Badfic Idol: ¿Donde estan los pantelones?
This is probably only amusing when read by affectingly, whose rendition of basically everything at Badfic Idol last week was pretty epic. I've kept her title, which sums up the fic neatly.
ETA 9-21-14: I was wrong. beadslut has equaled affectingly's rendition. And made a cover. \o/
¿Donde estan los pantelones?
By desertport for Badic Idol at Wincon
A J2 Romance
(Very explicit!)
One day, Jensen could not find his pants.
"Jared," he said, turning to the taller man. "Where did I toss my pants prior to our night of lustful passion?"
"I don't remember anything before you took me hard against the window overlooking the exclusive club by the waterfall in the plaza of the Wynn Hotel here in Las Vegas," he replied to the blond man.
"No, I'm pretty sure I had my pants on with the fly open as we fucked rhythmically in full view of anyone who would happen to look up toward our penthouse suite and see your palms sweating hot against the glass panes as your bare arms flexed to hold your weight against my manly thrusts into your effervescent ass while you bit your lip, drawing blood, and struggling not to cry out and disturb our neighbors again."
"Oh, yeah," said Jared.
Jensen hunted around the suite, naked from the waist down, wearing only Jared's cum-splattered hoodie that brought out the emerald of his--Jensen's--deep orbs that were pools of green like the glow-in-the-dark lichen that grows in dark caves and also the lime-colored flesh of the dead frog Jared had spotted in the gutter that was also red and kind of squishy.
Jensen's exhausted cock swung idly between his bow-legs as he bent to look under the bed for his pants, and Jared's own man-spear did a little dance at the sight of the bronze, muscled ass of his one true love. It was more of a macarena than a waltz, but also slightly like a ballet, which suited the lacy pink lingerie decorating his--Jared's--torso and private parts.
"I have an admission to make," the brunette blurted.
"Dude, you and your refractory period, J. Give a guy a chance to recover," Jensen complained, though impressed despite his own weary, lactose-soaked muscles that were enervated (that means really tired) by a night of ramming his baby-maker come-cannon bum-tickler prostate-poker tumescent penis into his boyfriend's mancave and repeatedly vomiting cum up into his--Jared's--willing innards.
"No," said Jensen's soulmate. "I mean I stole your pants and will only return them in exchange for certain sexual favors."
Jared was lying, but Jensen's cock did a pirouette and they made tender, acrobatic love for the rest of the day. They never found Jensen's pants, so Jensen had to walk around in Jared's spare panties for the rest of their Vegas trip the end.
ETA 9-21-14: I was wrong. beadslut has equaled affectingly's rendition. And made a cover. \o/
¿Donde estan los pantelones?
By desertport for Badic Idol at Wincon
A J2 Romance
(Very explicit!)
One day, Jensen could not find his pants.
"Jared," he said, turning to the taller man. "Where did I toss my pants prior to our night of lustful passion?"
"I don't remember anything before you took me hard against the window overlooking the exclusive club by the waterfall in the plaza of the Wynn Hotel here in Las Vegas," he replied to the blond man.
"No, I'm pretty sure I had my pants on with the fly open as we fucked rhythmically in full view of anyone who would happen to look up toward our penthouse suite and see your palms sweating hot against the glass panes as your bare arms flexed to hold your weight against my manly thrusts into your effervescent ass while you bit your lip, drawing blood, and struggling not to cry out and disturb our neighbors again."
"Oh, yeah," said Jared.
Jensen hunted around the suite, naked from the waist down, wearing only Jared's cum-splattered hoodie that brought out the emerald of his--Jensen's--deep orbs that were pools of green like the glow-in-the-dark lichen that grows in dark caves and also the lime-colored flesh of the dead frog Jared had spotted in the gutter that was also red and kind of squishy.
Jensen's exhausted cock swung idly between his bow-legs as he bent to look under the bed for his pants, and Jared's own man-spear did a little dance at the sight of the bronze, muscled ass of his one true love. It was more of a macarena than a waltz, but also slightly like a ballet, which suited the lacy pink lingerie decorating his--Jared's--torso and private parts.
"I have an admission to make," the brunette blurted.
"Dude, you and your refractory period, J. Give a guy a chance to recover," Jensen complained, though impressed despite his own weary, lactose-soaked muscles that were enervated (that means really tired) by a night of ramming his baby-maker come-cannon bum-tickler prostate-poker tumescent penis into his boyfriend's mancave and repeatedly vomiting cum up into his--Jared's--willing innards.
"No," said Jensen's soulmate. "I mean I stole your pants and will only return them in exchange for certain sexual favors."
Jared was lying, but Jensen's cock did a pirouette and they made tender, acrobatic love for the rest of the day. They never found Jensen's pants, so Jensen had to walk around in Jared's spare panties for the rest of their Vegas trip the end.