THIS ONE'S FOR YOU BABE
For
tripperfunster, who is made of light and awesome.
Characters: Jimmy/Chazz
Rating:As dirty as you are comfortable writing.
Genre: I love hurt/comfort and first time fics. A touch of angst is always fun.
Situation: Jimmy is hurt (emotionally or physically) and Chazz makes some clumsy attempts at making him feel better. Sex insues.
Inclusions: I like awkward sex. Fumbling with clothes, but really, it's all good.
Length:The longer the better, just 'cause I like a good build up. In fact, I enjoy the build up almost as much as the 'climax'. *snicker*
Title: Titles are for losers.
Rating: R for sex and language.
Characters: Jimmy/Chazz
“He just wants to use you again, brother-man.”
Jimmy slams the door of his dresser, staring resolutely at the mirror in front of him. “I’m not complete idiot, you know. I am capable of figuring out when people just want to fuck with me.”
Normally the use of any curse stronger than ‘douche-faced turd-slinger’ (along with the unintended double meaning of his partner’s sentence) would earn some considerably jeering from Chazz, but for once the older man stays serious. He watches Jimmy attempt to tame a massive case of bed hair with angry swipes of his brush, wincing at the sound of so many blond strands ripping and tearing. Finally he comes over, mutters, “You’re going to give yourself split ends,” and neatly steals the brush. When Jimmy spins and tries to reclaim it, Chazz dangles it above his head and uses his ample belly to pin his partner to the dresser.
“Give it back you retard, I’m not in the mood!”
“You’ve been out of the mood since last night. You are so far out of the mood, you’re like a satellite of the mood. Moon Jimmy. Come back to Earth, Jimmy!”
“Besides the fact you’re not making sense, again, what makes you think I even want to talk about this?” He tries to jump for the brush but Chazz tosses it over his shoulder, out of reach. In the brief scuffle that ensues, someone knocks the other to the ground, the other retaliates with a headbutt, and it’s not until Chazz is sitting on Jimmy, both panting and scowling, that the fighting stops.
“Cause I know you Jimmy, and if you don’t let something out somehow, you’re going to be a pissy little ice diva- I mean, way more than usual- and it’s gonna be hell for the both of us.” Chazz pauses, then adds sheepishly, “Plus I’m worried about you. I wanna know what you’re thinking, man.”
“I’m thinking that if you don’t get off me in about, oh, say, two seconds, I’m going to knee you so hard-” Immediately, Chazz covers his crotch. “-that- that- well I don’t know what else, but I will!”
“You won’t talk to me,” Chazz pouts, sitting up a little but still keeping his weight squarely on Jimmy. “If the only way to talk to you is to get the twins injured, well… so be it.” He has such a look of noble sacrifice that Jimmy looks away to keep Chazz from seeing the grin on his face. Chazz sees it anyway and smirks. “Uh-huh. You see the logic in my position too. So spill, Little Miss Sunshine. What’s on your mind?”
Jimmy’s quiet a long time and then says plaintively, “He’s my dad.” He looks like he might go on for a second but then turns an unhappy look at Chazz.
“You know… he’s not really your dad. And I don’t just mean biographically.”
“Biologically.”
“Whatever. Point is he treated you like crap and you don’t owe him anything.”
“I wish it were that simple, but it’s not! He took me in, he made me his son-”
“Racehorse.”
“Can we please stop going over the same freakin’ points all the time?”
Chazz crosses his arms. “Fine, okay, you love your dad and feel indebted to him, we’ll get you a spot on Oprah. It just makes me sick the way you’re dragging yourself through this.”
“Maybe I need to do this so I can think it out!”
“Maybe you’re being too thinky when you should be feely!”
“I can’t just feel better about it, okay? Real feelings don’t work that way!” Jimmy shoves at Chazz, who absolutely refuses to budge. Groaning, he snaps, “Get off me you tub of lard, who knows what kind of dust mites are on this floor?”
“If I say dusty ones, will you- OW!”
“Yes! Off!”
“Look you idiot, I’m only trying to help. And if that means shoving your face in a tub of dust mites-”
“Stop trying to fix me!”
It’s a hard call as to which of the men is more surprised when Jimmy launches himself up at Chazz and succeeds in toppling him over backwards. The older man hangs on for dear life while his partner flails on top of him, face redder than a bottle of Heinz, and screaming to boot. Chazz just blinks and tries to hold back Jimmy’s arms, missing about half of the blond’s rant as his brain fills up with ‘Jimmy’s so hot when he’s trying to kick my ass’ and ‘Oh my God, Jimmy’s trying to kick my ass.’
“-no one ever listens to me they only want to fix me like I’m some broken toaster or something well I don’t want to change do you hear me?!?” Jimmy takes a deep breath and looks down, almost confused at the tears slipping down his cheeks. “He’s my dad,” he says one more time, as though that explains everything. “How else am I supposed to feel?”
“Do you think he loves you?” Chazz asks quietly.
“I already said I wasn’t stupid.” Jimmy’s voice is dark and sad as he wipes his face. “Just… what if… this time… things could be different?”
They stare at each other a moment before Chazz reaches out to catch a tear Jimmy missed. “You’re not… seriously thinking taking up his offer, are you?”
“Course not.” Blond lashes flutter in acknowledgment of Chazz’s hand. “I’d miss you guys too much. It’d be cold again. Sterile.”
“But you want to go back.”
“…I don’t know what I want.”
“Betcha do. I know.”
“You know what I want, or you know what you want?”
“Both. We both want the same thing.”
“What?”
“To be together.”
Chazz gives Jimmy what he later describes as a drive-by kissing; when the other person is unsuspecting, you go in, go for the lips, and deliver a minute’s worth of snogging in about two seconds. Before they can even register what’s happened, you lean back, smile nonchalantly, and ask them something about the weather or sex or something like that. For the record, it works like a charm on Jimmy, who’s barely aspirated the first wuh in whaddafuck?! when Chazz asks, “So how bout them Red Sox?”
“…did… did you just kiss-”
“No you’re hallucinating it, I told you not to eat so many Froot Loops of course I just kissed you. What, used to just dreaming about me MacElroy?”
“What the hell is your problem? I’m sitting here-”
“On me.”
“-pouring out my soul and trying not to, to totally break down-”
“While sitting on me. Straddling, actually.”
“-and you think this is the time to put the moves on?”
“You’re not crying anymore!” Chazz says cheerfully. Jimmy, flabbergasted, has nothing to say. He does blush bright red, and when he tries to sit up, Chazz grabs his neck and pulls him down for another kiss. “I don’t like it when you cry,” he mumbles in explanation against his lips.
“Why-” But Jimmy gives up and seizes on the fact that no, he’s not crying anymore, and no, for the first time today, he’s not thinking about his dad’s voice on the other end of the phone. He lets Chazz pull him closer, bodies shifting awkwardly as Jimmy wants to pull away but stays, and Chazz wants to plow straight ahead but restrains himself. (For Chazz, anyway.) “Maybe this- this isn’t we shouldn’t- I mean we need to think-”
In between distracting Jimmy with kissing and slowly sneaking a hand up his shirt, Chazz replies, “Too much thinky- not enough feely- and if you’re not upset- why worry? Also-” He pulls his mouth away so Jimmy can see his smirk. “If you really want to stop, you could always roll off me.”
“…shut up and get back to kissing.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Jimmy’s shirt comes off first, followed shortly by Chazz’s. For about a minute there’s utter chaos, as both tried to take off the other’s shirt at the same time, getting arms locked and hopelessly tangled within their sleeves. “I swear to fucking God homeschool, if we have to call Coach to come get us out-”
“You’re the one who said you had twenty different methods of getting a shirt off a girl!”
“So?”
“So? Use them!”
Chazz grits his teeth and bursts through his shirt like Hulk, then almost does the same for Jimmy’s before the younger man scrambles out of it. “For you,” he says in a sultry voice, “I will use any method for hearing you compare yourself to a girl.”
Jimmy growls and puts his face near Chazz. “I said shut up and kiss me.”
Chazz does more than that. He runs with the ‘kissing Jimmy is making him feel a lot better, wow I really should have tried this during all our catfights earlier’ shtick. Clothes get lost. Things get fondled. And surprisingly, Jimmy responds with more gusto than Chazz could have expected. Things… ooh yes. Things. Mmhm. That thing right there. Right- oh holy mother of God and all her wacky nephews, that mouth could not have come out of a Church-run orphanage. Jimmy just smiles and goes on his merry way.
“Shoulda… long time ago, shouldaaaah yeah ughfuck. Yeah shoulda… that thing.”
Ladies and gentlemen, Chazz Michael Michaels’s brain on sex.
More clothes get shucked. Jimmy winds up with one sock, and Chazz only has a Band-Aid. Not even a strategically-placed Band-Aid to please the censors; just a normal one on a blister. They stop for a moment, and under completely different circumstances they might savor this first.
“…I get to be on top.”
“Like hell, you couldn’t push a fish stick through Swiss cheese much less your dick though my ass!”
The mood almost completely breaks when Jimmy bursts out laughing. Chazz takes this opportunity to flip positions again and press his partner’s shoulder blades into the floor. Jimmy stops laughing and starts moaning, hands sliding across the floor for something to grab hold of.
“Lube is your new best friend,” Chazz informs him with a smirk. Where he managed to pull a bottle of- no, you know what, it is best just not to think of these things. Best to focus on what he is doing, which is currently making Jimmy wonder what the hell he ever saw in Katie. In about half a minute, he’s making Jimmy question every part of his orientation, what could possibly have been hot about straight sex, and oh my God that shouldn’t fit in there but it does. (Jimmy’s always hated his internal monologue; it’s just gotten really annoying now.)
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay. …you okay?”
“I’m- ahhhnghfuck- fine.”
“You… you… Jesus Jimmy, say something, breathe or something-”
“Whatthehellwasthat?!?!”
“…that was your prostate.”
“Well I didn’t tell you to stop!”
Harlequin material their lovemaking is not, but it is, literally, breathtaking. Jimmy forgets he even has lungs, much less how to make them function. Chazz spends his breath with every thrust, body shaking and slick with sweat. Slowly they build a pattern of tense-relax, tense-relax, each nudging the other forward, until finally they jump off the edge together. Togetherish. Close enough. Tell the truth, both are too caught up in the moment to pay attention to the other’s climax until it’s all over, all sticky, and all very, very satisfying.
“…guh.”
“That… all you have to say?”
“Shut up…”
“Seriously… usually I get a thank you… a… an encore… applause… maybe an appletini…”
“Don’t have an appletini.”
“Well isn’t that just like a girl.”
“Chazz…”
They kiss again, unbearably nervous and shy this time around, like they’re scared to even acknowledge what they’d just shared. Later, they seem to say, we’ll think about it later.
“Feel better?” Chazz whispers, mouth inches from Jimmy’s.
“Much,” Jimmy whispers back, closing the gap.
tripperfunster, who is made of light and awesome.
Characters: Jimmy/Chazz
Rating:As dirty as you are comfortable writing.
Genre: I love hurt/comfort and first time fics. A touch of angst is always fun.
Situation: Jimmy is hurt (emotionally or physically) and Chazz makes some clumsy attempts at making him feel better. Sex insues.
Inclusions: I like awkward sex. Fumbling with clothes, but really, it's all good.
Length:The longer the better, just 'cause I like a good build up. In fact, I enjoy the build up almost as much as the 'climax'. *snicker*
Title: Titles are for losers.
Rating: R for sex and language.
Characters: Jimmy/Chazz
“He just wants to use you again, brother-man.”
Jimmy slams the door of his dresser, staring resolutely at the mirror in front of him. “I’m not complete idiot, you know. I am capable of figuring out when people just want to fuck with me.”
Normally the use of any curse stronger than ‘douche-faced turd-slinger’ (along with the unintended double meaning of his partner’s sentence) would earn some considerably jeering from Chazz, but for once the older man stays serious. He watches Jimmy attempt to tame a massive case of bed hair with angry swipes of his brush, wincing at the sound of so many blond strands ripping and tearing. Finally he comes over, mutters, “You’re going to give yourself split ends,” and neatly steals the brush. When Jimmy spins and tries to reclaim it, Chazz dangles it above his head and uses his ample belly to pin his partner to the dresser.
“Give it back you retard, I’m not in the mood!”
“You’ve been out of the mood since last night. You are so far out of the mood, you’re like a satellite of the mood. Moon Jimmy. Come back to Earth, Jimmy!”
“Besides the fact you’re not making sense, again, what makes you think I even want to talk about this?” He tries to jump for the brush but Chazz tosses it over his shoulder, out of reach. In the brief scuffle that ensues, someone knocks the other to the ground, the other retaliates with a headbutt, and it’s not until Chazz is sitting on Jimmy, both panting and scowling, that the fighting stops.
“Cause I know you Jimmy, and if you don’t let something out somehow, you’re going to be a pissy little ice diva- I mean, way more than usual- and it’s gonna be hell for the both of us.” Chazz pauses, then adds sheepishly, “Plus I’m worried about you. I wanna know what you’re thinking, man.”
“I’m thinking that if you don’t get off me in about, oh, say, two seconds, I’m going to knee you so hard-” Immediately, Chazz covers his crotch. “-that- that- well I don’t know what else, but I will!”
“You won’t talk to me,” Chazz pouts, sitting up a little but still keeping his weight squarely on Jimmy. “If the only way to talk to you is to get the twins injured, well… so be it.” He has such a look of noble sacrifice that Jimmy looks away to keep Chazz from seeing the grin on his face. Chazz sees it anyway and smirks. “Uh-huh. You see the logic in my position too. So spill, Little Miss Sunshine. What’s on your mind?”
Jimmy’s quiet a long time and then says plaintively, “He’s my dad.” He looks like he might go on for a second but then turns an unhappy look at Chazz.
“You know… he’s not really your dad. And I don’t just mean biographically.”
“Biologically.”
“Whatever. Point is he treated you like crap and you don’t owe him anything.”
“I wish it were that simple, but it’s not! He took me in, he made me his son-”
“Racehorse.”
“Can we please stop going over the same freakin’ points all the time?”
Chazz crosses his arms. “Fine, okay, you love your dad and feel indebted to him, we’ll get you a spot on Oprah. It just makes me sick the way you’re dragging yourself through this.”
“Maybe I need to do this so I can think it out!”
“Maybe you’re being too thinky when you should be feely!”
“I can’t just feel better about it, okay? Real feelings don’t work that way!” Jimmy shoves at Chazz, who absolutely refuses to budge. Groaning, he snaps, “Get off me you tub of lard, who knows what kind of dust mites are on this floor?”
“If I say dusty ones, will you- OW!”
“Yes! Off!”
“Look you idiot, I’m only trying to help. And if that means shoving your face in a tub of dust mites-”
“Stop trying to fix me!”
It’s a hard call as to which of the men is more surprised when Jimmy launches himself up at Chazz and succeeds in toppling him over backwards. The older man hangs on for dear life while his partner flails on top of him, face redder than a bottle of Heinz, and screaming to boot. Chazz just blinks and tries to hold back Jimmy’s arms, missing about half of the blond’s rant as his brain fills up with ‘Jimmy’s so hot when he’s trying to kick my ass’ and ‘Oh my God, Jimmy’s trying to kick my ass.’
“-no one ever listens to me they only want to fix me like I’m some broken toaster or something well I don’t want to change do you hear me?!?” Jimmy takes a deep breath and looks down, almost confused at the tears slipping down his cheeks. “He’s my dad,” he says one more time, as though that explains everything. “How else am I supposed to feel?”
“Do you think he loves you?” Chazz asks quietly.
“I already said I wasn’t stupid.” Jimmy’s voice is dark and sad as he wipes his face. “Just… what if… this time… things could be different?”
They stare at each other a moment before Chazz reaches out to catch a tear Jimmy missed. “You’re not… seriously thinking taking up his offer, are you?”
“Course not.” Blond lashes flutter in acknowledgment of Chazz’s hand. “I’d miss you guys too much. It’d be cold again. Sterile.”
“But you want to go back.”
“…I don’t know what I want.”
“Betcha do. I know.”
“You know what I want, or you know what you want?”
“Both. We both want the same thing.”
“What?”
“To be together.”
Chazz gives Jimmy what he later describes as a drive-by kissing; when the other person is unsuspecting, you go in, go for the lips, and deliver a minute’s worth of snogging in about two seconds. Before they can even register what’s happened, you lean back, smile nonchalantly, and ask them something about the weather or sex or something like that. For the record, it works like a charm on Jimmy, who’s barely aspirated the first wuh in whaddafuck?! when Chazz asks, “So how bout them Red Sox?”
“…did… did you just kiss-”
“No you’re hallucinating it, I told you not to eat so many Froot Loops of course I just kissed you. What, used to just dreaming about me MacElroy?”
“What the hell is your problem? I’m sitting here-”
“On me.”
“-pouring out my soul and trying not to, to totally break down-”
“While sitting on me. Straddling, actually.”
“-and you think this is the time to put the moves on?”
“You’re not crying anymore!” Chazz says cheerfully. Jimmy, flabbergasted, has nothing to say. He does blush bright red, and when he tries to sit up, Chazz grabs his neck and pulls him down for another kiss. “I don’t like it when you cry,” he mumbles in explanation against his lips.
“Why-” But Jimmy gives up and seizes on the fact that no, he’s not crying anymore, and no, for the first time today, he’s not thinking about his dad’s voice on the other end of the phone. He lets Chazz pull him closer, bodies shifting awkwardly as Jimmy wants to pull away but stays, and Chazz wants to plow straight ahead but restrains himself. (For Chazz, anyway.) “Maybe this- this isn’t we shouldn’t- I mean we need to think-”
In between distracting Jimmy with kissing and slowly sneaking a hand up his shirt, Chazz replies, “Too much thinky- not enough feely- and if you’re not upset- why worry? Also-” He pulls his mouth away so Jimmy can see his smirk. “If you really want to stop, you could always roll off me.”
“…shut up and get back to kissing.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Jimmy’s shirt comes off first, followed shortly by Chazz’s. For about a minute there’s utter chaos, as both tried to take off the other’s shirt at the same time, getting arms locked and hopelessly tangled within their sleeves. “I swear to fucking God homeschool, if we have to call Coach to come get us out-”
“You’re the one who said you had twenty different methods of getting a shirt off a girl!”
“So?”
“So? Use them!”
Chazz grits his teeth and bursts through his shirt like Hulk, then almost does the same for Jimmy’s before the younger man scrambles out of it. “For you,” he says in a sultry voice, “I will use any method for hearing you compare yourself to a girl.”
Jimmy growls and puts his face near Chazz. “I said shut up and kiss me.”
Chazz does more than that. He runs with the ‘kissing Jimmy is making him feel a lot better, wow I really should have tried this during all our catfights earlier’ shtick. Clothes get lost. Things get fondled. And surprisingly, Jimmy responds with more gusto than Chazz could have expected. Things… ooh yes. Things. Mmhm. That thing right there. Right- oh holy mother of God and all her wacky nephews, that mouth could not have come out of a Church-run orphanage. Jimmy just smiles and goes on his merry way.
“Shoulda… long time ago, shouldaaaah yeah ughfuck. Yeah shoulda… that thing.”
Ladies and gentlemen, Chazz Michael Michaels’s brain on sex.
More clothes get shucked. Jimmy winds up with one sock, and Chazz only has a Band-Aid. Not even a strategically-placed Band-Aid to please the censors; just a normal one on a blister. They stop for a moment, and under completely different circumstances they might savor this first.
“…I get to be on top.”
“Like hell, you couldn’t push a fish stick through Swiss cheese much less your dick though my ass!”
The mood almost completely breaks when Jimmy bursts out laughing. Chazz takes this opportunity to flip positions again and press his partner’s shoulder blades into the floor. Jimmy stops laughing and starts moaning, hands sliding across the floor for something to grab hold of.
“Lube is your new best friend,” Chazz informs him with a smirk. Where he managed to pull a bottle of- no, you know what, it is best just not to think of these things. Best to focus on what he is doing, which is currently making Jimmy wonder what the hell he ever saw in Katie. In about half a minute, he’s making Jimmy question every part of his orientation, what could possibly have been hot about straight sex, and oh my God that shouldn’t fit in there but it does. (Jimmy’s always hated his internal monologue; it’s just gotten really annoying now.)
“You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“Okay. …you okay?”
“I’m- ahhhnghfuck- fine.”
“You… you… Jesus Jimmy, say something, breathe or something-”
“Whatthehellwasthat?!?!”
“…that was your prostate.”
“Well I didn’t tell you to stop!”
Harlequin material their lovemaking is not, but it is, literally, breathtaking. Jimmy forgets he even has lungs, much less how to make them function. Chazz spends his breath with every thrust, body shaking and slick with sweat. Slowly they build a pattern of tense-relax, tense-relax, each nudging the other forward, until finally they jump off the edge together. Togetherish. Close enough. Tell the truth, both are too caught up in the moment to pay attention to the other’s climax until it’s all over, all sticky, and all very, very satisfying.
“…guh.”
“That… all you have to say?”
“Shut up…”
“Seriously… usually I get a thank you… a… an encore… applause… maybe an appletini…”
“Don’t have an appletini.”
“Well isn’t that just like a girl.”
“Chazz…”
They kiss again, unbearably nervous and shy this time around, like they’re scared to even acknowledge what they’d just shared. Later, they seem to say, we’ll think about it later.
“Feel better?” Chazz whispers, mouth inches from Jimmy’s.
“Much,” Jimmy whispers back, closing the gap.