(no subject)
How about some SPN kisses then? This is Wincest, people. Consider yourself warned.
From Fighting The Senses
After yet another near miss with a trailer Sam tells him to 'Pull the fuck over, Dean' and 'What the hell is wrong with you? If you're so tired you should be smart enough to let me drive, you moron.' He just nods and gets out of the car, flinching violently when Sam brushes his shoulder as they meet halfway. Sam jerks to a stop and swings around, grabbing Dean by the arm and there's just no way of twisting out of those giant hands so he doesn't even try, just turns around and...
God, Sam's scent is assaulting his nostrils, and Sam's warm hand is moving up to rub his neck, and Sam's eyes are looking at him filled with concern and worry and... Dean has never in his life wanted to die as much as he wants right this moment.
“Dean? What's wrong? Dean? Shit, man.”
He doesn't answer, just clutches Sam's sweet smelling t-shirt in his fists, buries his face in the soft skin of his neck, and breathes in-out, in-out, his head swimming and his whole body trembling.
“You're scaring me. Talk to me, Dean. Are you hurt? Are you-”
“I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Sam.”
“What are you talk-?”
Something he's never known until now is that the only thing sweeter than Sam's scent is the way he tastes. Like granola bars and beer and chewing gum and something Dean can't quite pin down, but it tastes like Hell and Heaven in one forbidden package. Sam's lips are soft and warm, his teeth sharp and slippery, and his tongue feels so soft and wet as it pushes into...
Dean pulls away, gasping, his eyes wide like saucers as he stares at Sam. Sam, who is staring back with eyes so dark and lips deliciously bruised and something, something that Dean knows he's imagining, because never in a million years would his brother...
“I thought you'd never get it. You're so slow sometimes, you know?”
The thing is... The thing is, that of all the things about Sam- his scent, his touch, his looks and, oh God, his taste- Dean suddenly realises that he loves the sound of his voice most of all.
------------------
From Five Times Sam Left Stanford For Dean
Dean just glares at him, taking a step back in anger. “Fuck you, Sam. You wanna blame dad? Blame dad. But what it comes down to is that you left. You walked out that door four years ago and never even looked back. That’s how much it all meant to you.”
Sam blinks, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion. “What? Dean, no. I never left you. It wasn’t… I… God, Dean. No.”
Dean just shakes his head and then he turns away, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “Forget it. Have a nice life, Sam.”
Sam’s got Dean slammed up against the car door before he even has his hand on the handle, one hand fisting Dean’s t-shirt while the other grabs the back of his head and then he’s kissing him. It’s hard and brutal and Sam can feel his lip splitting, flecking his tongue with the taste of copper. Dean’s hands are pushing at his chest but he doesn’t budge, just pins Dean’s body against the car and holds his head trapped within the palm of his hand. Dean’s lips are hard, his whole body stiff with resistance.
And then, just like that, he relents. His lips soften and open up, allowing Sam to slip his tongue inside and then every muscle seems to slacken, molding him into the perfect fit between the Impala and Sam’s body. His hands shake as they flatten on Sam’s chest, one palm resting over his heart as the other runs down to slip under the hem of Sam’s t-shirt. Dean’s warm and so right, his thumb fitting into the curve of Sam’s hipbone like it was made for him. Sam can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine or the soft sigh that Dean sucks right out of his mouth.
The kiss softens and deepens and Sam’s fingers relax, both hands moving to cup Dean’s face like Dean used to hold his all those years ago. Enveloping that pretty head with his long fingers like the bars of a prison cell, as if to make sure Dean stays right there. Dean’s right hand slides up Sam’s chest and around his neck, fingers slipping into Sam’s hair, while the other goes around his waist and dips beneath the waistband of his loose jeans. Thumb staying on the last protruding knob of Sam’s spine and the rest of the fingers spreading, covering as much skin as they can.
They stay that way. Just holding on while they kiss back four years of separation and hurt. Somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind is the notion that there is something he needs to do, someone… But then Dean moans into his mouth and there’s just Dean and nothing else in his world. Just DeanDeanDean and his mouth and his tongue and the warm hardness of his cock pressing against Sam’s thigh through too many layers of clothing.
The sound of a door slamming penetrates the loudness of blood pounding in his ears but he doesn’t wonder, doesn’t care. Because he’s finally here, and they’re finally here and… God, oh God. Yes, Dean, yes. I’ll come, of course I’ll come. Wherever you want to take me. Wherever. Yes, yes, yes.
------------------------
From Five Times Dean Was Saved (And One TIme He Wasn't)
“Dean?” Sam’s voice holds fear and uncertainty and something Dean can’t quite put his finger on.
“Yeah, Sammy.”
He gives Sam a shaky smile and is just about to tell him it was nothing. That everything’s fine and it was just a bad dream that took him by surprise. The lies are ready on his tongue but when he opens his mouth Sam’s lips silence him.
He freezes for a second but what his mind won’t grasp his body is quick to catch up on and before he knows what’s happening he’s parted his lips and Sam’s tongue slips inside. With Sam’s big hands still holding his head and Sam’s nose breathing against his, his hip pressed against Dean’s side… Dean feels wrapped up in Sam and it’s the safest he’s felt in a long time.
He should pull back, he should push Sam away, but this is everything he’s dreamed of and feared and he will gladly face the devil again and for a thousand years for just one moment of this.
Sam’s left hand slides into Dean’s hair, his right elbow pressing into the mattress on Dean’s other side as he moves his long body over until he’s lying half beside Dean, half on top of him. His weight feels solid and safe, holding Dean in place when he knows he should be jumping up and running away.
Because this is everything Dean’s devoted his life to keeping his brother safe from. Every evil thought, every sin, every demon a human heart can hold. Every promise he ever made to his father, every prayer he ever whispered in his mother’s memory, all of them broken and defiled. And still he can’t stop.
His hands run up Sam’s back, slipping under his t-shirt and shirt and hoodie and jacket, worshipping the warmth of Sam’s skin. It’s not desire, not lust. It was never really about that anyway. It’s about Sam and everything he is, everything Dean’s always dreamed he’d be.
When Sam finally pulls back Dean feels a moment of panic but Sam just looks at him, blinking in what seems to be surprise and daze. Then he ducks his head, a deep red blush painting his cheeks before looking up again, smiling shyly.
“Was it this?”
Dean swallows. “What?”
“That made you panic. Was it this?”
Dean hesitates, their dad’s words echoing in his head, but then he nods. Despite everything else, this has always been it. “Yeah. Yeah, Sammy.”
----------------------------
From Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This
“Dean.” Sam watches him, waiting patiently until Dean raises his head to meet his eyes. “Is that it? Do you want me? Really?”
Dean opens his mouth to lie but the word that comes out is, “Yes,” and his eyes widen in fear. He tries to pull his hands away but Sam’s grip only tightens and after a brief struggle he gives up. “Sam…”
“Ok.”
He blinks. “What?”
“It’s ok, Dean,” Sam says and leans forward and before Dean has time to pull back Sam’s lips are on his, kissing him softly.
It’s all he’s ever imagined and more. Softer, sweeter, warmer. And real. Oh God, it’s real! How can it be real? It shouldn’t be, it can’t.
Dean tries to move away again but at some time Sam’s hands must have let go of his wrists because they’re holding him still, long fingers spread over the back of his skull, cradling his head like a baby’s. He has a memory flash of Sam kissing Sarah, enveloping her face with his palms, fingers long enough to touch at the nape of her neck and he wonders if he should feel insulted that Sam kisses him like a girl. But he hasn’t felt as safe in what seems a lifetime and girly or not, it’s like every kiss he’s ever craved and never gotten until now.
“It’s ok,” Sam repeats against Dean’s lips, breathless, and Dean hiccoughs an, “Ok,” not sure what he’s really saying. But all it takes is a questioning lick at his lips and he’s parting them, inviting Sam into his mouth without hesitation. He should feel fear, disgust, horror, but all he feels is Sam and Sam has always been the only right thing in his life. Why change that now?
When Sam finally pulls away Dean is out of breath, his head feels so light his eyes keep threatening to roll back, and he finds his hands fisted in Sam’s shirt with no recollection of putting them there. Sam smiles, eyes searching Dean’s for something he doesn’t know how to answer, unless it’s ‘You and me?’ to which the answer can only be ‘Yes.’ So he nods and slowly uncurls his fingers from Sam’s shirt, dazedly stroking away the wrinkles from the material before sitting back, breathing once in and out before offering Sam a tentative smile of his own.
“We should… we should find out what happened. Because hell if I’m going to forget this.”
---------------------
From The Weirdness of Normal
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Sam jogged to catch up with him. “I’m just… How can you be so cool about this? Why aren’t you freaked out?”
Dean stopped by the door and juggled the key in the lock. Then he looked up, frowning with concern. “Are you freaking out?”
Sam shook his head. “No. It still feels… I don’t know, natural.” He followed Dean in through the door. “And how weird is that since we haven’t even done anything more tha-“
His back was slammed into the wall and before he even managed an ‘oomph’ Dean’s lips were pressed against his, hot and wet and tasting of Peanut M&M’s. He froze for a fraction of a second and then he was kissing back, dropping the bag to move his hands up to Dean’s hip, pulling him closer as he opened his mouth, allowing Dean’s tongue to slip inside.
It felt… absolutely right. Not weird at all. And so fucking good his cock went from half-hard to rock in five seconds flat, making him pull briefly away as he gasped for air.
Dean grabbed his t-shirt and pulled him back, growling hotly into his mouth, “Yeah, just like this. I knew it. Taste so good.”
His right hand ran up behind Sam’s neck, pulling him down, while the other tugged at his t-shirt and Sam groaned as warm and calloused fingers slid under it and up his stomach. The sound made Dean growl again and attack Sam’s mouth with even more passion until oxygen started to become an issue. Sam could feel his knees giving away and he started to slide down the wall but Dean just splayed his palm on Sam’s chest and pushed him back up, one knee coming up to knead against Sam’s erection as he licked up Sam’s throat. Jesus.
--------------------
Life In All Its Simplicity and Chaos
Sometimes he forgets that life isn’t supposed to be like this. That there are people who don’t even know what’s out there. Who laugh and cry and fight and fuck and it has nothing whatsoever to do with demons or ghosts. Just life, plain and simple.
He can’t remember feeling a single emotion that can’t be linked to the supernatural, or doing anything without the constant awareness of evil.
So when Sam kisses him for the first time, his thoughts don’t go to ‘incest’ or ‘wrong’ but rather ‘possession’ or ‘succubus’. Which still doesn’t explain why he kisses Sam back.
Seems I have a thing for Sam's hands. *g* Those fingers... guh!
I could only find one Jensen/Jared first time kiss that was longer than one sentence, so I'm sticking it here as well.
Jensen and Jared sitting in a tree,
From The Ultimate Gay Test or Whether Or Not TO Lick Jensen Ackles
Jensen is still gazing down at him but the smile is freezing and Jared just knows there’s something he’s supposed to do, or say, or something. But all he can do is continue to stare back, wondering how on earth he came to be here, like this, with Jensen fucking Ackles, almost naked in his bed. The smile fades from Jensen’s lips, his eyes slowly going dark and Jared panics, thinking he’s going to up and leave. But…
Jensen’s lips are soft and warm. They’re not girly at all, especially not when they open up and Jared feels hot air against his lips as Jensen breathes into his mouth. Jared parts his lips to draw in that hot breath but instead he gets Jensen’s tongue, slipping inside his mouth and licking over his teeth and who the fuck needs air anyway?
Oh yeah, Jensen is a great kisser. Actually he’s probably the champion of kissing, if there is such a contest. Maybe there is but there’s no way Jared’s letting go of Jensen’s lips long enough to let him compete in it. Unless the other contestant is just him and…
Suddenly Jensen’s lips are gone, so fast that Jared’s brain is still struggling with the realization that Jensen’s kissing him in the first place and hasn’t really gotten to the part where he’s supposed to kiss back. He stares up into Jensen’s eyes where they hover right above his, sucking in breath in shallow gasps.
The wary look from last night is slipping back into Jensen’s eyes and he’s pulling further away when Jared finally jerks awake and grabs Jensen’s head between his hands and pulls him back down. This time there’s no hesitation, no pause, no clenched teeth in the way. Jared licks his way around Jensen’s mouth, mapping it out for later, and then draws back so he can suck Jensen’s tongue into his own mouth. He’s not sure which he likes more. Jensen’s mouth tastes so good but his tongue is so warm and slippery and he thinks he might come just from thinking about what that tongue could do to his cock.
He pulls back with a shaky breath, blinking rapidly. “God, Jen. You… Jesus.”
“Yeah.” Jensen nuzzles into his neck, naked chest rubbing against Jared’s, one hand clutching Jared’s arm, the other stroking his hipbone. “Fuck.”
“Yes. Please.”
From Fighting The Senses
After yet another near miss with a trailer Sam tells him to 'Pull the fuck over, Dean' and 'What the hell is wrong with you? If you're so tired you should be smart enough to let me drive, you moron.' He just nods and gets out of the car, flinching violently when Sam brushes his shoulder as they meet halfway. Sam jerks to a stop and swings around, grabbing Dean by the arm and there's just no way of twisting out of those giant hands so he doesn't even try, just turns around and...
God, Sam's scent is assaulting his nostrils, and Sam's warm hand is moving up to rub his neck, and Sam's eyes are looking at him filled with concern and worry and... Dean has never in his life wanted to die as much as he wants right this moment.
“Dean? What's wrong? Dean? Shit, man.”
He doesn't answer, just clutches Sam's sweet smelling t-shirt in his fists, buries his face in the soft skin of his neck, and breathes in-out, in-out, his head swimming and his whole body trembling.
“You're scaring me. Talk to me, Dean. Are you hurt? Are you-”
“I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, Sam.”
“What are you talk-?”
Something he's never known until now is that the only thing sweeter than Sam's scent is the way he tastes. Like granola bars and beer and chewing gum and something Dean can't quite pin down, but it tastes like Hell and Heaven in one forbidden package. Sam's lips are soft and warm, his teeth sharp and slippery, and his tongue feels so soft and wet as it pushes into...
Dean pulls away, gasping, his eyes wide like saucers as he stares at Sam. Sam, who is staring back with eyes so dark and lips deliciously bruised and something, something that Dean knows he's imagining, because never in a million years would his brother...
“I thought you'd never get it. You're so slow sometimes, you know?”
The thing is... The thing is, that of all the things about Sam- his scent, his touch, his looks and, oh God, his taste- Dean suddenly realises that he loves the sound of his voice most of all.
------------------
From Five Times Sam Left Stanford For Dean
Dean just glares at him, taking a step back in anger. “Fuck you, Sam. You wanna blame dad? Blame dad. But what it comes down to is that you left. You walked out that door four years ago and never even looked back. That’s how much it all meant to you.”
Sam blinks, his eyebrows pulling together in confusion. “What? Dean, no. I never left you. It wasn’t… I… God, Dean. No.”
Dean just shakes his head and then he turns away, pulling his keys out of his pocket. “Forget it. Have a nice life, Sam.”
Sam’s got Dean slammed up against the car door before he even has his hand on the handle, one hand fisting Dean’s t-shirt while the other grabs the back of his head and then he’s kissing him. It’s hard and brutal and Sam can feel his lip splitting, flecking his tongue with the taste of copper. Dean’s hands are pushing at his chest but he doesn’t budge, just pins Dean’s body against the car and holds his head trapped within the palm of his hand. Dean’s lips are hard, his whole body stiff with resistance.
And then, just like that, he relents. His lips soften and open up, allowing Sam to slip his tongue inside and then every muscle seems to slacken, molding him into the perfect fit between the Impala and Sam’s body. His hands shake as they flatten on Sam’s chest, one palm resting over his heart as the other runs down to slip under the hem of Sam’s t-shirt. Dean’s warm and so right, his thumb fitting into the curve of Sam’s hipbone like it was made for him. Sam can’t help the shiver that runs down his spine or the soft sigh that Dean sucks right out of his mouth.
The kiss softens and deepens and Sam’s fingers relax, both hands moving to cup Dean’s face like Dean used to hold his all those years ago. Enveloping that pretty head with his long fingers like the bars of a prison cell, as if to make sure Dean stays right there. Dean’s right hand slides up Sam’s chest and around his neck, fingers slipping into Sam’s hair, while the other goes around his waist and dips beneath the waistband of his loose jeans. Thumb staying on the last protruding knob of Sam’s spine and the rest of the fingers spreading, covering as much skin as they can.
They stay that way. Just holding on while they kiss back four years of separation and hurt. Somewhere in the back of Sam’s mind is the notion that there is something he needs to do, someone… But then Dean moans into his mouth and there’s just Dean and nothing else in his world. Just DeanDeanDean and his mouth and his tongue and the warm hardness of his cock pressing against Sam’s thigh through too many layers of clothing.
The sound of a door slamming penetrates the loudness of blood pounding in his ears but he doesn’t wonder, doesn’t care. Because he’s finally here, and they’re finally here and… God, oh God. Yes, Dean, yes. I’ll come, of course I’ll come. Wherever you want to take me. Wherever. Yes, yes, yes.
------------------------
From Five Times Dean Was Saved (And One TIme He Wasn't)
“Dean?” Sam’s voice holds fear and uncertainty and something Dean can’t quite put his finger on.
“Yeah, Sammy.”
He gives Sam a shaky smile and is just about to tell him it was nothing. That everything’s fine and it was just a bad dream that took him by surprise. The lies are ready on his tongue but when he opens his mouth Sam’s lips silence him.
He freezes for a second but what his mind won’t grasp his body is quick to catch up on and before he knows what’s happening he’s parted his lips and Sam’s tongue slips inside. With Sam’s big hands still holding his head and Sam’s nose breathing against his, his hip pressed against Dean’s side… Dean feels wrapped up in Sam and it’s the safest he’s felt in a long time.
He should pull back, he should push Sam away, but this is everything he’s dreamed of and feared and he will gladly face the devil again and for a thousand years for just one moment of this.
Sam’s left hand slides into Dean’s hair, his right elbow pressing into the mattress on Dean’s other side as he moves his long body over until he’s lying half beside Dean, half on top of him. His weight feels solid and safe, holding Dean in place when he knows he should be jumping up and running away.
Because this is everything Dean’s devoted his life to keeping his brother safe from. Every evil thought, every sin, every demon a human heart can hold. Every promise he ever made to his father, every prayer he ever whispered in his mother’s memory, all of them broken and defiled. And still he can’t stop.
His hands run up Sam’s back, slipping under his t-shirt and shirt and hoodie and jacket, worshipping the warmth of Sam’s skin. It’s not desire, not lust. It was never really about that anyway. It’s about Sam and everything he is, everything Dean’s always dreamed he’d be.
When Sam finally pulls back Dean feels a moment of panic but Sam just looks at him, blinking in what seems to be surprise and daze. Then he ducks his head, a deep red blush painting his cheeks before looking up again, smiling shyly.
“Was it this?”
Dean swallows. “What?”
“That made you panic. Was it this?”
Dean hesitates, their dad’s words echoing in his head, but then he nods. Despite everything else, this has always been it. “Yeah. Yeah, Sammy.”
----------------------------
From Sweet Dreams Are Made Of This
“Dean.” Sam watches him, waiting patiently until Dean raises his head to meet his eyes. “Is that it? Do you want me? Really?”
Dean opens his mouth to lie but the word that comes out is, “Yes,” and his eyes widen in fear. He tries to pull his hands away but Sam’s grip only tightens and after a brief struggle he gives up. “Sam…”
“Ok.”
He blinks. “What?”
“It’s ok, Dean,” Sam says and leans forward and before Dean has time to pull back Sam’s lips are on his, kissing him softly.
It’s all he’s ever imagined and more. Softer, sweeter, warmer. And real. Oh God, it’s real! How can it be real? It shouldn’t be, it can’t.
Dean tries to move away again but at some time Sam’s hands must have let go of his wrists because they’re holding him still, long fingers spread over the back of his skull, cradling his head like a baby’s. He has a memory flash of Sam kissing Sarah, enveloping her face with his palms, fingers long enough to touch at the nape of her neck and he wonders if he should feel insulted that Sam kisses him like a girl. But he hasn’t felt as safe in what seems a lifetime and girly or not, it’s like every kiss he’s ever craved and never gotten until now.
“It’s ok,” Sam repeats against Dean’s lips, breathless, and Dean hiccoughs an, “Ok,” not sure what he’s really saying. But all it takes is a questioning lick at his lips and he’s parting them, inviting Sam into his mouth without hesitation. He should feel fear, disgust, horror, but all he feels is Sam and Sam has always been the only right thing in his life. Why change that now?
When Sam finally pulls away Dean is out of breath, his head feels so light his eyes keep threatening to roll back, and he finds his hands fisted in Sam’s shirt with no recollection of putting them there. Sam smiles, eyes searching Dean’s for something he doesn’t know how to answer, unless it’s ‘You and me?’ to which the answer can only be ‘Yes.’ So he nods and slowly uncurls his fingers from Sam’s shirt, dazedly stroking away the wrinkles from the material before sitting back, breathing once in and out before offering Sam a tentative smile of his own.
“We should… we should find out what happened. Because hell if I’m going to forget this.”
---------------------
From The Weirdness of Normal
“Yeah. Yeah, okay.” Sam jogged to catch up with him. “I’m just… How can you be so cool about this? Why aren’t you freaked out?”
Dean stopped by the door and juggled the key in the lock. Then he looked up, frowning with concern. “Are you freaking out?”
Sam shook his head. “No. It still feels… I don’t know, natural.” He followed Dean in through the door. “And how weird is that since we haven’t even done anything more tha-“
His back was slammed into the wall and before he even managed an ‘oomph’ Dean’s lips were pressed against his, hot and wet and tasting of Peanut M&M’s. He froze for a fraction of a second and then he was kissing back, dropping the bag to move his hands up to Dean’s hip, pulling him closer as he opened his mouth, allowing Dean’s tongue to slip inside.
It felt… absolutely right. Not weird at all. And so fucking good his cock went from half-hard to rock in five seconds flat, making him pull briefly away as he gasped for air.
Dean grabbed his t-shirt and pulled him back, growling hotly into his mouth, “Yeah, just like this. I knew it. Taste so good.”
His right hand ran up behind Sam’s neck, pulling him down, while the other tugged at his t-shirt and Sam groaned as warm and calloused fingers slid under it and up his stomach. The sound made Dean growl again and attack Sam’s mouth with even more passion until oxygen started to become an issue. Sam could feel his knees giving away and he started to slide down the wall but Dean just splayed his palm on Sam’s chest and pushed him back up, one knee coming up to knead against Sam’s erection as he licked up Sam’s throat. Jesus.
--------------------
Life In All Its Simplicity and Chaos
Sometimes he forgets that life isn’t supposed to be like this. That there are people who don’t even know what’s out there. Who laugh and cry and fight and fuck and it has nothing whatsoever to do with demons or ghosts. Just life, plain and simple.
He can’t remember feeling a single emotion that can’t be linked to the supernatural, or doing anything without the constant awareness of evil.
So when Sam kisses him for the first time, his thoughts don’t go to ‘incest’ or ‘wrong’ but rather ‘possession’ or ‘succubus’. Which still doesn’t explain why he kisses Sam back.
Seems I have a thing for Sam's hands. *g* Those fingers... guh!
I could only find one Jensen/Jared first time kiss that was longer than one sentence, so I'm sticking it here as well.
Jensen and Jared sitting in a tree,
From The Ultimate Gay Test or Whether Or Not TO Lick Jensen Ackles
Jensen is still gazing down at him but the smile is freezing and Jared just knows there’s something he’s supposed to do, or say, or something. But all he can do is continue to stare back, wondering how on earth he came to be here, like this, with Jensen fucking Ackles, almost naked in his bed. The smile fades from Jensen’s lips, his eyes slowly going dark and Jared panics, thinking he’s going to up and leave. But…
Jensen’s lips are soft and warm. They’re not girly at all, especially not when they open up and Jared feels hot air against his lips as Jensen breathes into his mouth. Jared parts his lips to draw in that hot breath but instead he gets Jensen’s tongue, slipping inside his mouth and licking over his teeth and who the fuck needs air anyway?
Oh yeah, Jensen is a great kisser. Actually he’s probably the champion of kissing, if there is such a contest. Maybe there is but there’s no way Jared’s letting go of Jensen’s lips long enough to let him compete in it. Unless the other contestant is just him and…
Suddenly Jensen’s lips are gone, so fast that Jared’s brain is still struggling with the realization that Jensen’s kissing him in the first place and hasn’t really gotten to the part where he’s supposed to kiss back. He stares up into Jensen’s eyes where they hover right above his, sucking in breath in shallow gasps.
The wary look from last night is slipping back into Jensen’s eyes and he’s pulling further away when Jared finally jerks awake and grabs Jensen’s head between his hands and pulls him back down. This time there’s no hesitation, no pause, no clenched teeth in the way. Jared licks his way around Jensen’s mouth, mapping it out for later, and then draws back so he can suck Jensen’s tongue into his own mouth. He’s not sure which he likes more. Jensen’s mouth tastes so good but his tongue is so warm and slippery and he thinks he might come just from thinking about what that tongue could do to his cock.
He pulls back with a shaky breath, blinking rapidly. “God, Jen. You… Jesus.”
“Yeah.” Jensen nuzzles into his neck, naked chest rubbing against Jared’s, one hand clutching Jared’s arm, the other stroking his hipbone. “Fuck.”
“Yes. Please.”