dizzy; should have trouble bending to retrieve his boxers, be blushing instead of tilting his gaze onto Jeff and grinning.
“Just so you know,” Jensen says, smirk creasing his cheek, “I am not cleaning that up.”
Title: Cook Then Cock [House Rules]
Pairing: Jensen Ackles/Jeffrey Dean Morgan
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4,300
Disclaimer: I made this up. Alas!
Summary: I told someone once: I just want Jeff to ravish him, which sounds SO GIRLIE BUT I DON'T CARE. And so here it is. Jeff cooks, Jensen is drunk and pissy and then gets his just desserts.
A/N: I started this fic when JDM was on Rachael Ray and today decided it HAD to be finished. Dedicated to darci_marie who did, indeed, hook me up w/ SPN when I whined and cried about missing JDM. So...maybe my obsession is all YOUR fault, not his ;) Happy birthday darling, hope this brings a smile to your face and a little dance to your pants.
Jensen catches his reflection in the stainless steel of the fridge door. His eyes are blown wide, lips parted and stained deep with wine. His ears ring, blood pounding through his veins like a freight train.
And they haven’t even gotten to the main course yet.
“Jen?”
Jensen shakes his head clear, pressing one palm flat against the slick surface of the refrigerator door, and turns.
Jeff stands in the center of his kitchen - his spacious, fucking professional chef’s kitchen - and waves the gleaming blade he’s grasping lazily in the air.
“Parsley, Jensen. That’s all I need.”
And it’s not that Jensen is trying to be flighty, no, not at all. It’s just that…Jeff stands here in the center of his kitchen, all long and lean and in charge, like…the master of his domain and all that alpha dog machismo shit except Jeff? He…he makes it work, not overbearing at all.
And, yeah, so maybe polishing off the bottle of merlot while nibbling on cheese and watching Jeff work his hands like lightning over the kitchen island, chopping, dicing, filleting, whateverthefuck he was doing…maybe that wasn’t all too wise of a thing to do.
But whatever, Jensen thinks. He’s here and Jeff’s making him dinner and that’ll sober him up, right? Stop the low simmer in his veins, the warm spread of heat in his groin and…
There’s a clunk as Jeff places the knife down on the cutting board and then he’s there, in front of Jensen. Closing his eyes, Jensen takes a deep breath and allows his body to sway, follows the pull of gravity towards Jeff that he eludes simply by being.
Jeff’s arm brushes over Jensen’s, a murmur of heat that sears him to the core and then…a cool blast of air against his back as Jeff pulls open the fridge door. Jensen starts and when he opens his eyes, Jeff is before him, the leafy bunch of greenery held up triumphantly. He hooks his foot in the rung of one of the kitchen stools and pulls it out.
“You’re not gonna help me, obviously, so sit your ass down.” The order isn’t angry, just plain observation. Jensen pours himself atop the stool, palms flat on the counter to steady himself against the nasty sway of the polished top.
Jeff laughs, turning back to the counter and chopping parsley with the swift flick of his wrist. The low rumble of Jeff’s voice pounds through Jensen’s chest like a bass drum, and he has no idea what Jeff is chuckling at, but he doesn’t really like it.
“What?” Jensen snaps. Jeff ignores him, but Jensen’s rather proud that his temperament colors his tone. Very professional. He makes note to use that bit of infliction on next week’s script and stretches for the fresh bottle of wine just out of his reach on the counter.
His fingertips brush the slick surface of green glass and then it’s gone, Jeff snatching it away.
“Oh no, sunshine, I think you’ve had your fill till dinner.”
“What? I…,” Jensen is a loss. His fingers clutch in the open air, and he sways on his stool. The tile floor angles up at him and hey, the Spanish-style clay décor is really quite fitting.
He falls forward with a thud, landing against the hard plain of Jeff’s chest. Somehow, his ass is still connected with the wooden seat of the stool.
Thank god for small favors. Jensen’s not quite sure that an imprint of the tile against his cheek would be half as flattering as the workmanship actually on the ground. He spits out a mouthful of soft cotton and angles his chin to peer up at Jeff’s towering form. His steady, warm, comfortable form.
“You alright there?” Jeff asks, his palm sliding down Jensen’s spine.
The shudder hits him and there’s no denying the affect Jeff has on him. His voice, his touch, his fucking presence. The guy couldn’t be more intense without trying if he…tried.
Jensen throws caution to the wind and presses his lips to Jeff’s.
Except, well. His aim is kind of off and he ends up grazing Jeff’s jaw with his lips instead. The stubble of Jeff’s beard prickles against the heat of his mouth.
“Yeah, you’re not drinking anymore tonight, princess.” Jeff pulls back, his hands a warm weight on Jensen’s shoulders. He settles Jensen on the stool and squeezes once; smiles. “Anyways, dinner’s almost ready. ‘M not having you pass out in a plateful of pasta.”
Jensen is miffed. No one…no one turns him down. What the hell?
And…Princess? He’ll let that slide…for now.
“Wanna. Wanna taste you,” Jensen slurs. Jeff’s eyes darken, the briefest flash of heat glazing his features. He swallows hard and Jensen hungrily follows the bob of his Adam’s apple with his eyes.
“Let’s just give you a taste of my fine cooking and you’ll be fine.”
Jensen pouts, sticks his lower lip out like the fucking champion of the scowl. Why the hell did Jeff have to be so difficult? Sure, dinner, yes. That was all great and fine and dandy and real hospitable of Jeff but wasn’t a host supposed to cater to their guest’s every desire? All Jensen wants is Jeff’s dick in his mouth and he’s damn pissed that he has to work for such a small favor. Greedy bastard. Non cock-sharer.
“Now that’s just not playing fair,” Jeff growls, his hand sliding up the curve of Jensen’s neck. His thumb brushes over Jensen’s lip, rough calluses stroking sensitive flesh and it’s so not what Jensen wants but what the hell. He can roll with it.
He sucks the digit into his mouth, tracing the pad with his tongue and staring up at Jeff from beneath his lashes. If this doesn’t work, Jensen has no idea what will, so he pours all his desire into playing over Jeff’s thumb with his mouth.
It’s pulled away too soon, and Jensen opens his mouth to complain, hell, plead if his has to but he doesn’t get further than a muffled, “Je-ff.”
And no, he is not whining, thankyouverymuch.
Jeff’s tongue traces the inner ridge of Jensen’s lower lip, no easing into it. He just thrusts inside, fitting his lips over Jensen’s, one hand twined in the short hairs at the base of Jensen’s skull. Maneuvering him the way he wants, Jeff presses mouths and hips and chests together and yes, finally, Jensen thinks.
Not that he’s able to think beyond that. Jeff’s stealing away any ability to do so with every curl and thrust of his tongue, every shift of his hips against Jensen’s rising erection. Jensen hooks his leg around the back of Jeff’s knee, tugging him closer still, and moans against Jeff’s mouth at the added friction. It’s like…it’s like his insides are liquefying, bleeding outward into the too tight confines of his skin. Jensen tilts his head and presses his tongue forward, curling it around Jeff’s, savoring the heat and flavor of his mouth.
Jeff sucks on Jensen’s lower lip, gives a sharp, teasing bite with the edge of his teeth, and Jensen hisses, tightening his thighs. He wants Jeff closer, inside, wants Jeff right there and…is he still hissing?
“Shit!” Jeff yanks away as if the graze of Jensen’s cock on his hip was fire or something and what the fuck? Jensen damn nears falls off the stool again as Jeff digs his fingers hard into Jensen’s shoulder and pushes him against the countertop, untangling himself from Jensen’s grasp. Seriously now. This is getting ridiculous. Jensen’s never had to work this hard to get his way. He tells Jeff just that.
Except Jeff is gone. He’s raced back over to the stove and Jensen follows the long, lean lines of Jeff’s body up to where his fingers are wrapped around the handle of a pot.
“Fucking pasta boiled over,” he’s mumbling. Jeff fumbles with the dials, slides the pot back onto the stove, water sloshing over the sides. Jensen just stares. Well then. At least now he knows Jeff isn’t, like, terrified of his dick or something. Food burning. That’s a perfectly understandable excuse.
Though Jensen distinctly remembers someone once saying (growling in his ear while pushing deep inside, sweat pooling along his spine and yeah, but that was a good time) that they’d rather feast on him all day and starve. But, whatever. Jensen will remind Jeff of that later. After they eat.
Sliding off his stool, Jensen pads over to where Jeff is now hunched over the stove.
“Hey,” Jensen says, aligning his body along the curve of Jeff’s spine. He lets his voice drop, aims for sultry and seductive; maybe he can remind Jeff right now what would be a better meal. Sliding his palms deep into the back pockets of Jeff’s jeans, Jensen squeezes. “Anything I can do to help?”
The muscles of Jeff’s back expand as he takes a tremendous gulp of air, sighs. Jensen can feel the vibrations rocket straight through his body. And then…then his damn body answers in response, his stomach rumbling loudly.
Jeff begins to shake beneath where Jensen blankets him. “You…you wanna control that thing, Jen?”
Jensen nips at the skin behind Jeff’s ear in retaliation. “Shut up. You just finish making me my dinner, bitch.” He tugs his hands free and swats Jeff on the ass. “And maybe, if it satisfies me, I’ll pay you back with a little dessert.”
Jeff twists around, leans against the counter. His tee shirt pulls across his chest, rounding at his shoulders. Only Jeff would cook pasta and sauce in a white tee. And the damn bastard doesn't have even a fleck marring the pristine expanse of material.
Even worse? He’s still laughing. At Jensen. He knows that for sure this time.
“What?” And yeah, Jensen thinks, nodding to himself, he’s getting damn good at that snippy tone. Definitely using that later.
Jeff just grins, broad and wide and Jensen’s stomach does that same roller coaster flip-flop that it always does around the man. “’S just cute that you think you’re all big and bad and manly. Like I’m playing housewife to you.” Jeff threads his fingers through the loops of Jensen’s (tight, too tight) jeans, tugging him close. Stumbling a bit, Jensen’s foot lands between Jeff’s open thighs, and he gasps when Jeff grinds forward.
“House rules, boy,” Jeff growls, his lips only millimeters from Jensen’s ear. “I cook, you clean. And I got you a fancy, frilly apron to use just for the occasion.”
Jensen gasps, eyes going wide. Jeff wouldn’t. I mean, Jensen…well, shit. He supposes for Jeff, he would, but…
He looks up, catches Jeff’s gaze, and watches the hard, darkened look go soft, sees Jeff’s eyes crinkle, his cheeks round. The fucking bastard is laughing again.
Jensen huffs, pouts, and shoves Jeff’s shoulder hard. Fucking asshole. Pushing past, Jensen stalks off to the dining room. He’ll…he’ll show that dick - let him finish cooking alone. Yeah. God damn teasing, blue-balling asshole.
Jensen spends the next ten minutes sitting at the table though, imagining pink ribbon binding Jeff to the headboard of his bed. It’s a decent enough appetizer, and by the time Jeff enters, arms laden with steaming plates, Jensen’s mouth is watering appropriately.
~xxx~
Jensen could kill him. Like, murder him in his sleep and feed his body to…to…to some crocodile somewhere and get away with it. Totally. As if attempting to eat dinner with a hard on that could fucking hammer nails wasn’t difficult enough; as if trying to savor each bite of pasta, each meatball that melted in his mouth (while desperately wanting a very different type of meat on his tongue, however good Jeff’s cooking was - and DAMN IT, it was) wasn’t difficult enough, now Jensen’s got his hands submerged in the sink and the ache between his legs just will not go away.
And it’s just…it’s just not fair. Jensen’s been good and worked hard and it’s his weekend free and you’d think that Jeff would see that; would recognize that as a good friend you just don’t leave a guy hard and wanting.
But fine. Jeff wants to play it that way, then…fine. Jensen will just finish washing these damn dishes and say good night and catch a cab home. Call Jared and get him to talk him over the edge. Because Jared is like that. He’s a good friend.
“Still sulkin’, sweetheart?” And Jensen totally does not jump, no sir. The water in the sink does, however, suddenly take on a life of its own and decides to lick at the rolled up sleeves of his button-down and man, Jensen really does not feel like wandering around LA in a damp shirt. Because as soon as these dishes are done…out of here.
“No,” he mumbles, the petulance so thinly veiled in his voice that the answering laugh is rather expected from Jeff. And yeah, at least now Jensen has the upper hand here and is totally all too aware of the reality of the situation. Of Jeff toying with him.
FINE.
Scrubbing the pot in his hand viciously, Jensen focuses all his anger on the shiny surface. He runs it under the faucet and lifts it onto the drying rack, listening to Jeff patter around the kitchen behind him - opening the fridge, putting things back in their rightful place. When he leaves to retrieve the rest of the dishes, Jensen dunks his hands back in again, a splash of water catching him unaware once more. Really should learn to focus, Jensen mutters to himself, annoyed. Stepping back to dry his hands on the dishrag, Jensen unbuttons his shirt and tosses it onto the stool beside him before turning his attention back to the (full, still too full) sink.
He’s just getting the damn crud off the wooden soup spoon when he hears a clatter behind him. Wrists submerged beneath the lukewarm, soapy water, Jensen twists to see Jeff standing in the doorway, brow furrowed. He’s got the dishes stacked in one hand, the other balled into a tight fist.
And Jensen’s just tired now. His head throbs with the dull ache of too much wine, the crotch of his jeans is still confining and his hands are gonna be all dry from the water. “What,” he sighs, the fight drained from him.
But Jeff doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even grant him that small kindness. Well that’s it. Jensen’s been totally wrong about this night and maybe Jeff had invited him over to call off…whatever this is they were doing. The thought has Jensen sagging against the sink, the hard line of the kitchen ledge doing little to lessen the pressure of his cock.
Jeff comes up behind him and slides the dishes into the water, causing it once more to overflow. It seeps into the waistband of Jensen’s jeans; he can feel the material of his boxers sticking to his swollen flesh. Turning flashing eyes on Jeff, Jensen scowls. “The fuck!”
Jeff’s gaze doesn’t falter though. It’s as fierce and intense as the one Jensen knows he himself is wearing. In an instant, Jensen finds himself plastered to the counter, Jeff’s body wrapped around his, hips pinning Jensen in place. Jeff’s got his hands wrapped around Jensen’s forearms, fingers tightening bruises to keep grip on the soapy length of them and his cock is…
Well hello there. Maybe Jensen had been very very wrong about the whole night after all.
“Jeff?” Jensen hates the waver of his voice, the thread of neediness woven through but hell. He’s been practically begging for it all night and to shy away now would just be foolish. “What’re you…”
“Quiet,” Jeff hisses. He nips a firm bite on the skin at the nape of Jensen’s neck, an electric shock that has Jensen gasping. Rough hands smooth down Jensen’s back, Jeff’s fingers dancing over the muscles, each one twitching in succession with the slow drag of flesh on flesh. “Still.”
There’s a tightness in his chest, a lump Jensen can’t seem to swallow around. Jeff’s hands are finally on him, right where he’s wanted all damn night but he can’t see, can’t turn to capture Jeff’s mouth with his own, breath his desire straight to the source. It’s frustrating as all get out and Jensen tilts his head, angles to catch at the flash of scruff burning against his shoulder.
Jeff just pushes him forward. The water sloshes around his arms, suds dripping over the side and dampening his jeans further. There’s the slip-slide of Jeff’s hand over Jensen’s abdomen and then fingers sliding beneath the tight constriction to grasp blindly at his cock. Jensen hisses.
“’S what you wanted, innit?” Jeff purrs the words against Jensen’s neck, his body molded to Jensen’s spine. The fly of Jensen’s jeans is wretched open and as soon as Jeff’s moist palm cups Jensen fully, he sucks in a huge gulp of air; lets own a moan of agreement and breathes.
“Yes, god. Please Jeff.”
“Keep your hands where they are,” Jeff orders. “Don’t you fucking move.”
It’s damn near impossible to prop himself up, Jensen soon finds. His fingers clutch at the edge of the sink but slide over the stainless steel. He leans forward on his elbows, wrists dangling in the water as his jeans slip to the floor, Jeff’s hands tracing right behind. It doesn’t take long for his boxers to go the way of his pants and then Jensen’s standing at Jeff’s kitchen sink, naked save for the puddle of material binding him to the spot.
Jensen’s heart races. He has no idea what Jeff has in store for him and a lesser man would be mindfull of his nudity, he’s sure. But then Jeff’s breath flares liquid fire up from the base of his spine and Jensen’s knees tremble. “You wanted to feel me in you, hmm Jen?”
The response gets garbled in his throat, somewhere between a groan and a shout as Jeff simply flattens his palms on each of Jensen’s ass cheeks and parts him, flicks his tongue over the skin between. Spots dance before Jensen’s eyes, the throb between his legs intensifying anew. “Fuck, I…”
Jeff works around him slowly; steady. Jensen pants, doing his best to stay rooted to the spot but it’s damn near impossible when Jeff’s tongue licks over the ring of muscle and spears forward, lapping at him with rapidly increasing speed. The sink is slick, Jensen’s forehead coming dangerously close to the faucet and he slips further. A wave froths over the side, the bubbles sliding over the cut of Jensen’s hip, curling around his cock like an angel kiss. He gasps again, the metal of his ring pinging underwater as he slaps at the side of the sink and sends another bout of water over the ledge, the near impossibly light slide of water driving him further into neednow.
He can feel Jeff grin against the swell of his ass; feel the burn of stubble on his hyper-sensitive flesh. Jensen’s coming apart under Jeff’s hands and there is nothing he can do - nothing he would want to to stop it.
“’S what you wanted, what you’ve been pouting and throwing yourself around like a cock-hungry slut for, huh?” Jensen has no response; simply thrusts his ass back, arches and curves his spine until Jeff licks at him again, until he curls loose fingers around the base of Jensen’s cock and wets them with the mixture of soap and water slowly sliding down to tickle at his balls. Then there’s blunt pressure, Jeff working two fingers into him to the knuckle, twisting and curling and pressing and Jesus Christ.
He comes with a breathless whimper, Jeff’s lips burning his flesh, fingers stroking Jensen's prostate and not a single digit touching his dick. The water swirls beneath his heavy breathing, ripples flooding out to lap at the edge of the sink, Jensen’s lungs full of the scent of soap and sex. He rests his cheek against the slender metal of the faucet, trying to regain use of his limbs and tongue.
The pressure of Jeff at his back vanishes and Jensen barely has time to turn around and lean against the counter before Jeff is tugging on his arm, maneuvering him a few feet away. There’s no accounting for how long Jensen was collapsed against the sink but apparently is was long enough for Jeff to step back and strip off his shirt and pants. Jensen’s breath catches at the sight of Jeff’s cock, glistening red and hard as it curves towards his stomach and he begins to drop shakily to his knees.
“Oh no, sweetheart,” Jeff growls, pressing Jensen into the island counter. “You wanted me inside you? You’re getting exactly what you wanted.” Jensen’s pants and boxers are kicked free; he’s manhandled onto the counter, Jeff urging him to hop up.
“Jesus, Jeff.” It’s a plea, for what Jensen’s not really sure but his thought process is kind of hazy, so he just allows Jeff to slip between his thighs and bend to finally kiss him. Jensen can taste himself there and licks into Jeff’s mouth hungrily, desperate for the rough play of Jeff’s lips on his; licks past to get at the taste of Jeff. His fingers are wrinkled and pruned from being submerged so long and a puddle of water lies in the crook of each of his elbows, but the flinging droplets could bother him less when Jeff’s cock brushes against his ass.
“Gonna fuck you so damn good,” Jeff says, a promise bitten along Jensen’s jaw. The counter is slightly rough, cold granite scratching at his back as Jeff wraps fingers tight around Jensen’s hips and tugs him to the very edge. Slick fingers press at him once more and Jensen wonders vaguely where the lube came from, if Jeff had planed this all along, but finds he just doesn’t care. Not when teeth scrape against his collarbone; not when Jeff tugs one nipple into his mouth and laves it all while fucking into Jensen with his fingers, scissoring and stretching him wide.
Jensen’s cock twitches, spent but rapidly gaining interest and Jeff doesn’t let up, not for a moment. He’s pushing him, Jensen realizes, pushing and forcing and it’s just what Jensen wants. Heat curls through him, his pulse thundering in his ears and then Jeff is shoving in, one hard, long thrust that has Jensen grasping at the edge of the granite, curling his fingers around and hanging on.
There’s no pause, just Jeff shifting his hips and fucking into him deep. Those warm hands wrap under Jensen’s thighs, press his legs further apart. The burn aches and Jensen gasps, sucks in deep lung fulls of air, feels himself start to spiral almost immediately.
“So god damn gorgeous,” Jeff murmurs. His eyes are at half mast, near black and the growl shoots through Jensen; jolts him almost as much as the sharp slap of Jeff’s hips against the curve of his ass. Jensen’s legs come up; wrap tightly around Jeff’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back to urge him on, drag him deeper. How could he have doubted…
Snapping his hips upward, Jensen groans, his head lolling to the side. There’s still parsley and some other spice scattered over the counter. The heady scent overwhelms him, green speckles catching in his line of sight, mashing into the sweat drenched spikes of his hair. There’s no air left in the kitchen, Jensen thinks, just the heavy weight of need in his lungs, the desire for Jeff radiating in waves, hot and tangible. Jeff slams into him with abandon, hips working and Jensen gets lost in it all, lost in watching the motion of Jeff’s body, the beads of sweat that trickle down his torso and just…glisten. He wants to lean up, lap them away with his tongue but he’s so close already, Jeff grunting above him and pumping forward.
Jensen releases the counter with one hand and wraps it around his cock instead. “Need you so much,” he confesses, too far gone to worry that he’s said too much, too content to care.
“Want…want you always,” Jeff growls, baring his teeth around a moan. His hips snap and brush right there and Jensen’s coming again, heat spreading over his knuckles and onto his stomach. His body clenches tight, sparks exploding in his veins and a high Jensen could ride for days if he could just latch onto it and keep it bottled in his pocket. He wants, needs, can’t imagine not having…
Jeff groans, low and guttural and falls apart before Jensen’s eyes, coming hard inside of him, sparking the flame low in Jensen’s gut until he doesn’t think he can take it anymore. There’s no way this hunger can be just a friendly passing desire. Fingers scramble at Jeff’s back; Jensen tugging him down, leveraging himself up, whatever it takes to get at Jeff and pant the explanation that Jensen can’t voice into a kiss instead.
It’s languid; slow wet heat passing between them as they both catch their breaths, figure out how to twine and curl their tongues around one another once more. Jensen’s legs ache and they fall against the counter, his muscles loose with release, and he winces when Jeff finally slides free. Jensen cracks his neck and slides off the counter onto shaky legs.
He feels sharply sober, even though the rush of adrenaline and wine still chugs through him. He should be dizzy; should have trouble bending to retrieve his boxers, be blushing instead of tilting his gaze onto Jeff and grinning.
“Just so you know,” Jensen says, smirk creasing his cheek, “I am not cleaning that up.”