It's my birthday, so I writed you a story.
Title: Can't Always Get What You Want
Fandom: Friday Night Lights
Pairing: Tim/Jason/OFC
Disclaimer: Friday Night Lights is copyright its respective owners. This is a not-for-profit work of fair-use whatiffery.
Caveat: Not beta'd. Banged out in one 2 hour go. (Cleaned up version coming to the AO3 soon.)
Author's Note: So, about 10 years ago (shit, it's been THAT long) the group of FNL fans that I've sadly mostly lost touch with (ah, the changes of life, and the salt and burn of the once vibrant LJ fan community by the assembled forces of assholedom) had a tradition that I'm reviving today for nostalgia's sake.
The birthday girl wrote & posted a story.
I'm snagging a prompt from the 2014 list of Porn Battle prompts. Set during the "we'll always have Mexico" trip of S2. Sorry that it's a little dark and melancholy, but the prompt is, well ... see for yourself.
Friday Night Lights (TV)
Jason Street/Any Male Character, rough, hero, comfort, carry, wheelchair, pride, control, coaching, reminiscing, training, selling, prostitution, pornography, muscular, feet, socks, sweat, exertion, mud, rain, sun, snow, injury, sex as spectator sport
This is a what if ... what if Tim didn't end up in Jail that night? What if something else happened that night instead?
Tim doesn't say anything, or rather, he doesn't know what to say when Jason catches up to him a few minutes later, a split-second before they're about go through the door to their hotel, street-walker in his lap. He just knows better than to cause a scene right here, right now.
Yeah, she is the one he looked at the most when they passed them (and their pimp) by a about a minute ago. Tim didn't think anything out of the ordinary when Jason said, "Gimmie a moment, I'll catch up with you." He figured Jason was looking at some souvenirs. Tim's beer-tequila buzz is about to wear off, so mostly he's starting to feel tired after a long day, and if he knows if doesn't get some water (bottled, of course) or some gatorade or something in him soon, a hangover will dig in, and Tim doesn't think he should try and handle any of this -- trying to help Jason -- with a splitting headache.
He just holds the door and keeps his mouth shut as Jason wheels on through.
Nobody in the grimy little lobby of their hotel bats an eye.
(Nobody in this hotel is going to care unless something happens that makes the involvement of the Policia necessary.)
Tim turns the key in the knob, hits the lights, and walks in, Jason and the girl at his heels. He snags an unopened bottle of water, cracks it, guzzles down about half of it, and says, "Six, a word with you?" as he indicates the door.
Jason gives her a little push and points her at his bed.
When they get to the door, Tim kneels before Jason, mouth opening and closing a few times as he tries to get his head around the words. What the fuck? He takes Jason's hands in his. Are you serious?! He squeezes gently before he murmurs, "Jay, are you sure?"
Jason remains silent, but the look in his eyes is stone, and Tim knows that there's nothing he can say to that, not right now.
He rises, but doesn't let go of Jason's hands. "So, I'm going to be right --"
Jason's grip on his hand tightens, and he cuts in, "You're not going anywhere."
This makes no sense. Not coming from Jason. Then what --? Oh. "You want me to watch." He keeps his voice flat when he realizes.
(The realization feels like a stone in the pit of Tim's stomach, given everything that's between them ... that Jason thinks he needs to prove something to him. Prove it like this.)
"No," Jason replies, "I want to watch. You and her."
"What?!" Tim hisses and tries to pull his hands back.
Jason tugs him down. "You think she's pretty. Don't try to tell me you don't think she's hot." He looks at her, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at them, and Tim follows his gaze.
She is hot. And not "for a streetwalker in a border town" hot. She's about year, maybe two, older than him, and her eyes are light brown with amber flecks, not black, and while the expression in them is flat and guarded, it's not dead. She's curvy, and doesn't have too much makeup on, and though her blue spandex dress is skimpy, she's young enough that it's not tacky, trying too hard, or desperate. Her hair's a short, dark brown, wavy bob, not fried blonde or frizzy peroxide orange, and it frames her heart-shaped face.
Tim turns back to Jason and studies him, still trying to puzzle it out, when Jason turns his head back and the look in his eyes tells Tim everything that he can't say. Tim rubs his thumbs over the back of Jason's hands, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and says, "Okay, Six."
His mouth feels as dry as the Sahara as he takes his boots off and starts stripping. He can tell the -- "Hey, what is your name?" She blinks at him. "Nombre?" She pauses and replies, "Ana." Tim can tell that Ana is a little confused there for a second, but maybe a little relieved, too.
She shrugs out of her little spandex number -- not enough cloth there to pad a crutch -- zips out of her boots and leaves her stockings and garter belt on. And, as much as part of Tim is seriously, seriously weirded out right now, his cock is hard and leaking a little at the tip because she's so fucking hot.
Ana goes to lie down on Jason's bed, but Tim stops her, because if he's going to do this the way Jason wants to, he needs to know. "Up or down, Jay? Me on top or --"
"Her on top." Jason's voice almost sounds strangled.
Tim's dick throbs a little at the idea, because if he's going to put on a show, he should get a good view, too.
He lies down, hands her a condom, and she's right down to business as she opens it and rolls it on, and Jason wheels to the edge of the bed just as Ana's sliding her hot/wet/tight shaved little snatch down the length of his cock, and it's fucking amazing.
Tim's not quite sure who groaned that bone-deep, "Oh yessss." Because it's sex and right now his entire world has shrunk down to this squeaky ass bed and the surprisingly aggressive, almost rough ride she's giving his dick. He hammers her back -- her little breathless growls of "Aye, aye, aye" spurring him on -- one hand clenching her hip, his other hand clenched in Jason's, both of their breaths coming in short, rasps and gasps, because he's almost --
-- her breasts have the cutest little brown nipples he should have kissed them --
-- Jay's other hand slides across his torso, down his belly --
-- Ana rocks back (fuck, that's good) a fraction --
-- Jay's hand touches them where they join --
--and Tim's THERE shooting, flooding the condom, still shaking all over as as he comes back down.
She pauses a moment before climbing off of his slowly softening dick with something almost like a sigh. Tim closes his eyes and sucks in a ragged gasp of air. Jason's head is on the edge of the bed, right next to his shoulder, face down. He's still got Tim's hand in a death grip, and only slowly does he let it go as he drags his other hand away from the vicinity of Tim's cock.
He doesn't look up as Tim rolls and scoots off the bed and strips off the condom and Tim knows that something is really really wrong.
Ana's back from the bathroom. She hands him a damp washcloth and Tim hustles her into her dress, gives her $40, and whispers "gracias" as she's out the door, boots in hand.
He hopes that she's down the hall when Jason starts making a little keening sound that grows louder with every heartbeat and scares Tim so bad he shakes a little as he puts his boxers back on, sits down on the bed, and strokes Jason's hair and says things like, "It's okay, Six," and "I got you, man," though they're as dry and bitter as ashes in his mouth, and Jason absolutely breaks down and bawls in his lap.
He has no fucking idea what to do beyond that.
Only he's knows that he's got to call Lyla, because right now, he's in so far over his head he doesn't know which way is up anymore.
Fandom: Friday Night Lights
Pairing: Tim/Jason/OFC
Disclaimer: Friday Night Lights is copyright its respective owners. This is a not-for-profit work of fair-use whatiffery.
Caveat: Not beta'd. Banged out in one 2 hour go. (Cleaned up version coming to the AO3 soon.)
Author's Note: So, about 10 years ago (shit, it's been THAT long) the group of FNL fans that I've sadly mostly lost touch with (ah, the changes of life, and the salt and burn of the once vibrant LJ fan community by the assembled forces of assholedom) had a tradition that I'm reviving today for nostalgia's sake.
The birthday girl wrote & posted a story.
I'm snagging a prompt from the 2014 list of Porn Battle prompts. Set during the "we'll always have Mexico" trip of S2. Sorry that it's a little dark and melancholy, but the prompt is, well ... see for yourself.
Friday Night Lights (TV)
Jason Street/Any Male Character, rough, hero, comfort, carry, wheelchair, pride, control, coaching, reminiscing, training, selling, prostitution, pornography, muscular, feet, socks, sweat, exertion, mud, rain, sun, snow, injury, sex as spectator sport
This is a what if ... what if Tim didn't end up in Jail that night? What if something else happened that night instead?
Tim doesn't say anything, or rather, he doesn't know what to say when Jason catches up to him a few minutes later, a split-second before they're about go through the door to their hotel, street-walker in his lap. He just knows better than to cause a scene right here, right now.
Yeah, she is the one he looked at the most when they passed them (and their pimp) by a about a minute ago. Tim didn't think anything out of the ordinary when Jason said, "Gimmie a moment, I'll catch up with you." He figured Jason was looking at some souvenirs. Tim's beer-tequila buzz is about to wear off, so mostly he's starting to feel tired after a long day, and if he knows if doesn't get some water (bottled, of course) or some gatorade or something in him soon, a hangover will dig in, and Tim doesn't think he should try and handle any of this -- trying to help Jason -- with a splitting headache.
He just holds the door and keeps his mouth shut as Jason wheels on through.
Nobody in the grimy little lobby of their hotel bats an eye.
(Nobody in this hotel is going to care unless something happens that makes the involvement of the Policia necessary.)
Tim turns the key in the knob, hits the lights, and walks in, Jason and the girl at his heels. He snags an unopened bottle of water, cracks it, guzzles down about half of it, and says, "Six, a word with you?" as he indicates the door.
Jason gives her a little push and points her at his bed.
When they get to the door, Tim kneels before Jason, mouth opening and closing a few times as he tries to get his head around the words. What the fuck? He takes Jason's hands in his. Are you serious?! He squeezes gently before he murmurs, "Jay, are you sure?"
Jason remains silent, but the look in his eyes is stone, and Tim knows that there's nothing he can say to that, not right now.
He rises, but doesn't let go of Jason's hands. "So, I'm going to be right --"
Jason's grip on his hand tightens, and he cuts in, "You're not going anywhere."
This makes no sense. Not coming from Jason. Then what --? Oh. "You want me to watch." He keeps his voice flat when he realizes.
(The realization feels like a stone in the pit of Tim's stomach, given everything that's between them ... that Jason thinks he needs to prove something to him. Prove it like this.)
"No," Jason replies, "I want to watch. You and her."
"What?!" Tim hisses and tries to pull his hands back.
Jason tugs him down. "You think she's pretty. Don't try to tell me you don't think she's hot." He looks at her, sitting on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at them, and Tim follows his gaze.
She is hot. And not "for a streetwalker in a border town" hot. She's about year, maybe two, older than him, and her eyes are light brown with amber flecks, not black, and while the expression in them is flat and guarded, it's not dead. She's curvy, and doesn't have too much makeup on, and though her blue spandex dress is skimpy, she's young enough that it's not tacky, trying too hard, or desperate. Her hair's a short, dark brown, wavy bob, not fried blonde or frizzy peroxide orange, and it frames her heart-shaped face.
Tim turns back to Jason and studies him, still trying to puzzle it out, when Jason turns his head back and the look in his eyes tells Tim everything that he can't say. Tim rubs his thumbs over the back of Jason's hands, closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and says, "Okay, Six."
His mouth feels as dry as the Sahara as he takes his boots off and starts stripping. He can tell the -- "Hey, what is your name?" She blinks at him. "Nombre?" She pauses and replies, "Ana." Tim can tell that Ana is a little confused there for a second, but maybe a little relieved, too.
She shrugs out of her little spandex number -- not enough cloth there to pad a crutch -- zips out of her boots and leaves her stockings and garter belt on. And, as much as part of Tim is seriously, seriously weirded out right now, his cock is hard and leaking a little at the tip because she's so fucking hot.
Ana goes to lie down on Jason's bed, but Tim stops her, because if he's going to do this the way Jason wants to, he needs to know. "Up or down, Jay? Me on top or --"
"Her on top." Jason's voice almost sounds strangled.
Tim's dick throbs a little at the idea, because if he's going to put on a show, he should get a good view, too.
He lies down, hands her a condom, and she's right down to business as she opens it and rolls it on, and Jason wheels to the edge of the bed just as Ana's sliding her hot/wet/tight shaved little snatch down the length of his cock, and it's fucking amazing.
Tim's not quite sure who groaned that bone-deep, "Oh yessss." Because it's sex and right now his entire world has shrunk down to this squeaky ass bed and the surprisingly aggressive, almost rough ride she's giving his dick. He hammers her back -- her little breathless growls of "Aye, aye, aye" spurring him on -- one hand clenching her hip, his other hand clenched in Jason's, both of their breaths coming in short, rasps and gasps, because he's almost --
-- her breasts have the cutest little brown nipples he should have kissed them --
-- Jay's other hand slides across his torso, down his belly --
-- Ana rocks back (fuck, that's good) a fraction --
-- Jay's hand touches them where they join --
--and Tim's THERE shooting, flooding the condom, still shaking all over as as he comes back down.
She pauses a moment before climbing off of his slowly softening dick with something almost like a sigh. Tim closes his eyes and sucks in a ragged gasp of air. Jason's head is on the edge of the bed, right next to his shoulder, face down. He's still got Tim's hand in a death grip, and only slowly does he let it go as he drags his other hand away from the vicinity of Tim's cock.
He doesn't look up as Tim rolls and scoots off the bed and strips off the condom and Tim knows that something is really really wrong.
Ana's back from the bathroom. She hands him a damp washcloth and Tim hustles her into her dress, gives her $40, and whispers "gracias" as she's out the door, boots in hand.
He hopes that she's down the hall when Jason starts making a little keening sound that grows louder with every heartbeat and scares Tim so bad he shakes a little as he puts his boxers back on, sits down on the bed, and strokes Jason's hair and says things like, "It's okay, Six," and "I got you, man," though they're as dry and bitter as ashes in his mouth, and Jason absolutely breaks down and bawls in his lap.
He has no fucking idea what to do beyond that.
Only he's knows that he's got to call Lyla, because right now, he's in so far over his head he doesn't know which way is up anymore.