Partially edited, completly readable...
Settle For A Slow Down
Pt 1
NC 17 for excessive use of cussing and the occasional creative sex scene.
Note: The first little bit is pretty crappily written, but hey, it get's better!
The year was 2010 and there I was, sitting by the punch bowl and contemplating life, love, and the Supernatural wrap party. (No we were not put out of our misery by the hands of the network, it was just our time.) I was shaking hands and slapping backs as the people I’d called family for the past five years came to say goodbye. Eric had a little tear in his eye and Kim was typically Kim, sent me off with a joke about my shirt and a smile.
Even Kenny Dooglemen, the PA guy, came by my corner of the punch bowl.
“Thank you…so…much!”
I waved it off, “It was nothing man,” I held out my hand for him to shake and the guy ended up pulling me into hug and began to sob. Typical Kenny.
A couple years back I gave him the name of a good orthodontist to fix his teeth. I have to admit it wasn’t for completely selfless reasons. The man’s headgear looked like they could pick up radio signals and it was always me who caught the glare from the stage lights when it hit his braces just right. But hey, it made the guy happy and he slipped me extra M&M’s ever since, who was I to complain?
As the party wound down, I enjoyed the last jumbo bag of free M&M’s I would ever have and waited for two people: Jeffrey Dean, and Him.
Jeffrey Dean showed up first.
“Hey,” he nodded the greeting.
“Hey,” I nodded back.
You would think that after 5 years working together on and off, we would have had something more to say than just ‘hey’.
“So,” He forced his hands into his pockets.
“So,” I parroted him, fingers fiddling with the keys in my pocket. It annoyed him to no end, the sound of jingling keys.
“Stop that,” He made the words little more than a growl. Of course I couldn’t keep the self-satisfied grin off my face as I continued to play with the keys.
“Damnit boy, don’t you have anything to say to me?”
“Good luck on all you’re future Rogaine commercials?” I held out my hand for him to shake, oozing innocence.
You might think that is the lamest thing to say, but to Jeffy Dean, it’s the gravest of insults. Not to his talent, or even his age, but to the bald spot he ever so subconsciously touched on the back of his head, cleverly hidden by a comb over.
“Why you insolent sack of insignificant dog shit,” He drew himself to his full 6’2’’, using that one-inch difference between us to full advantage, “I don’t know whether to hug you or cuff you upside your head.”
If you had asked me, I would have bet on the smack in the head, but I was proved wrong when he pulled me into the tightest bear hug ever. I wasn’t sure if my lack of air was from genuine affection or as payback for the Rogaine thing. I was almost 100% sure it was the latter. Finally he let me breathe.
“You really know how to make a man self conscious ya know.”
I looked at him to see if I actually hurt his feelings this time.
“I couldn’t be prouder.”
Jeffy Dean and me, we have an interesting relationship. He insults me, I insult him, we both end up feeling like complete idiots, which fucks up the scene and, voila, we create the world’s greatest blooper reel. Ok, maybe it’s not interesting, but it’s damn well not normal.
I couldn’t help but shake my head and laugh, “Learned from the best, Master Yoda.”
He laughed and clapped me hard on the shoulder, “I have no clue how you’re going to find anyone who’s gonna be willing to hire you, you arrogant sonofa Padawan.”
When at a wrap party surrounded by the biggest nerds in the whole galaxy, one cannot help but break out a few Star Wars references.
After a few cups of spiked punch, courtesy of moi, we were laughin’ it up and reminiscing over our crazy antics. Like the time he systematically put fast acting ExLax in everyone’s coffee, or when I may or may not have set a squirrel loose in the writer’s trailer.
Nothing was ever proven.
We were practically choking on our punches, obviously freaking out some lackeys with our crazy laughter, when He finally showed up. Of course even in his blatantly gay pink polo and jeans, he still looked stunning.
The mischievous glint in his eye as he walked towards me would normally have made me laugh even harder than Jeff’s animal cracker story, (he may have come into his own acting wise, but ‘mischievous’ just does not suit those doe eyes.) but that day I couldn’t.
Not when it could be have been the last time I ever saw him, unless I grew a pair, got over my anti-monogamist ways and did something about it.
Jeff’s eyes flicked to Jared then back to me, a knowing look in them.
“What?”
He just laughed at me, shaking his head, “Knock ‘em dead kid,” giving me what had to be my 23rd bajillionth clap on the back, he retreated into the crowd, still chuckling to himself.
I hate it when he does that.
“Been nice working with you Mr. Ackles,” the sparkle of a laugh in his eye as He held out his hand for me to shake almost made me giggle. Yes, I said giggle. After all the shit we’ve been through together, the ceremony of it all would be enough to make even Alan Rickman laugh.
“Likewise Mr. Padalecki,” I took his hand in a shake that lasted longer than it should.
The show of formality was just that, a show.
Everyone knew about us from the first time Jared let out the loudest moan in the history of bathroom fucking. He always chose to believe it never happened (it did) and continues to believe the rest of the cast and crew knew nothing. (They really did)
He grabbed a cup of punch and practically spat it out all over the floor after one gulp. Nothing was ever a sip with him. “Holy crap Jense! Enough vodka in there? Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?”
I shrugged at his prudishness, “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
He laughed at that and we slipped into a comfortable silence, constantly broken by cast and crew goodbyes.
“So what are you plans now?” Jared asked in an amused force-of-habit kinda way. I’d been switching back and forth on my plans since Kripke decided this season was the last.
That last week I wanted to go out to Hawaii and become a pearl diver, the week before, a palaeontologist. Two days ago I would have sworn on my aunt’s grave that I wanted to be a professional cage boxer.
“I’ve decided to be a writer.”
“That doesn’t pay really well you know.”
“Money isn’t that important to me.”
“You know what, you may be on to something.”
The mischievous glint returned and he dragged me into the nearest bathroom, looking both ways to make sure no one noticed us leave. (Of course they did)
He backed me against the door, locking it securely, and crushed his lips to mine. The taste of salt and desperation filled my mouth as his tongue slipped past my lips. I pulled back, cupping his face in my hands and wiping away the cold tears that streaked down his face.
“You ok?”
The muscles in his jaw clenched, determined not to cry in front of me. He slid to his knees and looked up at me, I gotta admit, my heart might have stopped when I realized that could have been the last time I would look down into those eyes.
“You know what’s important?” I could tell he was fighting against the same damned thoughts as me. I stayed silent.
“You…”
Pop
“And…”
Zip
“Me.”
“Jare, I-“
Couldn’t finish my sentence because those pretty lips took me full in his mouth. My world literally centred on his lips and tongue as they worked my cock like a fucking lollypop. I swear, every suck and stroke is imprinted down there, a sensory memory, from the day I made the best and worst mistake of my life. I threaded my fingers through his hair, surprisingly smooth considering the amount of product he insisted on using, and smelling faintly of coconut. Bucking my hips to his rhythm, I fucked his mouth until something clicked in my head and I stopped moving. I could feel my heart rate speed up as I realized I was willing to give up my life of nightly drunken fucks for Him.
“Ahts ong?” he looked up at me, eyes wide with worry, me still hard as a fucking nail in his mouth. I fought like hell not to giggle, which contorted my face into a grimace I guess ‘cause Jared asked, “Id I urt ou?”
Even when surfing the waves of erotic closet pleasure, a man trying to talk with a dick in his mouth is still so damn funny.
I shook my head no. It might have been the impending orgasm or the way my heart contracted when I looked at the man at my feet, but I took that fatal deep breath and plunged right the hell in.
“Move in with me.”
Jared rocked back onto his heels.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I did,” His eyes filled with tears again, “but I thought I was imagining things…”
I pulled him into a loose embrace, had to be careful with the swollen member between us.
“Do you mean it?”
“Only if you say yes.”
“Yes,” he leaned in to kiss me, but my hand on his chest held him back.
“Gotta take care of something first.”
I switched places with him and pulled down his jeans to expose his semi tanned ass. I plunged into him as he rocked his hips back to meet my thrusts. I gripped those hips like I never wanted to let go, and in a way I guess I didn’t.
“Fuck…Mark me Jenny…”
He reached for my face, bringing my lips to his neck, which I, obligingly, sucked on, bringing little gasps of pleasure from him and leaving a hickey in its place.
“Oh Jesus… harder…Oh fuck please… harder…” I was never one for talking during sex, but Jared…well… he was a screamer, a curser and a moaner all in one. I picked up my pace, shortening my strokes.
“Oh Yes, Yes, Yes, right there! Mother fucking yes!”
I could feel the pressure building in us both. One more long, hard, thrust and I sunk my teeth into his shoulder, wrapping my arms around him as he tensed and rode out his orgasm.
“OH HOLY FUCK JENSEN!” He pounded his fists against the door, screaming my name for at least a minute. You don’t get good sex like that unless there’s something more to it, and I honestly thought there was.
Pt 1
NC 17 for excessive use of cussing and the occasional creative sex scene.
Note: The first little bit is pretty crappily written, but hey, it get's better!
The year was 2010 and there I was, sitting by the punch bowl and contemplating life, love, and the Supernatural wrap party. (No we were not put out of our misery by the hands of the network, it was just our time.) I was shaking hands and slapping backs as the people I’d called family for the past five years came to say goodbye. Eric had a little tear in his eye and Kim was typically Kim, sent me off with a joke about my shirt and a smile.
Even Kenny Dooglemen, the PA guy, came by my corner of the punch bowl.
“Thank you…so…much!”
I waved it off, “It was nothing man,” I held out my hand for him to shake and the guy ended up pulling me into hug and began to sob. Typical Kenny.
A couple years back I gave him the name of a good orthodontist to fix his teeth. I have to admit it wasn’t for completely selfless reasons. The man’s headgear looked like they could pick up radio signals and it was always me who caught the glare from the stage lights when it hit his braces just right. But hey, it made the guy happy and he slipped me extra M&M’s ever since, who was I to complain?
As the party wound down, I enjoyed the last jumbo bag of free M&M’s I would ever have and waited for two people: Jeffrey Dean, and Him.
Jeffrey Dean showed up first.
“Hey,” he nodded the greeting.
“Hey,” I nodded back.
You would think that after 5 years working together on and off, we would have had something more to say than just ‘hey’.
“So,” He forced his hands into his pockets.
“So,” I parroted him, fingers fiddling with the keys in my pocket. It annoyed him to no end, the sound of jingling keys.
“Stop that,” He made the words little more than a growl. Of course I couldn’t keep the self-satisfied grin off my face as I continued to play with the keys.
“Damnit boy, don’t you have anything to say to me?”
“Good luck on all you’re future Rogaine commercials?” I held out my hand for him to shake, oozing innocence.
You might think that is the lamest thing to say, but to Jeffy Dean, it’s the gravest of insults. Not to his talent, or even his age, but to the bald spot he ever so subconsciously touched on the back of his head, cleverly hidden by a comb over.
“Why you insolent sack of insignificant dog shit,” He drew himself to his full 6’2’’, using that one-inch difference between us to full advantage, “I don’t know whether to hug you or cuff you upside your head.”
If you had asked me, I would have bet on the smack in the head, but I was proved wrong when he pulled me into the tightest bear hug ever. I wasn’t sure if my lack of air was from genuine affection or as payback for the Rogaine thing. I was almost 100% sure it was the latter. Finally he let me breathe.
“You really know how to make a man self conscious ya know.”
I looked at him to see if I actually hurt his feelings this time.
“I couldn’t be prouder.”
Jeffy Dean and me, we have an interesting relationship. He insults me, I insult him, we both end up feeling like complete idiots, which fucks up the scene and, voila, we create the world’s greatest blooper reel. Ok, maybe it’s not interesting, but it’s damn well not normal.
I couldn’t help but shake my head and laugh, “Learned from the best, Master Yoda.”
He laughed and clapped me hard on the shoulder, “I have no clue how you’re going to find anyone who’s gonna be willing to hire you, you arrogant sonofa Padawan.”
When at a wrap party surrounded by the biggest nerds in the whole galaxy, one cannot help but break out a few Star Wars references.
After a few cups of spiked punch, courtesy of moi, we were laughin’ it up and reminiscing over our crazy antics. Like the time he systematically put fast acting ExLax in everyone’s coffee, or when I may or may not have set a squirrel loose in the writer’s trailer.
Nothing was ever proven.
We were practically choking on our punches, obviously freaking out some lackeys with our crazy laughter, when He finally showed up. Of course even in his blatantly gay pink polo and jeans, he still looked stunning.
The mischievous glint in his eye as he walked towards me would normally have made me laugh even harder than Jeff’s animal cracker story, (he may have come into his own acting wise, but ‘mischievous’ just does not suit those doe eyes.) but that day I couldn’t.
Not when it could be have been the last time I ever saw him, unless I grew a pair, got over my anti-monogamist ways and did something about it.
Jeff’s eyes flicked to Jared then back to me, a knowing look in them.
“What?”
He just laughed at me, shaking his head, “Knock ‘em dead kid,” giving me what had to be my 23rd bajillionth clap on the back, he retreated into the crowd, still chuckling to himself.
I hate it when he does that.
“Been nice working with you Mr. Ackles,” the sparkle of a laugh in his eye as He held out his hand for me to shake almost made me giggle. Yes, I said giggle. After all the shit we’ve been through together, the ceremony of it all would be enough to make even Alan Rickman laugh.
“Likewise Mr. Padalecki,” I took his hand in a shake that lasted longer than it should.
The show of formality was just that, a show.
Everyone knew about us from the first time Jared let out the loudest moan in the history of bathroom fucking. He always chose to believe it never happened (it did) and continues to believe the rest of the cast and crew knew nothing. (They really did)
He grabbed a cup of punch and practically spat it out all over the floor after one gulp. Nothing was ever a sip with him. “Holy crap Jense! Enough vodka in there? Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?”
I shrugged at his prudishness, “It’s five o’clock somewhere.”
He laughed at that and we slipped into a comfortable silence, constantly broken by cast and crew goodbyes.
“So what are you plans now?” Jared asked in an amused force-of-habit kinda way. I’d been switching back and forth on my plans since Kripke decided this season was the last.
That last week I wanted to go out to Hawaii and become a pearl diver, the week before, a palaeontologist. Two days ago I would have sworn on my aunt’s grave that I wanted to be a professional cage boxer.
“I’ve decided to be a writer.”
“That doesn’t pay really well you know.”
“Money isn’t that important to me.”
“You know what, you may be on to something.”
The mischievous glint returned and he dragged me into the nearest bathroom, looking both ways to make sure no one noticed us leave. (Of course they did)
He backed me against the door, locking it securely, and crushed his lips to mine. The taste of salt and desperation filled my mouth as his tongue slipped past my lips. I pulled back, cupping his face in my hands and wiping away the cold tears that streaked down his face.
“You ok?”
The muscles in his jaw clenched, determined not to cry in front of me. He slid to his knees and looked up at me, I gotta admit, my heart might have stopped when I realized that could have been the last time I would look down into those eyes.
“You know what’s important?” I could tell he was fighting against the same damned thoughts as me. I stayed silent.
“You…”
Pop
“And…”
Zip
“Me.”
“Jare, I-“
Couldn’t finish my sentence because those pretty lips took me full in his mouth. My world literally centred on his lips and tongue as they worked my cock like a fucking lollypop. I swear, every suck and stroke is imprinted down there, a sensory memory, from the day I made the best and worst mistake of my life. I threaded my fingers through his hair, surprisingly smooth considering the amount of product he insisted on using, and smelling faintly of coconut. Bucking my hips to his rhythm, I fucked his mouth until something clicked in my head and I stopped moving. I could feel my heart rate speed up as I realized I was willing to give up my life of nightly drunken fucks for Him.
“Ahts ong?” he looked up at me, eyes wide with worry, me still hard as a fucking nail in his mouth. I fought like hell not to giggle, which contorted my face into a grimace I guess ‘cause Jared asked, “Id I urt ou?”
Even when surfing the waves of erotic closet pleasure, a man trying to talk with a dick in his mouth is still so damn funny.
I shook my head no. It might have been the impending orgasm or the way my heart contracted when I looked at the man at my feet, but I took that fatal deep breath and plunged right the hell in.
“Move in with me.”
Jared rocked back onto his heels.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I did,” His eyes filled with tears again, “but I thought I was imagining things…”
I pulled him into a loose embrace, had to be careful with the swollen member between us.
“Do you mean it?”
“Only if you say yes.”
“Yes,” he leaned in to kiss me, but my hand on his chest held him back.
“Gotta take care of something first.”
I switched places with him and pulled down his jeans to expose his semi tanned ass. I plunged into him as he rocked his hips back to meet my thrusts. I gripped those hips like I never wanted to let go, and in a way I guess I didn’t.
“Fuck…Mark me Jenny…”
He reached for my face, bringing my lips to his neck, which I, obligingly, sucked on, bringing little gasps of pleasure from him and leaving a hickey in its place.
“Oh Jesus… harder…Oh fuck please… harder…” I was never one for talking during sex, but Jared…well… he was a screamer, a curser and a moaner all in one. I picked up my pace, shortening my strokes.
“Oh Yes, Yes, Yes, right there! Mother fucking yes!”
I could feel the pressure building in us both. One more long, hard, thrust and I sunk my teeth into his shoulder, wrapping my arms around him as he tensed and rode out his orgasm.
“OH HOLY FUCK JENSEN!” He pounded his fists against the door, screaming my name for at least a minute. You don’t get good sex like that unless there’s something more to it, and I honestly thought there was.