(fic): *insert cheesy title here* (andrew/jesse)
Title: Of Muscles and Men
Pairing: Andrew Garfield/Jesse Eisenberg
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It's not that Jesse wasn't attracted to Andrew before Spider-man. It's just that now Andrew's all buff and stuff and Jesse is so turned on.
For: The kink meme prompt Andrew manhandling the shit out of Jesse and Jesse just loving it, Andrew picking him up and wrapping his legs around his waist, fucking him against walls, pushing him around in bed with his arms muscles flexing and driving Jesse crazy.
Note: Man, I've never published porn before, though I've written plenty of it over the years in RPs. So, um, yes, this is the least plotty, least tame thing I've ever posted. 2,300 words of pure PWP. I blame Andrew and his muscles and Tumblr and the kink meme. Also, cheesiest title in the history of titles, I AM SO SORRY.
There’s nothing - absolutely nothing, fucking zero, zilch, nada - that Jesse likes more (and he’s got to be so careful about admitting this kind of thing around certain people because he has nosy friends like Emma who like to stir pots and gossip and tell his boyfriend things he never wanted him to know) than Andrew when he’s being touchy. It’s probably got a lot to do with how long they usually go without seeing each other when one of them is filming, but he’s almost one hundred percent certain that the main factor here is not how long they’ve been apart but how big Andrew is.
No, not big down there but big in the arms. Like, he’s got guns. Jesse’s never been one to use phrases like that because they are way too clichéd to be part of his rather eclectic vocabulary but he understands now why people make fusses about muscles. Andrew’s always looked fantastic to Jesse, even when they first met and he was twenty pounds too skinny for his role, even when he was stuffing his face with Twinkies while he forced Jesse to watch Zombieland throughout the course of filming their movie, even when he came down with a stomach flu three weeks before principal shooting for Spider-man began. Jesse’s never not been attracted to Andrew.
It’s just that now he’s even more attracted to him than he’s ever been. Surprising, yes, because Jesse’s always prided himself on not putting too much stock in superficiality. But once you’ve been with someone for a while, it’s totally acceptable to welcome physical changes enthusiastically. (His therapist even told him so when he called her up a few weeks ago, asking if his sudden, well, boner for Andrew’s beefiness is normal.) This is just one of those things that Jesse has, at no loss to him, passionately embraced.
And why shouldn’t he, when Andrew’s kind of flaunting his muscles anyway? He keeps parading around in cutoff sleeves and wearing old shirts that are tight around the shoulders and it’s no wonder why the tabloids keep plastering his pictures all over the place. He turned into a Greek god overnight.
* * *
It’s challenging for Jesse to keep his eyes from roaming when Andrew’s got his back turned, cooking in Jesse’s kitchen wearing low-slung boxer shorts and one of Jesse’s oldest Ween shirts. Jesse can see all of Andrew’s muscles working underneath the thin fabric, which is stretched tight across Andrew’s shoulders because Andrew can’t fit properly into anything that’s Jesse’s anymore. When Andrew pulls ingredients from the cabinets with one hand, face still turned down toward the stove, the shirt rides up so that an inch of really tan, muscle-rippled skin peeks out. When he bends to pick up a fallen utensil, his shorts tighten very revealingly over his ass. When he stretches, both arms over his head, hands palm-down on the overhead cabinet doors, his sleeves slip down and the flexing of his biceps just looks so unreal.
Jesse, from his perch on the opposite counter, doesn’t think he can handle this anymore. It doesn’t matter that Andrew flew in last night and they had sex almost as soon as he walked into Jesse’s apartment, that his sexual needs were finally satisfied for the first time in two weeks, that they just, like, thirty minutes ago had a pretty hot and heavy make-out session. None of that bears any consequence on how magnificently turned on Jesse is right now. He can’t even try to hide it with the paperback he’d meant to read while he waited for Andrew to finish cooking. It’s become way too obvious.
Swallowing hard past the knot in his throat, Jesse very carefully, with a lot of concentration because all of a sudden his hands are shaking with want, sets his book on the counter and grips both his thighs with his hands. He takes as deep a breath as he can, which is one that whistles through his teeth and is actually pretty shallow for all the work he puts into it. He’s trying really hard to just stop thinking about it, about Andrew holding him up and fucking him against a wall, but the more he tells his brain to stop and to betray him no longer, the tighter his pants get. There’s just no denying his arousal at this point, because even if he conjures up the image of his mom in the her scariest clown suit, the image of Andrew leaning over him, brow dripping with sweat, arms flexing in Jesse’s line of vision, is way more powerful.
He must have involuntarily made some sort of undignified noise because the next time he opens his eyes, Andrew’s turned around and his gaze is kind of smoldering, brown eyes ablaze in the dim lighting of the overhead kitchen lamp. Under any other circumstances, Jesse would blush and fidget and profusely deny being turned on. Right now, though, he’s so hard his dick kind of hurts and the best way to make it stop hurting is for Andrew to get over here this instant.
“Andrew,” he chokes out, already panting, “turn off that fucking stove and -”
Before he can even finish, Andrew’s doing just as he asked and then some. What happens is kind of a blur. Jesse feels his leg muscles twinge as Andrew yanks him off the counter and pulls him into his arms. It’s more a defense than anything else for Jesse to wrap his legs around Andrew’s waist and his own arms around his neck, though he won’t deny that he’s been thinking about this very moment the entire time they’ve been in here, puttering about the kitchen when they could be doing much more useful things in the bedroom.
Through his own shirt, he can feel the strength in Andrew’s forearms as he’s carried, the way his muscles constrict and move against Jesse’s back, hands clutching onto his sides in a bruising hold that Jesse can’t even bring himself to complain about. He’s more concerned with nipping at Andrew’s lips and getting a taste of him, anyway. It’s an added bonus that his crotch is pressed right against Andrew’s stomach and that he’s bouncing in his arms enough to get just the right amount of friction.
Somehow, without getting hurt, Andrew lowers himself into a sitting position on top of the bed. Jesse doesn’t bother pushing him onto his back. He just wants Andrew to keep grabbing at him like he is, fists clenched in his shirt, arms tight around his waist. He leans up as far as he can without tumbling, though, so that he’s no longer in Andrew’s lap but instead pressed against Andrew’s torso. It’s just the right angle for him to reach down and mold his hands around Andrew’s shoulders and press his thumbs against his clavicles just far enough for to feel his pulse thrumming under his fingertips. He gets bored fast and slips his hands onto Andrew’s biceps, squeezes them hard in his palms, so hard, apparently, that Andrew breaks their kiss to moan against Jesse’s neck, breath all warm and wet on his hot skin.
Jesse thinks he hears Andrew ask, “Is that why you want this?” but it’s kind of overpowered by the guttural sound Andrew elicits when he squeezes Jesse’s ass through his pajama pants. That’s Jesse’s kryptonite, right there, and you can’t ever expect him to pay much attention to anything else when he’s given it.
Tipping point reached, Jesse finally gets out of Andrew’s hold and rolls onto his back on the bed, dragging Andrew over as he goes. He plants both his feet on the mattress, lifts his hips so he can wiggle out of his pants, and then he reaches back to pull his shirt off by the collar, not caring when he tugs too hard and the thread gives. Andrew distracts him, naked body fitting between Jesse’s spread legs without warning, and his cats could claw at his door until their nails bled and he wouldn’t care (ok, not something that extreme, but you get the point) because he’s got the most beautiful man in the world getting ready to fuck him. That fact alone is enough to shut down the parts of Jesse’s brain that aren’t necessary for sex - and if it means being better able to focus on what Andrew’s doing right now, he doesn’t want the rest of his brain on anyway.
What he wants is simple; he just hopes Andrew is enough in-tune with him to figure it out because Jesse can’t make a single sound that isn’t a string of alternately low- and high-pitched moans (which at any other time would be mortifying to him but right now it’s kind of like the means to an end).
At least Andrew wastes no time in slicking his fingers up and stretching Jesse out like he usually does. He seems set on getting through this as soon as possible too, if the way he’s panting and frantically gnawing at Jesse’s neck is anything to go by. Jesse tips his head back, eyes squeezed shut, and hooks one of his arms over Andrew’s shoulders, the other over his back. He can feel Andrew’s right arm jerking as he slips more fingers inside Jesse, probing around until he’s satisfied with how violently he’s got Jesse thrashing underneath him.
It takes Jesse an incredible amount of will not to tell Andrew to skip the condom and just get on with it already. He has to lie still on the bed, breathing in and out as slowly as he can, while he watches, through half-lidded eyes, Andrew open the condom packet with his teeth, otherwise he thinks he might have an orgasm from this alone. Just watching the way Andrew’s arm muscles glide under his skin as he slicks his dick with lubricant is more than enough for Jesse to lose all coherent trains of thought. He looks so sinewy and tough and like he can do a lot of damage if he’s given a baseball bat and instructions to beat up all the bullies in his neighborhood and -
Jesus Christ, Jesse’s so turned on he can’t deal with this anymore. He manages to say Andrew’s name even with his throat all tight and his voice all raspy and then he uses all the strength he has left to haul Andrew on top of him and whisper in his ear, “Fuck me.” For good measure, he even nips at his earlobe.
Andrew actually growls, kissing Jesse hard and yanking Jesse by the wrists so that he’ll keep his arms back. He tells Jesse, “Don’t even move,” in the sultriest voice Jesse’s ever heard and then hitches Jesse’s legs over his shoulders, as if Jesse could even protest when he’s being handled this way - not that Jesse minds or anything like that at all. He’s screaming on the inside with how glad he is that Andrew is taking charge.
Then Andrew’s dick is pushing into Jesse’s ass and the screaming can no longer be contained. Even though they’ve done this before, way too many times over the past few years to count, Jesse has to let out a cry. He’s got his hands wrapped around the headboard and his body bent almost in half and he’s going to be vocal if he wants to, neighbors be damned. At least his bed doesn’t squeak and he’s not pounding against the wall at three o’clock in the morning.
Jesse arches his back off the mattress, digs his heels into Andrew’s shoulders for balance and tries to rub himself against Andrew’s stomach on every push in of Andrew’s dick. They’re still moving too spastically for a good rhythm to be established, so he’s just guessing with his eyes closed what moment is the best to get some kind of friction, though he’s almost certain in a few minutes he could come without even that.
Now that he’s thinking about it, the reason Andrew told him not to move is probably that he wants to make Jesse come just from being fucked. Jesse couldn’t possibly complain; he just gets harder.
Andrew starts rocking into him faster, both his hands in a firm grasp around Jesse’s ribs, and Jesse starts wriggling underneath him, wanting really badly to hold onto Andrew’s forearms and leave his own nail marks on Andrew’s skin. It only takes a few more thrusts for Andrew to finally hit Jesse’s prostate and then he’s hitting it over and over, a wave of heat overwhelming Jesse every other second. He arches his back so far up he can feel Andrew’s chest expanding against his own, his dick twitching against Andrew’s firm abdomen, and that’s when he knows he’s not going to last much longer at all.
His insides coil unbearably tight and his dick throbs and then he’s coming, gasping Andrew’s name repeatedly, shaking so hard the bed starts to move. He pays no mind to the wetness now sticking his skin to Andrew’s because he’s too busy calming down, harsh breaths drawn between his teeth.
When Andrew comes, Jesse has at least settled enough to stroke Andrew’s hair and kiss his cheek through it, even though he’s still having trouble breathing. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet because it’s still unnaturally black underneath his eyelids and he knows he won’t be able to distinguish between Andrew’s face and the wall behind him if he tried (especially since he’s not wearing contacts and his glasses were most likely trampled over on the way here).
“I think you just broke me,” Andrew mumbles, his face tucked against Jesse’s neck.
Smirking, Jesse wraps both his arms around Andrew’s back, squeezes and kisses the top of Andrew’s sweat-matted hair. “I’m just glad you’re Spider-man.”
Andrew snorts quietly and then they just lie there for a while, forgetting about the half-made omelet on the stove, the mess in the kitchen and the broken pieces of Jesse’s glasses littered across the floor.
Pairing: Andrew Garfield/Jesse Eisenberg
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It's not that Jesse wasn't attracted to Andrew before Spider-man. It's just that now Andrew's all buff and stuff and Jesse is so turned on.
For: The kink meme prompt Andrew manhandling the shit out of Jesse and Jesse just loving it, Andrew picking him up and wrapping his legs around his waist, fucking him against walls, pushing him around in bed with his arms muscles flexing and driving Jesse crazy.
Note: Man, I've never published porn before, though I've written plenty of it over the years in RPs. So, um, yes, this is the least plotty, least tame thing I've ever posted. 2,300 words of pure PWP. I blame Andrew and his muscles and Tumblr and the kink meme. Also, cheesiest title in the history of titles, I AM SO SORRY.
There’s nothing - absolutely nothing, fucking zero, zilch, nada - that Jesse likes more (and he’s got to be so careful about admitting this kind of thing around certain people because he has nosy friends like Emma who like to stir pots and gossip and tell his boyfriend things he never wanted him to know) than Andrew when he’s being touchy. It’s probably got a lot to do with how long they usually go without seeing each other when one of them is filming, but he’s almost one hundred percent certain that the main factor here is not how long they’ve been apart but how big Andrew is.
No, not big down there but big in the arms. Like, he’s got guns. Jesse’s never been one to use phrases like that because they are way too clichéd to be part of his rather eclectic vocabulary but he understands now why people make fusses about muscles. Andrew’s always looked fantastic to Jesse, even when they first met and he was twenty pounds too skinny for his role, even when he was stuffing his face with Twinkies while he forced Jesse to watch Zombieland throughout the course of filming their movie, even when he came down with a stomach flu three weeks before principal shooting for Spider-man began. Jesse’s never not been attracted to Andrew.
It’s just that now he’s even more attracted to him than he’s ever been. Surprising, yes, because Jesse’s always prided himself on not putting too much stock in superficiality. But once you’ve been with someone for a while, it’s totally acceptable to welcome physical changes enthusiastically. (His therapist even told him so when he called her up a few weeks ago, asking if his sudden, well, boner for Andrew’s beefiness is normal.) This is just one of those things that Jesse has, at no loss to him, passionately embraced.
And why shouldn’t he, when Andrew’s kind of flaunting his muscles anyway? He keeps parading around in cutoff sleeves and wearing old shirts that are tight around the shoulders and it’s no wonder why the tabloids keep plastering his pictures all over the place. He turned into a Greek god overnight.
* * *
It’s challenging for Jesse to keep his eyes from roaming when Andrew’s got his back turned, cooking in Jesse’s kitchen wearing low-slung boxer shorts and one of Jesse’s oldest Ween shirts. Jesse can see all of Andrew’s muscles working underneath the thin fabric, which is stretched tight across Andrew’s shoulders because Andrew can’t fit properly into anything that’s Jesse’s anymore. When Andrew pulls ingredients from the cabinets with one hand, face still turned down toward the stove, the shirt rides up so that an inch of really tan, muscle-rippled skin peeks out. When he bends to pick up a fallen utensil, his shorts tighten very revealingly over his ass. When he stretches, both arms over his head, hands palm-down on the overhead cabinet doors, his sleeves slip down and the flexing of his biceps just looks so unreal.
Jesse, from his perch on the opposite counter, doesn’t think he can handle this anymore. It doesn’t matter that Andrew flew in last night and they had sex almost as soon as he walked into Jesse’s apartment, that his sexual needs were finally satisfied for the first time in two weeks, that they just, like, thirty minutes ago had a pretty hot and heavy make-out session. None of that bears any consequence on how magnificently turned on Jesse is right now. He can’t even try to hide it with the paperback he’d meant to read while he waited for Andrew to finish cooking. It’s become way too obvious.
Swallowing hard past the knot in his throat, Jesse very carefully, with a lot of concentration because all of a sudden his hands are shaking with want, sets his book on the counter and grips both his thighs with his hands. He takes as deep a breath as he can, which is one that whistles through his teeth and is actually pretty shallow for all the work he puts into it. He’s trying really hard to just stop thinking about it, about Andrew holding him up and fucking him against a wall, but the more he tells his brain to stop and to betray him no longer, the tighter his pants get. There’s just no denying his arousal at this point, because even if he conjures up the image of his mom in the her scariest clown suit, the image of Andrew leaning over him, brow dripping with sweat, arms flexing in Jesse’s line of vision, is way more powerful.
He must have involuntarily made some sort of undignified noise because the next time he opens his eyes, Andrew’s turned around and his gaze is kind of smoldering, brown eyes ablaze in the dim lighting of the overhead kitchen lamp. Under any other circumstances, Jesse would blush and fidget and profusely deny being turned on. Right now, though, he’s so hard his dick kind of hurts and the best way to make it stop hurting is for Andrew to get over here this instant.
“Andrew,” he chokes out, already panting, “turn off that fucking stove and -”
Before he can even finish, Andrew’s doing just as he asked and then some. What happens is kind of a blur. Jesse feels his leg muscles twinge as Andrew yanks him off the counter and pulls him into his arms. It’s more a defense than anything else for Jesse to wrap his legs around Andrew’s waist and his own arms around his neck, though he won’t deny that he’s been thinking about this very moment the entire time they’ve been in here, puttering about the kitchen when they could be doing much more useful things in the bedroom.
Through his own shirt, he can feel the strength in Andrew’s forearms as he’s carried, the way his muscles constrict and move against Jesse’s back, hands clutching onto his sides in a bruising hold that Jesse can’t even bring himself to complain about. He’s more concerned with nipping at Andrew’s lips and getting a taste of him, anyway. It’s an added bonus that his crotch is pressed right against Andrew’s stomach and that he’s bouncing in his arms enough to get just the right amount of friction.
Somehow, without getting hurt, Andrew lowers himself into a sitting position on top of the bed. Jesse doesn’t bother pushing him onto his back. He just wants Andrew to keep grabbing at him like he is, fists clenched in his shirt, arms tight around his waist. He leans up as far as he can without tumbling, though, so that he’s no longer in Andrew’s lap but instead pressed against Andrew’s torso. It’s just the right angle for him to reach down and mold his hands around Andrew’s shoulders and press his thumbs against his clavicles just far enough for to feel his pulse thrumming under his fingertips. He gets bored fast and slips his hands onto Andrew’s biceps, squeezes them hard in his palms, so hard, apparently, that Andrew breaks their kiss to moan against Jesse’s neck, breath all warm and wet on his hot skin.
Jesse thinks he hears Andrew ask, “Is that why you want this?” but it’s kind of overpowered by the guttural sound Andrew elicits when he squeezes Jesse’s ass through his pajama pants. That’s Jesse’s kryptonite, right there, and you can’t ever expect him to pay much attention to anything else when he’s given it.
Tipping point reached, Jesse finally gets out of Andrew’s hold and rolls onto his back on the bed, dragging Andrew over as he goes. He plants both his feet on the mattress, lifts his hips so he can wiggle out of his pants, and then he reaches back to pull his shirt off by the collar, not caring when he tugs too hard and the thread gives. Andrew distracts him, naked body fitting between Jesse’s spread legs without warning, and his cats could claw at his door until their nails bled and he wouldn’t care (ok, not something that extreme, but you get the point) because he’s got the most beautiful man in the world getting ready to fuck him. That fact alone is enough to shut down the parts of Jesse’s brain that aren’t necessary for sex - and if it means being better able to focus on what Andrew’s doing right now, he doesn’t want the rest of his brain on anyway.
What he wants is simple; he just hopes Andrew is enough in-tune with him to figure it out because Jesse can’t make a single sound that isn’t a string of alternately low- and high-pitched moans (which at any other time would be mortifying to him but right now it’s kind of like the means to an end).
At least Andrew wastes no time in slicking his fingers up and stretching Jesse out like he usually does. He seems set on getting through this as soon as possible too, if the way he’s panting and frantically gnawing at Jesse’s neck is anything to go by. Jesse tips his head back, eyes squeezed shut, and hooks one of his arms over Andrew’s shoulders, the other over his back. He can feel Andrew’s right arm jerking as he slips more fingers inside Jesse, probing around until he’s satisfied with how violently he’s got Jesse thrashing underneath him.
It takes Jesse an incredible amount of will not to tell Andrew to skip the condom and just get on with it already. He has to lie still on the bed, breathing in and out as slowly as he can, while he watches, through half-lidded eyes, Andrew open the condom packet with his teeth, otherwise he thinks he might have an orgasm from this alone. Just watching the way Andrew’s arm muscles glide under his skin as he slicks his dick with lubricant is more than enough for Jesse to lose all coherent trains of thought. He looks so sinewy and tough and like he can do a lot of damage if he’s given a baseball bat and instructions to beat up all the bullies in his neighborhood and -
Jesus Christ, Jesse’s so turned on he can’t deal with this anymore. He manages to say Andrew’s name even with his throat all tight and his voice all raspy and then he uses all the strength he has left to haul Andrew on top of him and whisper in his ear, “Fuck me.” For good measure, he even nips at his earlobe.
Andrew actually growls, kissing Jesse hard and yanking Jesse by the wrists so that he’ll keep his arms back. He tells Jesse, “Don’t even move,” in the sultriest voice Jesse’s ever heard and then hitches Jesse’s legs over his shoulders, as if Jesse could even protest when he’s being handled this way - not that Jesse minds or anything like that at all. He’s screaming on the inside with how glad he is that Andrew is taking charge.
Then Andrew’s dick is pushing into Jesse’s ass and the screaming can no longer be contained. Even though they’ve done this before, way too many times over the past few years to count, Jesse has to let out a cry. He’s got his hands wrapped around the headboard and his body bent almost in half and he’s going to be vocal if he wants to, neighbors be damned. At least his bed doesn’t squeak and he’s not pounding against the wall at three o’clock in the morning.
Jesse arches his back off the mattress, digs his heels into Andrew’s shoulders for balance and tries to rub himself against Andrew’s stomach on every push in of Andrew’s dick. They’re still moving too spastically for a good rhythm to be established, so he’s just guessing with his eyes closed what moment is the best to get some kind of friction, though he’s almost certain in a few minutes he could come without even that.
Now that he’s thinking about it, the reason Andrew told him not to move is probably that he wants to make Jesse come just from being fucked. Jesse couldn’t possibly complain; he just gets harder.
Andrew starts rocking into him faster, both his hands in a firm grasp around Jesse’s ribs, and Jesse starts wriggling underneath him, wanting really badly to hold onto Andrew’s forearms and leave his own nail marks on Andrew’s skin. It only takes a few more thrusts for Andrew to finally hit Jesse’s prostate and then he’s hitting it over and over, a wave of heat overwhelming Jesse every other second. He arches his back so far up he can feel Andrew’s chest expanding against his own, his dick twitching against Andrew’s firm abdomen, and that’s when he knows he’s not going to last much longer at all.
His insides coil unbearably tight and his dick throbs and then he’s coming, gasping Andrew’s name repeatedly, shaking so hard the bed starts to move. He pays no mind to the wetness now sticking his skin to Andrew’s because he’s too busy calming down, harsh breaths drawn between his teeth.
When Andrew comes, Jesse has at least settled enough to stroke Andrew’s hair and kiss his cheek through it, even though he’s still having trouble breathing. He hasn’t opened his eyes yet because it’s still unnaturally black underneath his eyelids and he knows he won’t be able to distinguish between Andrew’s face and the wall behind him if he tried (especially since he’s not wearing contacts and his glasses were most likely trampled over on the way here).
“I think you just broke me,” Andrew mumbles, his face tucked against Jesse’s neck.
Smirking, Jesse wraps both his arms around Andrew’s back, squeezes and kisses the top of Andrew’s sweat-matted hair. “I’m just glad you’re Spider-man.”
Andrew snorts quietly and then they just lie there for a while, forgetting about the half-made omelet on the stove, the mess in the kitchen and the broken pieces of Jesse’s glasses littered across the floor.