: THE MISCOMMUNICATION OF A BAD IDEA : RPS : Ackles/Padalecki
The Miscommunication of a Bad Idea.
:: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, RPS, NC17. (J2/On or in Impala/bottom!Jared prompt for j2_otpathon.)
Summary:: Jared gets another brilliant idea and Jensen gets pulled along, just like always.
01.28.2007 The Miscommunication of a Bad Idea.
This a bad idea. Jensen knows that.
He knows it the way he knows that he shouldn't have eaten that yellow jalapeno pepper the other day no matter how much his co-star swore up and down that it wouldn't burn. Or the way he knew last Tuesday that 'just one more shot of tequila' wasn't the way to cure the hangover that he'd already been well on the way to getting.
But maybe, Jensen thinks as he stumbles along behind the pull of Jared's paw on his wrist, the bad idea isn't this - whatever this happens to be at the current moment - but listening to Jared in the first place.
Of course it is, damnit. But the kid's all long limbs and turned down sloe eyes and bouncing with the kind of excitement that Jensen thought puppies had cornered the market on. How the hell are you not supposed to go along with that? Or get infected by it?
That's it. Jared is a disease. A six-foot-too-tall disease that mixes some special southern 'I-was-raised-in-a-Texan-cornfield' genuineness with that goddamn blinding smile to make Jensen's brain turn to mush and puddle down into his dick.
It's dark, and they're not supposed to be here. The Vancouver lot is quiet and empty. They wouldn't get in trouble for being on set after hours - not the kind of trouble that gets you thrown in jail, anyway - but that's not what Jensen thinks is the bad idea because they've snuck onto the closed set before. Last time it was to liberate Jared's candy stash from his trailer. This is different.
Jared stumbles against something in the dark and laughs a curse and Jensen finds himself smacking against warmth and long arms that slide around his waist as if they own it. He can feel the hot breath from the laugh skitter over the skin of his neck and goose bumps break out over Jensen's arms. "Come on," he laughs, pushing a little against Jared's chest. He's forced to repeat himself when teeth scrape lightly over his pulse, undeterred. "Come on, Jared. We're in the middle of the damn lot."
The reply of, "You're no fun," is muffled against Jensen's neck, but Jared relents with a long swipe of his tongue over the sensitive skin just under Jensen's ear.
Suddenly the prospect of public sex isn't looking so bad.
"I'm going to hell," Jensen mutters, twisting out of Jared's loosening grip and stalking toward the line of Impalas, all dark, crouching shapes in the moonless night. "I'm going to hell and my Momma'll cry for her son."
The rush of Jared's steps to catch up crunch over gravel. "At least you'll have good company." He's laughing as he falls in step.
In the dark Jensen can't see much of his friend's face, there's just the unruly shape of his hair and the hundred-watt smile that's like a heat lamp - even though Jensen can't see it well, he can feel its radiance. "You wouldn't know a hand basket if it hit you between the eyes," he says.
"Oh, I know." Jared pinches his ass and Jensen starts to the side, hitting the door of one of the cars with an abused grunt. "I was talking about Rosenbaum," Jared whispers against the shell of his ear and Jensen feels his knees melt to the consistency of pudding in response to the damp heat. It soaks into his brain and makes everything slightly hazy around the edges.
When long fingers slide under the waistband of his jeans Jensen rasps out, "Yeah, because your halo is blinding," in a tone that would be a lot more convincingly sarcastic if he could make his throat work properly.
The cars are parked close together, close enough that when Jared leans himself back against one and pulls Jensen close, he can bridge the gap between two Impalas with a single long leg and foot on the door handle. With a warm thigh against his hip, Jensen finds himself hard pressed to think about anything but Jared and getting in the boy's pants - public or no, bad idea or not. Jared leans back against cool, dark metal so that he can rock his hips up.
In lieu of rational thought, Jensen decides that sucking on Jared's neck is the next best thing to getting them somewhere private. The smooth skin is salty against his tongue, a sharp mix of sweat and aftershave that lights up Jensen's nerves like a good drug. He rocks his own hips, catching Jared between himself and the car and feels the moan rumble under his lips as it crawls up Jared's throat. Serves the bastard right.
It's like this a lot of the time with Jared, fast and furious, a release of tension and energy - they've gotten used to the urgent rhythm of it. There's a dance in each grind of their hips and crush of mouths, well-timed, well-worn, well-loved. Jensen knows that when he pushes his thumbs under pants and boxers and into the curve of Jared's sharp hips right... there...
Like clockwork Jared's fingers spasm on Jensen's arms and the swallowed groan is loud between them. The sound is covered with a wet press of lips that are partly a need for secrecy and partly possessiveness. That reaction is his, for him, and he doesn't want to share it with anyone. His hand slides against Jared's neck and Jensen drags a thumb along his jaw even as the rest of his fingers are seeking to tangle into hair still coarse with styling product. Jared shoves his tongue forward in a wet demand for attention and Jensen sucks on it roughly before slipping his own along the length and tracing the ridges across the roof of Jared's mouth.
Talk isn't exactly cheap when Jensen's brain is in his dick and he has to consciously force himself to pull away enough to free his mouth in order to form words. He licks his lips and sees Jared smile - which looks as dazed as he feels, so that's okay. Jensen nods up the length of the car they were leaning against. "Come on. Inside." Full sentences would have been difficult - he's lucky he isn't grunting like a cave man.
Warm lips press against Jensen's throat. "You know that car's not big enough for us to have sex in." Each word is murmured to skin and vibrates against him with a purr that makes his eyelids drop and an urgent pulse start between his legs.
"What're you talking about?" Jensen rasps out, rolling his hips against Jared and twisting his neck so he can bite on an earlobe. He scrapes his teeth over the soft, peach-fuzzed flesh and feels Jared shiver under his hands. "You said you wanted to fuck in the car."
When Jared's turned on, his laugh is thick and sweet and slow. Jensen always feels that if he bridges the gap between their lips right as Jared's laughing he should be able to taste it, like honey. "I said," Jared grins, "I wanted to fuck on the car."
There's a moment of silence given to that thought as the words settle on Jensen. Despite being an actor, he's not an exhibitionist and the suggestion of having no walls between the world and such an intimate act turns a knot in his stomach. Jared's fingers tug at his pants, bringing them together again and Jensen can feel how hard Jared is, heat and want no match for a layer or two of denim and cotton.
"There's nobody around," Jared presses into his ear as the button on Jensen's jeans part under insistent fingers. "Come on, Jen, please?" It's just the right mix of begging and lust, like a fucking puppy with a boner. Like it hurts Jared that he can't have it.
Jensen gives a low growl that sounds like defeat and yanks himself away from Jared, dragging his friend after by the front of his shirt. "You better send me a postcard when I'm in hell," he says as he shoves Jared against the grill of the car.
He gets a smile for his trouble and then a little bit more as jeans and boxers hit the ground after a trip down long limbs. Jared steps out of one leg only and lays himself back on the hood - hooking the free foot up on the fender - and Jensen looks away so he doesn't come in his pants right there like a thirteen year-old in a girl's locker room. "I'll make sure to put sunshine and rainbows on it so you know what you're missing." That sounds strange, coming in Jared's husk of a bedroom voice, but Jensen's not really paying attention anyway. He's staring at his friend and there's just the race of his heart and the way Jared's orange polo has rucked up high on his stomach to show his dick laying against his skin, hard and blushed and wet at the head.
Pressure that turns out to be a foot against his rear makes Jensen blink and focuses his attention as Jared pulls him in until his shins hit the car and the front of his thighs meet Jared's ass. Jared's spread out on the black hood like he missed a calling to be a whore and even in the dark Jensen can see the flush high on his cheeks. The leg he's wrapped around Jensen to pull him closer doesn't let go and his knee settles against Jensen's side. "Jen," he whispers, arching enough to rub his ass against the front of Jensen's jeans, "Fuck, Jensen, please." In the dark Jared's eyes find his and he can't tell if it's the lack of light or the lust making them black. "Please."
As if Jared knows his breaking point, there's a condom being pressed into Jensen's hand even as he leans down, stretching over that long body to crush his lips against those waiting. Their teeth meet for a moment, hit against each other, catch against lips, sharp and rough like it's the end of the line. Jensen can't open his pants fast enough; he rips the zipper down and is past caring that the metal teeth will probably catch against Jared's skin once they start moving. He knows by the way that Jared's moaning into his mouth that he's past caring, too.
The condom is warm from being in Jared's pocket. The press of it around him is like a promise of what's coming and Jensen's hips shift forward, impatient for the real closeness, the real choke. With one hand he pushes Jared's raised knee closer to his chest and feels a heel hook against his low back. The other hand spreads and guides, fingers damp from the condom's lubrication slick against hot skin. His fingertip finds puckered skin and Jared jumps beneath him, jerking his hips and throwing long arms around Jensen's back like he might slide away if he doesn't hold on.
The crash of breath between them is loud as they both forget the kiss. Jensen's forehead is resting against Jared's temple as his hips flex forward and that small suck of skin and muscles spreads around him, swallows him in a slow, reluctant give. Jared's voice is sandpaper and velvet against his ear, a steady flow of whispered filth that would have sent his momma to an early grave.
The body under him arches and Jensen knows it must hurt but he keeps the push slow and constant, only resting when he's all the way in and gasping at the clench and give of Jared around him. The kid's goddamn resilient - it takes less than thirty seconds before the curses turn into pleas and he's writhing like a cat in heat. Jared locks his leg around Jensen and tries to push him deeper. "Jesus, Jay," he gasps out, putting more weight on Jared's knee until his thigh is locked against his chest and Jensen's back in control. Jared just moans in response and butts his face against Jensen's, finding the skin over his jaw with his teeth and raking over day-old stubble. The feel of it makes Jensen's eyes roll back in his head and his hips shudder involuntarily.
"I want it, Jen. Please, I want it so bad want to feel you moving in me and fucking filling me up please oh please fuck me fuck me," comes the mantra from the one who can't shift his hips now, who just grabs tight with fingers and teeth and begs in a voice that almost threatens to make Jensen shoot before he's even started moving. Jared's loud, dirty, and damned if he won't try anything once.
When Jared's voice threatens to climb Jensen moves to keep him quiet - the sharp back and forth into still fluttering muscles turns the desperate words into choked groans. Gravel crunches underfoot as Jensen shifts and thrusts again and it doesn't take long for him to find a rhythm. It's hard and fast and just how Jared wants it; almost from the get-go the kid is pushing his head against the car and crying out and trying to jam himself down onto each thrust even though Jensen's holding him down.
It's a quick build, that rising ache in his gut. Jensen arches and then grunts at the way the movement pulls Jared's blunt fingernails across his lower back in burning lines, but he's only concerned about getting deeper and hitting that spot that makes both of their eyes roll back in their heads.
Jensen's free hand slides between them to wrap around Jared's dick. His brain doesn't have much finesse to spare right now, but it doesn't matter - he only needs to tug twice before Jared is tensing and swearing and getting both their bellies wet with sticky heat. Jensen falls a heartbeat behind, getting one good slide through the spasming muscles before his own body locks up and he loses himself in a shivering throb of heart and limbs, mouth open against the cotton of Jared's shirt.
"See?" Jared purrs a minute later - by which time Jensen's coherent enough to listen because his brain has stopped throbbing out of his dick. "Hell's so worth this."
Jensen pushes his face into Jared's neck and breathes deeply before he releases the leg he's holding and props himself up on one elbow. He looks down at the wide, guileless smile spread onto his friend's face. Maybe Jared's right.
Then the floodlights come on.
:: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki, RPS, NC17. (J2/On or in Impala/bottom!Jared prompt for j2_otpathon.)
Summary:: Jared gets another brilliant idea and Jensen gets pulled along, just like always.
01.28.2007 The Miscommunication of a Bad Idea.
This a bad idea. Jensen knows that.
He knows it the way he knows that he shouldn't have eaten that yellow jalapeno pepper the other day no matter how much his co-star swore up and down that it wouldn't burn. Or the way he knew last Tuesday that 'just one more shot of tequila' wasn't the way to cure the hangover that he'd already been well on the way to getting.
But maybe, Jensen thinks as he stumbles along behind the pull of Jared's paw on his wrist, the bad idea isn't this - whatever this happens to be at the current moment - but listening to Jared in the first place.
Of course it is, damnit. But the kid's all long limbs and turned down sloe eyes and bouncing with the kind of excitement that Jensen thought puppies had cornered the market on. How the hell are you not supposed to go along with that? Or get infected by it?
That's it. Jared is a disease. A six-foot-too-tall disease that mixes some special southern 'I-was-raised-in-a-Texan-cornfield' genuineness with that goddamn blinding smile to make Jensen's brain turn to mush and puddle down into his dick.
It's dark, and they're not supposed to be here. The Vancouver lot is quiet and empty. They wouldn't get in trouble for being on set after hours - not the kind of trouble that gets you thrown in jail, anyway - but that's not what Jensen thinks is the bad idea because they've snuck onto the closed set before. Last time it was to liberate Jared's candy stash from his trailer. This is different.
Jared stumbles against something in the dark and laughs a curse and Jensen finds himself smacking against warmth and long arms that slide around his waist as if they own it. He can feel the hot breath from the laugh skitter over the skin of his neck and goose bumps break out over Jensen's arms. "Come on," he laughs, pushing a little against Jared's chest. He's forced to repeat himself when teeth scrape lightly over his pulse, undeterred. "Come on, Jared. We're in the middle of the damn lot."
The reply of, "You're no fun," is muffled against Jensen's neck, but Jared relents with a long swipe of his tongue over the sensitive skin just under Jensen's ear.
Suddenly the prospect of public sex isn't looking so bad.
"I'm going to hell," Jensen mutters, twisting out of Jared's loosening grip and stalking toward the line of Impalas, all dark, crouching shapes in the moonless night. "I'm going to hell and my Momma'll cry for her son."
The rush of Jared's steps to catch up crunch over gravel. "At least you'll have good company." He's laughing as he falls in step.
In the dark Jensen can't see much of his friend's face, there's just the unruly shape of his hair and the hundred-watt smile that's like a heat lamp - even though Jensen can't see it well, he can feel its radiance. "You wouldn't know a hand basket if it hit you between the eyes," he says.
"Oh, I know." Jared pinches his ass and Jensen starts to the side, hitting the door of one of the cars with an abused grunt. "I was talking about Rosenbaum," Jared whispers against the shell of his ear and Jensen feels his knees melt to the consistency of pudding in response to the damp heat. It soaks into his brain and makes everything slightly hazy around the edges.
When long fingers slide under the waistband of his jeans Jensen rasps out, "Yeah, because your halo is blinding," in a tone that would be a lot more convincingly sarcastic if he could make his throat work properly.
The cars are parked close together, close enough that when Jared leans himself back against one and pulls Jensen close, he can bridge the gap between two Impalas with a single long leg and foot on the door handle. With a warm thigh against his hip, Jensen finds himself hard pressed to think about anything but Jared and getting in the boy's pants - public or no, bad idea or not. Jared leans back against cool, dark metal so that he can rock his hips up.
In lieu of rational thought, Jensen decides that sucking on Jared's neck is the next best thing to getting them somewhere private. The smooth skin is salty against his tongue, a sharp mix of sweat and aftershave that lights up Jensen's nerves like a good drug. He rocks his own hips, catching Jared between himself and the car and feels the moan rumble under his lips as it crawls up Jared's throat. Serves the bastard right.
It's like this a lot of the time with Jared, fast and furious, a release of tension and energy - they've gotten used to the urgent rhythm of it. There's a dance in each grind of their hips and crush of mouths, well-timed, well-worn, well-loved. Jensen knows that when he pushes his thumbs under pants and boxers and into the curve of Jared's sharp hips right... there...
Like clockwork Jared's fingers spasm on Jensen's arms and the swallowed groan is loud between them. The sound is covered with a wet press of lips that are partly a need for secrecy and partly possessiveness. That reaction is his, for him, and he doesn't want to share it with anyone. His hand slides against Jared's neck and Jensen drags a thumb along his jaw even as the rest of his fingers are seeking to tangle into hair still coarse with styling product. Jared shoves his tongue forward in a wet demand for attention and Jensen sucks on it roughly before slipping his own along the length and tracing the ridges across the roof of Jared's mouth.
Talk isn't exactly cheap when Jensen's brain is in his dick and he has to consciously force himself to pull away enough to free his mouth in order to form words. He licks his lips and sees Jared smile - which looks as dazed as he feels, so that's okay. Jensen nods up the length of the car they were leaning against. "Come on. Inside." Full sentences would have been difficult - he's lucky he isn't grunting like a cave man.
Warm lips press against Jensen's throat. "You know that car's not big enough for us to have sex in." Each word is murmured to skin and vibrates against him with a purr that makes his eyelids drop and an urgent pulse start between his legs.
"What're you talking about?" Jensen rasps out, rolling his hips against Jared and twisting his neck so he can bite on an earlobe. He scrapes his teeth over the soft, peach-fuzzed flesh and feels Jared shiver under his hands. "You said you wanted to fuck in the car."
When Jared's turned on, his laugh is thick and sweet and slow. Jensen always feels that if he bridges the gap between their lips right as Jared's laughing he should be able to taste it, like honey. "I said," Jared grins, "I wanted to fuck on the car."
There's a moment of silence given to that thought as the words settle on Jensen. Despite being an actor, he's not an exhibitionist and the suggestion of having no walls between the world and such an intimate act turns a knot in his stomach. Jared's fingers tug at his pants, bringing them together again and Jensen can feel how hard Jared is, heat and want no match for a layer or two of denim and cotton.
"There's nobody around," Jared presses into his ear as the button on Jensen's jeans part under insistent fingers. "Come on, Jen, please?" It's just the right mix of begging and lust, like a fucking puppy with a boner. Like it hurts Jared that he can't have it.
Jensen gives a low growl that sounds like defeat and yanks himself away from Jared, dragging his friend after by the front of his shirt. "You better send me a postcard when I'm in hell," he says as he shoves Jared against the grill of the car.
He gets a smile for his trouble and then a little bit more as jeans and boxers hit the ground after a trip down long limbs. Jared steps out of one leg only and lays himself back on the hood - hooking the free foot up on the fender - and Jensen looks away so he doesn't come in his pants right there like a thirteen year-old in a girl's locker room. "I'll make sure to put sunshine and rainbows on it so you know what you're missing." That sounds strange, coming in Jared's husk of a bedroom voice, but Jensen's not really paying attention anyway. He's staring at his friend and there's just the race of his heart and the way Jared's orange polo has rucked up high on his stomach to show his dick laying against his skin, hard and blushed and wet at the head.
Pressure that turns out to be a foot against his rear makes Jensen blink and focuses his attention as Jared pulls him in until his shins hit the car and the front of his thighs meet Jared's ass. Jared's spread out on the black hood like he missed a calling to be a whore and even in the dark Jensen can see the flush high on his cheeks. The leg he's wrapped around Jensen to pull him closer doesn't let go and his knee settles against Jensen's side. "Jen," he whispers, arching enough to rub his ass against the front of Jensen's jeans, "Fuck, Jensen, please." In the dark Jared's eyes find his and he can't tell if it's the lack of light or the lust making them black. "Please."
As if Jared knows his breaking point, there's a condom being pressed into Jensen's hand even as he leans down, stretching over that long body to crush his lips against those waiting. Their teeth meet for a moment, hit against each other, catch against lips, sharp and rough like it's the end of the line. Jensen can't open his pants fast enough; he rips the zipper down and is past caring that the metal teeth will probably catch against Jared's skin once they start moving. He knows by the way that Jared's moaning into his mouth that he's past caring, too.
The condom is warm from being in Jared's pocket. The press of it around him is like a promise of what's coming and Jensen's hips shift forward, impatient for the real closeness, the real choke. With one hand he pushes Jared's raised knee closer to his chest and feels a heel hook against his low back. The other hand spreads and guides, fingers damp from the condom's lubrication slick against hot skin. His fingertip finds puckered skin and Jared jumps beneath him, jerking his hips and throwing long arms around Jensen's back like he might slide away if he doesn't hold on.
The crash of breath between them is loud as they both forget the kiss. Jensen's forehead is resting against Jared's temple as his hips flex forward and that small suck of skin and muscles spreads around him, swallows him in a slow, reluctant give. Jared's voice is sandpaper and velvet against his ear, a steady flow of whispered filth that would have sent his momma to an early grave.
The body under him arches and Jensen knows it must hurt but he keeps the push slow and constant, only resting when he's all the way in and gasping at the clench and give of Jared around him. The kid's goddamn resilient - it takes less than thirty seconds before the curses turn into pleas and he's writhing like a cat in heat. Jared locks his leg around Jensen and tries to push him deeper. "Jesus, Jay," he gasps out, putting more weight on Jared's knee until his thigh is locked against his chest and Jensen's back in control. Jared just moans in response and butts his face against Jensen's, finding the skin over his jaw with his teeth and raking over day-old stubble. The feel of it makes Jensen's eyes roll back in his head and his hips shudder involuntarily.
"I want it, Jen. Please, I want it so bad want to feel you moving in me and fucking filling me up please oh please fuck me fuck me," comes the mantra from the one who can't shift his hips now, who just grabs tight with fingers and teeth and begs in a voice that almost threatens to make Jensen shoot before he's even started moving. Jared's loud, dirty, and damned if he won't try anything once.
When Jared's voice threatens to climb Jensen moves to keep him quiet - the sharp back and forth into still fluttering muscles turns the desperate words into choked groans. Gravel crunches underfoot as Jensen shifts and thrusts again and it doesn't take long for him to find a rhythm. It's hard and fast and just how Jared wants it; almost from the get-go the kid is pushing his head against the car and crying out and trying to jam himself down onto each thrust even though Jensen's holding him down.
It's a quick build, that rising ache in his gut. Jensen arches and then grunts at the way the movement pulls Jared's blunt fingernails across his lower back in burning lines, but he's only concerned about getting deeper and hitting that spot that makes both of their eyes roll back in their heads.
Jensen's free hand slides between them to wrap around Jared's dick. His brain doesn't have much finesse to spare right now, but it doesn't matter - he only needs to tug twice before Jared is tensing and swearing and getting both their bellies wet with sticky heat. Jensen falls a heartbeat behind, getting one good slide through the spasming muscles before his own body locks up and he loses himself in a shivering throb of heart and limbs, mouth open against the cotton of Jared's shirt.
"See?" Jared purrs a minute later - by which time Jensen's coherent enough to listen because his brain has stopped throbbing out of his dick. "Hell's so worth this."
Jensen pushes his face into Jared's neck and breathes deeply before he releases the leg he's holding and props himself up on one elbow. He looks down at the wide, guileless smile spread onto his friend's face. Maybe Jared's right.
Then the floodlights come on.