FIC: Superman
Title: Superman
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~1500
Pairings: Jensen/Genevieve, Jensen/Misha (implied Jensen/humanity)
Summary: He's a sexual superman. Of course he knows it.
A/N: For kriari, who wanted smug Jensen. Thanks to obstinatrix for encouraging the Gen, and akadougal for looking it over for me. It's an odd little thing, but I hope you like it. And hopefully getting this down will help me finish nikkimay's story this weekend, yeah? Yeah.
Some people walk down the street and the crowds just part, like God Himself is bathing them in golden sunlight, shining His own personal spotlight on them. And whether you think God's a He or a She or a figment of your neighbor Bob's imagination, you send up a little prayer of thanks for this person, this light made flesh walking amongst you. And if such a blessed person singles you out, with a smile or nod or crook of the finger, you go. And it's amazing, it's life-altering, mind-blowing, nothing will ever compare.
He's one of these people, and he knows it, too. It'd be impossible not to. He's not blind, after all. And it's not like he uses his power for evil! Far from it. No, he uses his power to give as many people as possible thirty minutes of sexual healing from a genuine superman. A hand on a shoulder there, a smoldering gaze here, and he's just made two people's lives that much better with reflected glory.
It's in the way he walks, reflected in the twinkle in his eye, the set of his shoulders, even his bow-legged stance, like he just got off a powerful stallion, because he's Jensen Fucking Ackles and if he wants to ride a fucking horse, he will ride a fucking horse.
But he's self-deprecating, his momma didn't raise no arrogant ass. No, by God, he's earned every second of smugness by being so incandescently hot, so lovingly tender, so fucking attentive to the desires of his partner.
(You'd think this part would be easy, because what do they all desire? Him, of course! But it's all in the journey, man, all in the art of seduction, the slow tease or the quick rush, everybody's different, and he appreciates every difference, every point of view. It's part of what makes him a good director, this ability to listen to another's words and body, and still know exactly what he wants to do, knows how to make the two sides meet in a beautiful expression of... well, life, he'd say, because he can be classy, he can be a gentleman.)
When the situation calls for it, like it does with Genevieve. She can curl her lip like a bad girl and toss her hair, but he can see through that. She wants to feel special (everybody wants to feel special, actually, but so many people are terrible at reciprocating, he's found it's a lost art - all to the good for him because when he smiles at you, you can hear the angels singing about how damn special you are), and she also wants to feel in control. He can do both, and have a damn good time doing it, too.
It's a grin for her, plucking a bit of fuzz out of her hair and letting the long tendrils slide through his fingers, and then she's following him, a little anxious and a little confident both. Lust turns her dark eyes nearly as black as the demon's she plays when he lifts her easily up on the makeup counter. He's almost pressed up to his own face in the mirror when he kisses her, slurping kisses, because he's watched her, seen her laugh, seen her cry, seen her when no one else was looking at her and he knows exactly what kind of kisses she wants. He's just that good. When he slides his hand around her waist and unbuttons her jeans, dips his hand beneath her waistband, he knows what else she wants, too.
Her jeans and thong are a messy pile at his feet and his tongue is inside her, licking, licking, licking, and it's loud, wet slapping, almost as loud as her harsh breathing. His hands are warm and gentle when he forces her thighs open, just a bit more so he can fit his head up closer, thrust his tongue in deeper. She's dripping on his face and whimpering, her hands flailing around until they can get a grip of his hair, too short really to dig in and she has to hold him, her palms sweaty on his forehead. He moves up to tease her clit with the end of his tongue, watching her from beneath eyelashes she would kill to have. His lips are glistening, shining in the mirrored lights of the makeup trailer. She watches, fascinated, as his eyes close slowly, like he's savoring the taste of her, like she's something beautiful to him, her scent, her wet cunt, the sight of her opened up to him and eager for his touch. And she IS eager for each stroke of his tongue, the way his hands are gripping her thighs, then her ass, pulling her closer to him. The orgasm starts at her toes and tingles all up her legs before it explodes in her midsection. Her head bangs against the counter as she gasps her release.
She doesn't want him to stop there (no one wants him to stop at just one, and neither does he) and she's so slick, so welcoming. He can slide right in. His jeans are rough against her thighs, but she likes the sensation, the idea that he was so eager for her he didn't want to wait to take off his pants. He fucks her slow, taking his time after how quickly she came before, and glides his hands up under her shirt, beneath her bra to cup her breasts. He squeezes gently, making her moan his name, making her demand more because she's in charge. He looks right into her eyes when he comes, lets her see what she did for him, and it sends her over the edge again.
When she leaves the makeup trailer, she moves with a bounce in her step, a wiggle in her hips, a confidence in her eyes that is downright intoxicating. (It's a secret Jensen knows - she already had that, she didn't need sex with him or anyone else to show it. He just turns the light on.) Eventually she'll focus her eyes on Jared, and not that Jensen would ever take credit for that pairing, but - yes he would. Add yenta to his list of superpowers and job titles.
Trash-talker is another one. Because though he excels at being a gentleman, sometimes he likes to indulge in a little dirty talk, filthy words rolling off his tongue, past his full lips, lips that were made to suck, and he's been watching Misha, he can tell that Misha will go for kisses that suck. Kisses that pull on bottom lips, leave marks on golden skin, kisses that make things bigger.
He corners Misha in a dirty motel room, an oft-changed set piece with plywood walls. Misha stands too close, he stares, he doesn't stop acting like Castiel, and it's a challenge Jensen meets with relish. The posture he chooses is for Castiel, the look in his eyes is for Misha, the words in his mouth are for both, bleeding over the line from fantasy to reality, but what the hell, he's known Misha a month and already knows that neither world can fully stake its claim on the man anyway.
"Been thinking about the weight of you in my mouth, the drag of you against my lips," he murmurs, just moments before he doesn't have to imagine it anymore. And he was right, Misha likes sucking kisses. Jensen gets lost in the sensation, in the heady rush of taking a man apart and putting him back together again, stronger than ever, all with the liberal application of his lips.
Misha's watching him through heavy lids, and Jensen puts on a bit of a show, let's him see how much he's liking the taste and scent of the other man, his smooth hot skin and wiry hairs. Pre-come and saliva drip from his mouth, and he swipes it with two fingers, smears it around and uses it to roll Misha's balls between his fingers. That gets a reaction, a stuttering of hips and parting of lips, and Jensen sucks harder, hums and thrums with pleasure. He's going to swallow Misha down, had already decided from the first time Castiel invaded Dean's personal space that he wanted the tickle down his throat, the musty salty taste, the look in Misha's eyes when he saw. There's awe there, and though Misha tries to recover his aplomb, that's easier said than done, not when your wet dick is being licked clean by a damn fine handsome man who gave you the best head in your life.
Jensen leaves the set with a swagger, a shit-eating grin, a sparkle in his eyes. And tight pants, but he's got that covered because Misha stumbles after him, still discombobulated but again, that's Jensen's secret, his particular charm. Because Misha doesn't like feeling thrown off kilter, it's an obvious tell, he likes to do the throwing. But now he's hooked, now he follows Jensen into his trailer and lets Jensen undress him and kiss him and fuck him into the couch.
Yeah, he's a superman, he's a fireman making his rounds all over town, he's God's gift to humanity. With a shimmy of his shoulders and a wink of his eye, he brings all the boys and girls to the yard.
You'd totally go, too.
Author: blue_fjords
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~1500
Pairings: Jensen/Genevieve, Jensen/Misha (implied Jensen/humanity)
Summary: He's a sexual superman. Of course he knows it.
A/N: For kriari, who wanted smug Jensen. Thanks to obstinatrix for encouraging the Gen, and akadougal for looking it over for me. It's an odd little thing, but I hope you like it. And hopefully getting this down will help me finish nikkimay's story this weekend, yeah? Yeah.
Some people walk down the street and the crowds just part, like God Himself is bathing them in golden sunlight, shining His own personal spotlight on them. And whether you think God's a He or a She or a figment of your neighbor Bob's imagination, you send up a little prayer of thanks for this person, this light made flesh walking amongst you. And if such a blessed person singles you out, with a smile or nod or crook of the finger, you go. And it's amazing, it's life-altering, mind-blowing, nothing will ever compare.
He's one of these people, and he knows it, too. It'd be impossible not to. He's not blind, after all. And it's not like he uses his power for evil! Far from it. No, he uses his power to give as many people as possible thirty minutes of sexual healing from a genuine superman. A hand on a shoulder there, a smoldering gaze here, and he's just made two people's lives that much better with reflected glory.
It's in the way he walks, reflected in the twinkle in his eye, the set of his shoulders, even his bow-legged stance, like he just got off a powerful stallion, because he's Jensen Fucking Ackles and if he wants to ride a fucking horse, he will ride a fucking horse.
But he's self-deprecating, his momma didn't raise no arrogant ass. No, by God, he's earned every second of smugness by being so incandescently hot, so lovingly tender, so fucking attentive to the desires of his partner.
(You'd think this part would be easy, because what do they all desire? Him, of course! But it's all in the journey, man, all in the art of seduction, the slow tease or the quick rush, everybody's different, and he appreciates every difference, every point of view. It's part of what makes him a good director, this ability to listen to another's words and body, and still know exactly what he wants to do, knows how to make the two sides meet in a beautiful expression of... well, life, he'd say, because he can be classy, he can be a gentleman.)
When the situation calls for it, like it does with Genevieve. She can curl her lip like a bad girl and toss her hair, but he can see through that. She wants to feel special (everybody wants to feel special, actually, but so many people are terrible at reciprocating, he's found it's a lost art - all to the good for him because when he smiles at you, you can hear the angels singing about how damn special you are), and she also wants to feel in control. He can do both, and have a damn good time doing it, too.
It's a grin for her, plucking a bit of fuzz out of her hair and letting the long tendrils slide through his fingers, and then she's following him, a little anxious and a little confident both. Lust turns her dark eyes nearly as black as the demon's she plays when he lifts her easily up on the makeup counter. He's almost pressed up to his own face in the mirror when he kisses her, slurping kisses, because he's watched her, seen her laugh, seen her cry, seen her when no one else was looking at her and he knows exactly what kind of kisses she wants. He's just that good. When he slides his hand around her waist and unbuttons her jeans, dips his hand beneath her waistband, he knows what else she wants, too.
Her jeans and thong are a messy pile at his feet and his tongue is inside her, licking, licking, licking, and it's loud, wet slapping, almost as loud as her harsh breathing. His hands are warm and gentle when he forces her thighs open, just a bit more so he can fit his head up closer, thrust his tongue in deeper. She's dripping on his face and whimpering, her hands flailing around until they can get a grip of his hair, too short really to dig in and she has to hold him, her palms sweaty on his forehead. He moves up to tease her clit with the end of his tongue, watching her from beneath eyelashes she would kill to have. His lips are glistening, shining in the mirrored lights of the makeup trailer. She watches, fascinated, as his eyes close slowly, like he's savoring the taste of her, like she's something beautiful to him, her scent, her wet cunt, the sight of her opened up to him and eager for his touch. And she IS eager for each stroke of his tongue, the way his hands are gripping her thighs, then her ass, pulling her closer to him. The orgasm starts at her toes and tingles all up her legs before it explodes in her midsection. Her head bangs against the counter as she gasps her release.
She doesn't want him to stop there (no one wants him to stop at just one, and neither does he) and she's so slick, so welcoming. He can slide right in. His jeans are rough against her thighs, but she likes the sensation, the idea that he was so eager for her he didn't want to wait to take off his pants. He fucks her slow, taking his time after how quickly she came before, and glides his hands up under her shirt, beneath her bra to cup her breasts. He squeezes gently, making her moan his name, making her demand more because she's in charge. He looks right into her eyes when he comes, lets her see what she did for him, and it sends her over the edge again.
When she leaves the makeup trailer, she moves with a bounce in her step, a wiggle in her hips, a confidence in her eyes that is downright intoxicating. (It's a secret Jensen knows - she already had that, she didn't need sex with him or anyone else to show it. He just turns the light on.) Eventually she'll focus her eyes on Jared, and not that Jensen would ever take credit for that pairing, but - yes he would. Add yenta to his list of superpowers and job titles.
Trash-talker is another one. Because though he excels at being a gentleman, sometimes he likes to indulge in a little dirty talk, filthy words rolling off his tongue, past his full lips, lips that were made to suck, and he's been watching Misha, he can tell that Misha will go for kisses that suck. Kisses that pull on bottom lips, leave marks on golden skin, kisses that make things bigger.
He corners Misha in a dirty motel room, an oft-changed set piece with plywood walls. Misha stands too close, he stares, he doesn't stop acting like Castiel, and it's a challenge Jensen meets with relish. The posture he chooses is for Castiel, the look in his eyes is for Misha, the words in his mouth are for both, bleeding over the line from fantasy to reality, but what the hell, he's known Misha a month and already knows that neither world can fully stake its claim on the man anyway.
"Been thinking about the weight of you in my mouth, the drag of you against my lips," he murmurs, just moments before he doesn't have to imagine it anymore. And he was right, Misha likes sucking kisses. Jensen gets lost in the sensation, in the heady rush of taking a man apart and putting him back together again, stronger than ever, all with the liberal application of his lips.
Misha's watching him through heavy lids, and Jensen puts on a bit of a show, let's him see how much he's liking the taste and scent of the other man, his smooth hot skin and wiry hairs. Pre-come and saliva drip from his mouth, and he swipes it with two fingers, smears it around and uses it to roll Misha's balls between his fingers. That gets a reaction, a stuttering of hips and parting of lips, and Jensen sucks harder, hums and thrums with pleasure. He's going to swallow Misha down, had already decided from the first time Castiel invaded Dean's personal space that he wanted the tickle down his throat, the musty salty taste, the look in Misha's eyes when he saw. There's awe there, and though Misha tries to recover his aplomb, that's easier said than done, not when your wet dick is being licked clean by a damn fine handsome man who gave you the best head in your life.
Jensen leaves the set with a swagger, a shit-eating grin, a sparkle in his eyes. And tight pants, but he's got that covered because Misha stumbles after him, still discombobulated but again, that's Jensen's secret, his particular charm. Because Misha doesn't like feeling thrown off kilter, it's an obvious tell, he likes to do the throwing. But now he's hooked, now he follows Jensen into his trailer and lets Jensen undress him and kiss him and fuck him into the couch.
Yeah, he's a superman, he's a fireman making his rounds all over town, he's God's gift to humanity. With a shimmy of his shoulders and a wink of his eye, he brings all the boys and girls to the yard.
You'd totally go, too.