(no subject)
If you read this journal much, then you know I don't rec things because it always becomes a clusterfuck where people get upset because I didn't include them, so I keep the reccing to emails. Therefore, please pay attention: Hotass, Beautiful Drabble of the Incestuous Flavor This person needs love so they will make lots and lots of hot gay sex (and more DCU fic, also).
OOps, now with fewer typos.
For dopplegl and julissak01 for my icons.
So I guess we just pray like the minister say/ Allah o Akbar and throw in some hot cars
Tom sometimes wonders what it’s like to be the sort of guy that when someone says “Damn, you’re such a sleaze!” just winks real slow and licks his lips, answering “You don’t know the half of it.” Basically, to be Mike.
Tom can imagine that, can see himself in his mind just slipping right up to Jensen and sliding his hand into the back pocket of Jensen’s jeans, leaning in and saying “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember anyone else touching you.” He can imagine it. He could never in his life do it.
One of the things about Tom that people who don’t know him well don’t get is that he knows what it’s like--a little bit--to be a girl. Not in some crossdressing way. Tom was always pretty, until the last couple of years when he started lifting weights a bit. Tom at thirteen drew the attention of grandmothers and letches, and he never went to a public restroom by himself until he was six foot tall. He had his reasons.
So, Tom doesn’t objectify people out loud, and he doesn’t push sex on people or sleaze on them. But he wants to. Badly.
*
Mike watches a lot of hockey. Jensen and Tom come over, sometimes Allison or Jared come, too. Not tonight.
“Hockey fucking sucks. Real men watch football.” Jensen buys weird beer, or beer he thinks is weird-like Kokanee.
“What would you know about being a real man, Jenny?” Mike leers as Tom settles back in his seat-leather soft where it gives under him, and watches the floor show.
“Just because you have hairs growing out of your hairs doesn’t make you a real man,” Jensen slouches further in his seat, grabs his crotch, slugs down the rest of his beer in one long pull. Tom hears East Texas, oil derricks and pick up trucks-hay-ers for hairs, growin’ and dudn’t-in Jensen’s voice.
“No, the fact I fuck five women a week does.” He delivers it deadpan then ruins the effect by making a series of sound effects to punctuate how good of a burn he thought it was.
Jensen watches Mike for two blinks, then turns his gaze on Tom. He half-smiles, slow, a little drunk. “What do you think, Tommy, who’s the most manly?”
Mainly Tom thinks that Jensen and Mike are charter members for the Triple Alpha Fraternity. He tries to stay out of the cock measurement Olympics. He takes a drink of his beer and averts his eyes back to the Tim Hortons commercial on the t.v.
“I think Allison’s the most manly by far for kicking both your asses at Madden.”
“Harsh.” Jensen replies, laughing.
“She’s got a set on her…” Mike begins, but the game comes back on and he falls silent.
Tom sees Jensen watching him in his peripheral vision. He doesn’t look over, but he feels awkward, uncomfortable. His thoughts loop around whether Jensen knows Tom looks at his ass all the time. Eventually he pretends to have to pee.
*
“Dude, you need to chill the fuck out.” Mike hooks his hands on the door jam of Tom’s trailer above his head, then sort of swings himself back and forth on his tip-toes.
Tom looks up from the script rewrites and makes “please elaborate” face.
Mike starts to swing faster--Lex’s tight pants and long-sleeved black t-shirt gaping so that his entire belly is bared. “You know, the whole thing with Jenny.”
Tom gives up and lays his script face down on his lap. “What about him?” His stomach hits the soles of his feet.
Mike winks. “Oh, yooooooou knooooooow.” His laughter makes Tom grind his teeth.
“Michael, are you going to have an issue?” Tom knows that this is the start of a game for Mike--some very very traumatizing game for Tom.
Mike drops his arms, rolls his shoulders, his smile so huge it hurts Tom’s cheeks just to look at it. “Oh, baby, I knew it.”
Tom knocks his head against the wall behind him. Mike was just poking him with a stick. He walked right into it.
“Tommy and Jenny sitting in a tree…” Mike sings.
“I’m going to fucking glue your balls to a metal chair, Mike.”
“Promises, promises, young padawan.” Mike practically skips away. The sight of Lex Luthor skipping would probably short-circuit anyone’s brain but Tom’s. All Tom cares about is stealing Mike’s phone before he starts making calls.
*
And nothing lasts forever but be honest babe, it hurts but it may be the only way
As their last shot wraps for the day, Jensen bounds over, head tilted towards the ground, wicked smile suggesting things he doesn’t ever have to say-but usually does anyway.
“So, man, are you coming out with us tonight, or what?” Jared doesn’t think Jensen does a very good job of repressing his accent when he acts, but never says anything about it. What would he say “I like how you talk for real better, anyway.” Because that’s the truth. Jared usually tries to say nothing when his first impulse is to cover up something with a lie.
“I don’t know, you know?” He turns around, walks away. Jensen’s fine, if a bit unnerving with his stare-downs and hugs and talking to himself. Rosenbaum, though, is one of those crocodile-smile and wink-wink innuendo guys. Jared feels Hollywood oozing off of him, and it leaves him annoyed. For no good reason-he knows Mike’s a great guy and as real as they come with his friends, but Jared’s played the game long enough to be wary of people who can turn “it” on and off like shrugging off a role. Welling, well, he’s fine. Who can hate the guy? He’s all over-enthused commentary about, well, everything, and easy laughter. Tom’s a guy’s guy, for sure.
The three of them together are a force of nature. Jared has enough trouble telling Jensen no; when they gang up on him, he’s doomed.
He doesn’t get a chance to say no to anyone, though, because when he gets to his trailer, Rosenbaum and Welling are sitting on the couch fighting over a PSP and Jensen blocks his retreat down the stairs.
“You need to chill, man.” Jared doesn’t turn around, the smell of the weed tells him all he needs to know about how this night’s going to go.
He looks over his shoulder, down at Jensen, who smiles pretty and big and frightening. “Let me hit that.”
Jensen offers up the pipe without commentary. That will come later, Jared’s sure.
“Hey, you bitches boggarting that shit?” Mike yells from inside.
“AH HA! I got the game! Take that, Mike!” Tom triumphs.
Jared’s still looking over his shoulder at Jensen, who doesn’t break eye-contact.
Jared takes a big hit.
OOps, now with fewer typos.
For dopplegl and julissak01 for my icons.
So I guess we just pray like the minister say/ Allah o Akbar and throw in some hot cars
Tom sometimes wonders what it’s like to be the sort of guy that when someone says “Damn, you’re such a sleaze!” just winks real slow and licks his lips, answering “You don’t know the half of it.” Basically, to be Mike.
Tom can imagine that, can see himself in his mind just slipping right up to Jensen and sliding his hand into the back pocket of Jensen’s jeans, leaning in and saying “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t remember anyone else touching you.” He can imagine it. He could never in his life do it.
One of the things about Tom that people who don’t know him well don’t get is that he knows what it’s like--a little bit--to be a girl. Not in some crossdressing way. Tom was always pretty, until the last couple of years when he started lifting weights a bit. Tom at thirteen drew the attention of grandmothers and letches, and he never went to a public restroom by himself until he was six foot tall. He had his reasons.
So, Tom doesn’t objectify people out loud, and he doesn’t push sex on people or sleaze on them. But he wants to. Badly.
*
Mike watches a lot of hockey. Jensen and Tom come over, sometimes Allison or Jared come, too. Not tonight.
“Hockey fucking sucks. Real men watch football.” Jensen buys weird beer, or beer he thinks is weird-like Kokanee.
“What would you know about being a real man, Jenny?” Mike leers as Tom settles back in his seat-leather soft where it gives under him, and watches the floor show.
“Just because you have hairs growing out of your hairs doesn’t make you a real man,” Jensen slouches further in his seat, grabs his crotch, slugs down the rest of his beer in one long pull. Tom hears East Texas, oil derricks and pick up trucks-hay-ers for hairs, growin’ and dudn’t-in Jensen’s voice.
“No, the fact I fuck five women a week does.” He delivers it deadpan then ruins the effect by making a series of sound effects to punctuate how good of a burn he thought it was.
Jensen watches Mike for two blinks, then turns his gaze on Tom. He half-smiles, slow, a little drunk. “What do you think, Tommy, who’s the most manly?”
Mainly Tom thinks that Jensen and Mike are charter members for the Triple Alpha Fraternity. He tries to stay out of the cock measurement Olympics. He takes a drink of his beer and averts his eyes back to the Tim Hortons commercial on the t.v.
“I think Allison’s the most manly by far for kicking both your asses at Madden.”
“Harsh.” Jensen replies, laughing.
“She’s got a set on her…” Mike begins, but the game comes back on and he falls silent.
Tom sees Jensen watching him in his peripheral vision. He doesn’t look over, but he feels awkward, uncomfortable. His thoughts loop around whether Jensen knows Tom looks at his ass all the time. Eventually he pretends to have to pee.
*
“Dude, you need to chill the fuck out.” Mike hooks his hands on the door jam of Tom’s trailer above his head, then sort of swings himself back and forth on his tip-toes.
Tom looks up from the script rewrites and makes “please elaborate” face.
Mike starts to swing faster--Lex’s tight pants and long-sleeved black t-shirt gaping so that his entire belly is bared. “You know, the whole thing with Jenny.”
Tom gives up and lays his script face down on his lap. “What about him?” His stomach hits the soles of his feet.
Mike winks. “Oh, yooooooou knooooooow.” His laughter makes Tom grind his teeth.
“Michael, are you going to have an issue?” Tom knows that this is the start of a game for Mike--some very very traumatizing game for Tom.
Mike drops his arms, rolls his shoulders, his smile so huge it hurts Tom’s cheeks just to look at it. “Oh, baby, I knew it.”
Tom knocks his head against the wall behind him. Mike was just poking him with a stick. He walked right into it.
“Tommy and Jenny sitting in a tree…” Mike sings.
“I’m going to fucking glue your balls to a metal chair, Mike.”
“Promises, promises, young padawan.” Mike practically skips away. The sight of Lex Luthor skipping would probably short-circuit anyone’s brain but Tom’s. All Tom cares about is stealing Mike’s phone before he starts making calls.
*
And nothing lasts forever but be honest babe, it hurts but it may be the only way
As their last shot wraps for the day, Jensen bounds over, head tilted towards the ground, wicked smile suggesting things he doesn’t ever have to say-but usually does anyway.
“So, man, are you coming out with us tonight, or what?” Jared doesn’t think Jensen does a very good job of repressing his accent when he acts, but never says anything about it. What would he say “I like how you talk for real better, anyway.” Because that’s the truth. Jared usually tries to say nothing when his first impulse is to cover up something with a lie.
“I don’t know, you know?” He turns around, walks away. Jensen’s fine, if a bit unnerving with his stare-downs and hugs and talking to himself. Rosenbaum, though, is one of those crocodile-smile and wink-wink innuendo guys. Jared feels Hollywood oozing off of him, and it leaves him annoyed. For no good reason-he knows Mike’s a great guy and as real as they come with his friends, but Jared’s played the game long enough to be wary of people who can turn “it” on and off like shrugging off a role. Welling, well, he’s fine. Who can hate the guy? He’s all over-enthused commentary about, well, everything, and easy laughter. Tom’s a guy’s guy, for sure.
The three of them together are a force of nature. Jared has enough trouble telling Jensen no; when they gang up on him, he’s doomed.
He doesn’t get a chance to say no to anyone, though, because when he gets to his trailer, Rosenbaum and Welling are sitting on the couch fighting over a PSP and Jensen blocks his retreat down the stairs.
“You need to chill, man.” Jared doesn’t turn around, the smell of the weed tells him all he needs to know about how this night’s going to go.
He looks over his shoulder, down at Jensen, who smiles pretty and big and frightening. “Let me hit that.”
Jensen offers up the pipe without commentary. That will come later, Jared’s sure.
“Hey, you bitches boggarting that shit?” Mike yells from inside.
“AH HA! I got the game! Take that, Mike!” Tom triumphs.
Jared’s still looking over his shoulder at Jensen, who doesn’t break eye-contact.
Jared takes a big hit.