FIC: "Closing The Gap" 1/1 (Christian Kane/Jeffrey Dean Morgan) NC-17 CW RPS
Title: "Closing the Gap" 1/1
Author: Brenda (azewewish)
Pairing: Christian Kane/Jeffrey Dean Morgan
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The morning after a night before that never was. Sequel to Generation Gap.
Notes: Timestamp fic for azryal - and for everyone else who asked for more of this pairing. Thanks, as ever, to cupiscent for the beta, even if she's never heard of an electric coffee maker. *g*
Eight in the morning might not feel like sleeping in to some, but to Jeff, who'd been getting wake-up calls as early as five and six, sleeping in past dawn was a luxury he hadn't been allowed in almost a year. Which was why he was as pissed as a hibernating bear when he was woken out of a sound sleep by the banging on his front door.
He rolled out of bed, wincing at the cold when his bare feet hit the wooden floor. Raked a hand through spiky bed-hair as he shuffled into the living room, clad in dark blue boxers and a matching t-shirt. And whoever was at the door was damn lucky he'd put on the shirt.
"What the fuck?" he growled as he swung open the door, then stopped, mid-tirade. "Chris?"
He was still asleep. Had to be.
"Mornin'." Chris shuffled, hands shoved into his jeans pockets, and peered up at Jeff from beneath shaggy bangs. Jeff hadn't really noticed it last night (although, to be fair to himself, he'd been a mite distracted), but Chris' hair was in almost as bad a shape as Jared's. "Guess I woke you, huh."
"Yeah, you could say that." Jeff smothered the yawn with his hand, and tried to blink the sleep from his eyes. Chris was still at the bottom of the steps. Guess he wasn't a dream after all. "Didn't think I'd see you again."
When Chris shrugged, the muscles in his forearms bunched. Jeff tried - well, sort of - not to stare. "Guess you thought wrong. You gonna invite me in?"
Jeff held the door open. Held his breath when Chris brushed past him and stepped into the living room. He seemed to fill the space just by breathing, larger than life. "How'd you find me?"
When Chris turned, his eyes held a sparkle that Jeff remembered vividly from last night. "How'd you think?"
"You seriously woke Jensen up at this hour to get my address?" Man had a fucking set of brass ones on him. Jeff didn't know of too many people who could get away with waking Jensen from his beauty sleep.
"Hell yeah. It was important. Not like I got a number last night to call you."
Last night... For a moment, Jeff was transported back to the truckbed, with Chris' lips on his, soft and open. He cleared his throat, shifted from foot to foot. "Uh, yeah. Guess not. You...uh...you want coffee?"
Jeff caught a glimpse of something on Chris' face before he gave a short nod. "Yeah, sure, man. If you're offering."
The phrase seemed to hold a bit more meaning than coffee, but that was probably just the lack of sleep talking. Jeff was never at his best in the morning. Especially the morning after a night before that never really...was.
He led the way into the kitchen, and made a beeline for the coffeemaker and grinder. It gave him something to do with his hands. When the coffee was brewing, he turned, leaned against the counter and saw that Chris had made himself comfortable on a stretch of it.
"Nice place they set you up in," Chris nodded, and glanced around the room. "Cozy."
"Better'n a hotel," Jeff replied, scratching at his ear in a nervous motion. "Too old not to have my own space."
Chris' smile was warm, full of meaning. "Didn't we have that talk last night?"
Jeff cleared his throat. He wished he had a script in front of him, because he sort of sucked at winging it, especially when he had no idea about direction. "Guess we did," he finally said.
"So, uh, look, about last -"
"Don't, man." Jeff already thought he knew where this was going. And if this was why Chris was here, sitting on his kitchen counter with that small, nervous smile, then Jeff could at least assure him that they were fine. Last night had been a deviation in a lot of ways. At least there were no hangovers and no regrets. "We're cool."
"No. We're not."
Jeff blinked in surprise at the matter of fact tone. "We're not?"
Chris shook his head, then cocked it, studying Jeff much like he thought Jeff was some sort of painting or drawing he didn't quite get. "Tell me why you left last night."
"I was tired." Which was the truth, if not all of it. "And stoned and mellow and half drunk and I wanted to pass out."
"You didn't say goodbye."
"You looked busy."
"I didn't fuck her."
"It's none of my -"
"I wanted to," Chris interrupted softly. His gaze didn't waver. "But I didn't."
And Jeff could read the reason why in clear blue eyes. Maybe last night hadn't been that much of a deviation after all. And maybe Jeff really was a clueless bastard, especially this early in the morning.
"So," Chris continued, in that same soft voice, "are we doing this?"
Jeff didn't need to think twice. Not with the memory of Chris' taste still lingering in his mouth.
"Yeah." Jeff pushed himself off the counter, stepped between the vee of Chris' thighs and leaned in. "We're definitely doing this," he murmured, and closed the small distance between them.
This kiss was nothing like the two last night. Last night, Jeff had been drunk, moody, introspective. This morning was a whole different story, and Jeff wanted in a way he hadn't allowed himself to last night.
This morning, there was none of the clumsiness of who went where; they fit together easily, two puzzle pieces sliding together, firm lips and soft tongues, sliding, taking, giving. The only moment that came close to awkward was Chris trying to simultaneously push on Jeff's boxers as well as hold on to the back of his neck for another kiss. In the end, Jeff took the initiative, stepped back long enough to shove at the boxers and give Chris room to fumble with his belt and zipper. The separation only lasted a moment, but it was too long.
"C'mere," Chris murmured, and pulled Jeff back to him, lips already parted for the kiss, and the moan came from both of them as their cocks bumped and slid together. Jeff could feel the hard thudding of Chris' heartbeat against his own, the spike of it punching through him when he wrapped a hand around Chris' cock. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd done this, the last time he'd let go and made out like a horny teenager. In his own kitchen, no less.
Then Chris returned the favor, clever fingers so good at plucking a tune from a beat-up guitar sliding in a callused, firm grip over Jeff's length, and Jeff forgot to think. It didn't take them much time to find a good, working rhythm, and Chris' whispered encouragement was music to Jeff's ears.
Time stretched like taffy, slowed, and Jeff savored every nip of Chris' teeth on his lower lip, the way his shirt rubbed against his skin when he moved, the wet smear of pre-come on his thumb as he twisted up, matched Chris stroke for stroke. When Jeff pulled back, just to look, to cement the reality in his mind, he almost came just from the way Chris was looking at him. From the flush staining high cheeks and disappearing under the collar of Chris' t-shirt, and the flutter of absurdly long lashes when Jeff twisted his wrist again.
The grip on him stuttered, then tightened as Chris came, and Jeff had just enough time to register the way Chris moaned his name before he came himself. The shock of it lasted forever and not nearly long enough.
He dropped his head to Chris' shoulder, his own heaving as he sucked in a long, shuddering breath. His hand was sticky, wrist sore from the angle he'd been using, but it was a good, clean sort of ache.
The easy silence was finally broken when Chris used his free hand to pat at Jeff's hair. "Shoulda done this last night," Chris remarked, voice still gravelly, rough.
Jeff laughed, and placed a light, soft kiss on Chris' neck, just beneath his jaw where his pulse was still jumping, before straightening. He grabbed the dishtowel from the sink without moving, cleaned his hand with fast, economical swipes, and offered it to Chris. Their fingers brushed together, nice and easy. "Nah," he replied, drawing the word out. "This is better."
"Yeah." Blue eyes crinkled when Chris smiled, and it was a smile Jeff could get used to seeing. "You're right. This is better."
"I'm older. I'm always right," and, for the first time in awhile, he didn't mind that he was. He supposed he had Chris to thank for that, as well.
"Uh huh." Then Chris cocked his head again, and Jeff could read the challenge, the invitation, before Chris opened his mouth again. "This joint gotta bed?"
"Nice big one. Why, you wanting a tour?" Jeff asked, and when Chris curled a hand in his hair and yanked, the kiss curled his toes.
"Just of the bed," Chris said, smirking.
"I'll be happy to show you every damn square inch of it."
The answering flash of heat in Chris' eyes told Jeff everything he needed to know.
***
Author: Brenda (azewewish)
Pairing: Christian Kane/Jeffrey Dean Morgan
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The morning after a night before that never was. Sequel to Generation Gap.
Notes: Timestamp fic for azryal - and for everyone else who asked for more of this pairing. Thanks, as ever, to cupiscent for the beta, even if she's never heard of an electric coffee maker. *g*
Eight in the morning might not feel like sleeping in to some, but to Jeff, who'd been getting wake-up calls as early as five and six, sleeping in past dawn was a luxury he hadn't been allowed in almost a year. Which was why he was as pissed as a hibernating bear when he was woken out of a sound sleep by the banging on his front door.
He rolled out of bed, wincing at the cold when his bare feet hit the wooden floor. Raked a hand through spiky bed-hair as he shuffled into the living room, clad in dark blue boxers and a matching t-shirt. And whoever was at the door was damn lucky he'd put on the shirt.
"What the fuck?" he growled as he swung open the door, then stopped, mid-tirade. "Chris?"
He was still asleep. Had to be.
"Mornin'." Chris shuffled, hands shoved into his jeans pockets, and peered up at Jeff from beneath shaggy bangs. Jeff hadn't really noticed it last night (although, to be fair to himself, he'd been a mite distracted), but Chris' hair was in almost as bad a shape as Jared's. "Guess I woke you, huh."
"Yeah, you could say that." Jeff smothered the yawn with his hand, and tried to blink the sleep from his eyes. Chris was still at the bottom of the steps. Guess he wasn't a dream after all. "Didn't think I'd see you again."
When Chris shrugged, the muscles in his forearms bunched. Jeff tried - well, sort of - not to stare. "Guess you thought wrong. You gonna invite me in?"
Jeff held the door open. Held his breath when Chris brushed past him and stepped into the living room. He seemed to fill the space just by breathing, larger than life. "How'd you find me?"
When Chris turned, his eyes held a sparkle that Jeff remembered vividly from last night. "How'd you think?"
"You seriously woke Jensen up at this hour to get my address?" Man had a fucking set of brass ones on him. Jeff didn't know of too many people who could get away with waking Jensen from his beauty sleep.
"Hell yeah. It was important. Not like I got a number last night to call you."
Last night... For a moment, Jeff was transported back to the truckbed, with Chris' lips on his, soft and open. He cleared his throat, shifted from foot to foot. "Uh, yeah. Guess not. You...uh...you want coffee?"
Jeff caught a glimpse of something on Chris' face before he gave a short nod. "Yeah, sure, man. If you're offering."
The phrase seemed to hold a bit more meaning than coffee, but that was probably just the lack of sleep talking. Jeff was never at his best in the morning. Especially the morning after a night before that never really...was.
He led the way into the kitchen, and made a beeline for the coffeemaker and grinder. It gave him something to do with his hands. When the coffee was brewing, he turned, leaned against the counter and saw that Chris had made himself comfortable on a stretch of it.
"Nice place they set you up in," Chris nodded, and glanced around the room. "Cozy."
"Better'n a hotel," Jeff replied, scratching at his ear in a nervous motion. "Too old not to have my own space."
Chris' smile was warm, full of meaning. "Didn't we have that talk last night?"
Jeff cleared his throat. He wished he had a script in front of him, because he sort of sucked at winging it, especially when he had no idea about direction. "Guess we did," he finally said.
"So, uh, look, about last -"
"Don't, man." Jeff already thought he knew where this was going. And if this was why Chris was here, sitting on his kitchen counter with that small, nervous smile, then Jeff could at least assure him that they were fine. Last night had been a deviation in a lot of ways. At least there were no hangovers and no regrets. "We're cool."
"No. We're not."
Jeff blinked in surprise at the matter of fact tone. "We're not?"
Chris shook his head, then cocked it, studying Jeff much like he thought Jeff was some sort of painting or drawing he didn't quite get. "Tell me why you left last night."
"I was tired." Which was the truth, if not all of it. "And stoned and mellow and half drunk and I wanted to pass out."
"You didn't say goodbye."
"You looked busy."
"I didn't fuck her."
"It's none of my -"
"I wanted to," Chris interrupted softly. His gaze didn't waver. "But I didn't."
And Jeff could read the reason why in clear blue eyes. Maybe last night hadn't been that much of a deviation after all. And maybe Jeff really was a clueless bastard, especially this early in the morning.
"So," Chris continued, in that same soft voice, "are we doing this?"
Jeff didn't need to think twice. Not with the memory of Chris' taste still lingering in his mouth.
"Yeah." Jeff pushed himself off the counter, stepped between the vee of Chris' thighs and leaned in. "We're definitely doing this," he murmured, and closed the small distance between them.
This kiss was nothing like the two last night. Last night, Jeff had been drunk, moody, introspective. This morning was a whole different story, and Jeff wanted in a way he hadn't allowed himself to last night.
This morning, there was none of the clumsiness of who went where; they fit together easily, two puzzle pieces sliding together, firm lips and soft tongues, sliding, taking, giving. The only moment that came close to awkward was Chris trying to simultaneously push on Jeff's boxers as well as hold on to the back of his neck for another kiss. In the end, Jeff took the initiative, stepped back long enough to shove at the boxers and give Chris room to fumble with his belt and zipper. The separation only lasted a moment, but it was too long.
"C'mere," Chris murmured, and pulled Jeff back to him, lips already parted for the kiss, and the moan came from both of them as their cocks bumped and slid together. Jeff could feel the hard thudding of Chris' heartbeat against his own, the spike of it punching through him when he wrapped a hand around Chris' cock. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd done this, the last time he'd let go and made out like a horny teenager. In his own kitchen, no less.
Then Chris returned the favor, clever fingers so good at plucking a tune from a beat-up guitar sliding in a callused, firm grip over Jeff's length, and Jeff forgot to think. It didn't take them much time to find a good, working rhythm, and Chris' whispered encouragement was music to Jeff's ears.
Time stretched like taffy, slowed, and Jeff savored every nip of Chris' teeth on his lower lip, the way his shirt rubbed against his skin when he moved, the wet smear of pre-come on his thumb as he twisted up, matched Chris stroke for stroke. When Jeff pulled back, just to look, to cement the reality in his mind, he almost came just from the way Chris was looking at him. From the flush staining high cheeks and disappearing under the collar of Chris' t-shirt, and the flutter of absurdly long lashes when Jeff twisted his wrist again.
The grip on him stuttered, then tightened as Chris came, and Jeff had just enough time to register the way Chris moaned his name before he came himself. The shock of it lasted forever and not nearly long enough.
He dropped his head to Chris' shoulder, his own heaving as he sucked in a long, shuddering breath. His hand was sticky, wrist sore from the angle he'd been using, but it was a good, clean sort of ache.
The easy silence was finally broken when Chris used his free hand to pat at Jeff's hair. "Shoulda done this last night," Chris remarked, voice still gravelly, rough.
Jeff laughed, and placed a light, soft kiss on Chris' neck, just beneath his jaw where his pulse was still jumping, before straightening. He grabbed the dishtowel from the sink without moving, cleaned his hand with fast, economical swipes, and offered it to Chris. Their fingers brushed together, nice and easy. "Nah," he replied, drawing the word out. "This is better."
"Yeah." Blue eyes crinkled when Chris smiled, and it was a smile Jeff could get used to seeing. "You're right. This is better."
"I'm older. I'm always right," and, for the first time in awhile, he didn't mind that he was. He supposed he had Chris to thank for that, as well.
"Uh huh." Then Chris cocked his head again, and Jeff could read the challenge, the invitation, before Chris opened his mouth again. "This joint gotta bed?"
"Nice big one. Why, you wanting a tour?" Jeff asked, and when Chris curled a hand in his hair and yanked, the kiss curled his toes.
"Just of the bed," Chris said, smirking.
"I'll be happy to show you every damn square inch of it."
The answering flash of heat in Chris' eyes told Jeff everything he needed to know.
***