cuddles in the kitchen
Day one.
The package arrived safely. Thanks to everyone for being so indulgent of my ... self-indulgence of late. ♥.
Fandomness:
1. If I'm reading my DVR thingy correctly, Angel reruns on TNT start over with season one tomorrow at 7 AM EST. I've never watched the show, but there's this guy on it? who I should see? So.
2. I may deny it later, but, well. I totally downloaded season one of One Tree Hill last night. I WAS DRUNK. I still dislike Mayhem intensely, but dudes, I AM a sucker for teen shows. SIGH. HEAR ME: no fic though. (As an aside on the CMM front, I've discovered that I can handle him in fic if Jared's spurned him for Jensen.) (As another aside on the CMM front, I knew I had mentioned him in my old journal, and lo. From October 2001, re Dawson's Creek: "wherein Jen gets a HOT new boyfriend that's an insanely attractive combination of the guy from Sum 41 and Ryan Phillippe." Yes. I will cop to the fact that I found Mayhem attractive on Dawson's. I totally suck.)
3. There were pictures of Jensen? and his mouth? yeah.
4. I half-plotted an SPN songvid to the Arctic Monkeys' "Mardy Bum," even though I have no idea what that crazy Brit slang means, just because of the repeated line about "you're argumentative, and you've got the face on."
5. People requested ficlets from my hack ass, and so. The first couple:
sevenfists requested a bodyswitching outtake:
Sam stretched and rolled over -- and God, he must've been out like a light -- just to find Dean on his back, wide awake, staring at his rigid cock in his hand like he was conducting a science experiment.
"Your dick is huge," Dean said, without even glancing over, as if they were already in the middle of some obviously-inappropriate conversation that Sam had missed the start of.
Considering that everything about this was inappropriate, Sam went with it.
"Yeah, thanks," he grunted, watching Dean fist and tug and look surprised that it didn't get uncomfortable no matter how tightly he squeezed. "You couldn't wait for me?"
Dean shrugged and pushed himself up on one elbow. "I did wait. It took two seconds for it to get this hard, dude." Sam felt himself flush, ankles and ears, and couldn't even tell if it was embarrassment or anticipation. "Anyway, I knew you were about to wake up. Eighteen minutes, post-come. I'm like a fucking atomic clock."
It didn't surprise Sam in the least that Dean knew that about himself, and it only mildly surprised him that it was one of the things that had been left behind in Dean's body. Along with, apparently, the biological imperative to pass right the hell out after shooting his wad. Or the tendency to get hard when he heard words like 'come' and 'fucking' in Sam's voice.
Sam vowed to remember that when Dean glanced down with an approving smirk. "So, ready?"
And varity requested "pub-crawl or concert and standing close and then slow-sweet turning into rushed-urgent couch porn" with the jsquared boys. Which was hard to fit into a ficlet! Um, I tried:
His assistant had gotten him the tickets and Jared had gotten him the CD but Jensen was the one trying to concentrate on putting it the right way up in the stereo.
"Two hours of hearing it in person wasn't enough for you?" Jared chuckled from his sprawl on the couch. One foot -- omnipresent flip-flop still on -- rested flat on the floor, the other (bare) dug into the cushions.
Jensen shrugged and turned the volume up and the dimmer switch down. He had a tendency to fixate, and doubted he'd be listening to much else for the foreseeable future. Not when the very first track took him right back to the club, three hours earlier. Jared's hips had lined right up behind Jensen's in the way that they shouldn't given his extra height, the condensation from Jared's longneck left both droplets and goosebumps on Jensen's arm.
"I like it," he said, moving to rest one knee between Jared's legs, trying to speak softly to compensate for club ear.
Jared's grin was wide and amused. "It's total makeout music, J."
"You bought it," Jensen reminded him, but there it was, and Jensen would rather lean down and let it be exactly that than argue.
"Total makeout music," Jared continued, oblivious or just stubborn in the face of Jensen's lips ghosting over stubble, mole, earlobe. Until just the second before Jensen was about to give up, sit up, and go to bed alone, when one huge hand blanketed Jensen's nape and held him in place. "Okay, it's hot," he admitted, rolling his hips up slow, slow, to press against the long muscle of Jensen's thigh. "Way better than the Pink Floyd you tried to play last time."
Jensen sat back on his heels, out of reach, and started working on his pants. Letting his fingers linger, cup, frame for show. "J, man, do I have to get into how many times I've gotten laid to that album?"
The pillows on the sofa caught him as he fell back under the force of Jared's onslaught. Not one born of jealousy, because Jared didn't seem to have a possessive bone in his body that Jensen could tell; he just really couldn't handle being left out when it came to stripping Jensen bare. He took over where Jensen had left off with a little less teasing and a lot more force and God, the best most pleased sound deep in his chest when his palm met naked flesh.
"Less than you're gonna get laid to this one," and that was even better.
The package arrived safely. Thanks to everyone for being so indulgent of my ... self-indulgence of late. ♥.
Fandomness:
1. If I'm reading my DVR thingy correctly, Angel reruns on TNT start over with season one tomorrow at 7 AM EST. I've never watched the show, but there's this guy on it? who I should see? So.
2. I may deny it later, but, well. I totally downloaded season one of One Tree Hill last night. I WAS DRUNK. I still dislike Mayhem intensely, but dudes, I AM a sucker for teen shows. SIGH. HEAR ME: no fic though. (As an aside on the CMM front, I've discovered that I can handle him in fic if Jared's spurned him for Jensen.) (As another aside on the CMM front, I knew I had mentioned him in my old journal, and lo. From October 2001, re Dawson's Creek: "wherein Jen gets a HOT new boyfriend that's an insanely attractive combination of the guy from Sum 41 and Ryan Phillippe." Yes. I will cop to the fact that I found Mayhem attractive on Dawson's. I totally suck.)
3. There were pictures of Jensen? and his mouth? yeah.
4. I half-plotted an SPN songvid to the Arctic Monkeys' "Mardy Bum," even though I have no idea what that crazy Brit slang means, just because of the repeated line about "you're argumentative, and you've got the face on."
5. People requested ficlets from my hack ass, and so. The first couple:
sevenfists requested a bodyswitching outtake:
Sam stretched and rolled over -- and God, he must've been out like a light -- just to find Dean on his back, wide awake, staring at his rigid cock in his hand like he was conducting a science experiment.
"Your dick is huge," Dean said, without even glancing over, as if they were already in the middle of some obviously-inappropriate conversation that Sam had missed the start of.
Considering that everything about this was inappropriate, Sam went with it.
"Yeah, thanks," he grunted, watching Dean fist and tug and look surprised that it didn't get uncomfortable no matter how tightly he squeezed. "You couldn't wait for me?"
Dean shrugged and pushed himself up on one elbow. "I did wait. It took two seconds for it to get this hard, dude." Sam felt himself flush, ankles and ears, and couldn't even tell if it was embarrassment or anticipation. "Anyway, I knew you were about to wake up. Eighteen minutes, post-come. I'm like a fucking atomic clock."
It didn't surprise Sam in the least that Dean knew that about himself, and it only mildly surprised him that it was one of the things that had been left behind in Dean's body. Along with, apparently, the biological imperative to pass right the hell out after shooting his wad. Or the tendency to get hard when he heard words like 'come' and 'fucking' in Sam's voice.
Sam vowed to remember that when Dean glanced down with an approving smirk. "So, ready?"
And varity requested "pub-crawl or concert and standing close and then slow-sweet turning into rushed-urgent couch porn" with the jsquared boys. Which was hard to fit into a ficlet! Um, I tried:
His assistant had gotten him the tickets and Jared had gotten him the CD but Jensen was the one trying to concentrate on putting it the right way up in the stereo.
"Two hours of hearing it in person wasn't enough for you?" Jared chuckled from his sprawl on the couch. One foot -- omnipresent flip-flop still on -- rested flat on the floor, the other (bare) dug into the cushions.
Jensen shrugged and turned the volume up and the dimmer switch down. He had a tendency to fixate, and doubted he'd be listening to much else for the foreseeable future. Not when the very first track took him right back to the club, three hours earlier. Jared's hips had lined right up behind Jensen's in the way that they shouldn't given his extra height, the condensation from Jared's longneck left both droplets and goosebumps on Jensen's arm.
"I like it," he said, moving to rest one knee between Jared's legs, trying to speak softly to compensate for club ear.
Jared's grin was wide and amused. "It's total makeout music, J."
"You bought it," Jensen reminded him, but there it was, and Jensen would rather lean down and let it be exactly that than argue.
"Total makeout music," Jared continued, oblivious or just stubborn in the face of Jensen's lips ghosting over stubble, mole, earlobe. Until just the second before Jensen was about to give up, sit up, and go to bed alone, when one huge hand blanketed Jensen's nape and held him in place. "Okay, it's hot," he admitted, rolling his hips up slow, slow, to press against the long muscle of Jensen's thigh. "Way better than the Pink Floyd you tried to play last time."
Jensen sat back on his heels, out of reach, and started working on his pants. Letting his fingers linger, cup, frame for show. "J, man, do I have to get into how many times I've gotten laid to that album?"
The pillows on the sofa caught him as he fell back under the force of Jared's onslaught. Not one born of jealousy, because Jared didn't seem to have a possessive bone in his body that Jensen could tell; he just really couldn't handle being left out when it came to stripping Jensen bare. He took over where Jensen had left off with a little less teasing and a lot more force and God, the best most pleased sound deep in his chest when his palm met naked flesh.
"Less than you're gonna get laid to this one," and that was even better.