[ficlet thingy] remove the space between me and you -- (Jensen/Jeff, R)
So apparently gypsy_sunday showed this to bertee and she showed it to lazy_daze and she showed it to me. It's a fannish circle of corruption.
Jeff/Jensen, 800 words of suggestiveness that I probably shouldn't post because I am drunk but whatever ~
Jeff's too old for clubs like this -- ask anyone, and they'd say as much. The sort of place where the lights strobe blue and orange over Jensen's downturned face, his clavicle, the sweat in the hollow of his throat; the sort of place where the music isn't so much heard as experienced pounding up through the soles of Jeff's feet. He's too old for it, Jesus, gonna go cataleptic from all the goddamn flashes, but Jensen -- Christ, Jensen.
Jeff's seen him drunk before, sprawled out in his trailer and laughing too hard over Mariokart 2, but this is different. This is Jensen's hips punching forward with the beat as his arms sway upward, face slack, mouth soft and open. This is Jensen lost to it, bleeding into sensation, and Jeff wants to take him home and anchor him down, fuck him till he remembers what reality is.
His jeans have slid low, too loose on his waist and too tight over his ass, the spurs of his hipbones thrusting up above the slouched, stretched waistband. No fucking underwear, that much is clear, and Jeff'd be having words about that in the morning if the thought of it didn't make his throat close up, imagining shoving his own hand in there, feeling Jensen's cock push up bare against his palm. Fuck. The thrust of it is obvious already, shoving up fat and clear against his fly, and Jeff wants to lick all the salt-sourness from the head, work back the foreskin, nip down the shaft. Jensen's not stupid; he knows what he looks like. His eyes catch Jeff's, somewhere in the middle of this, and Jeff can see from the quirk of his smile that he knows what Jeff's thinking -- thinkin' about fucking him, about how Jensen would look, worked open on his dick. How he might squirm, cry out, pinned between some mattress and Jeff, pounded against a wall, splayed open, taken. How it might feel. Yeah, Jensen's thinking about that right now. Jeff can see his face getting pink at the prospect, flush along his cheekbones, sweat sheening his neck. So fucking pretty; should be illegal, face like that in a place like this. Jeff's moving closer before he knows it, sidling up close till he's cradling Jensen's ass in the pan of his pelvis, fingers spanning the shallows of Jensen's hips.
"Jeff, hey!" Jensen's had one too many, that much is obvious from the way his head goes back, eyes green and glittering. It doesn't stop him dancing, hips still going, and Jeff's rough laughter is one breath away from a moan as Jensen twists his body to nuzzle his face into the curve of Jeff's neck.
"Time to go home," Jeff says, curt. Jensen's breath catches, brow pulling tight, like some part of him wants in but the rest of him doesn't quite know what it's signing up for. His hand comes up, covers Jeff's on his hip, and Jeff's dick twitches hard against Jensen's ass.
"Time...why?" Jensen shifts his head again, rubs his nose against the bolt of Jeff's jaw, animalistic. "Havin' a good time, man."
A shudder trips its way down Jeff's spine. He leans in, licks -- once -- at the soft place behind Jensen's ear, where the skin goes pale and fine. He says -- feels it ripping out of his throat like stitches -- "Because, Jensen." His hand skates lower, traces the line of Jensen's jeans, thumb making a slow, fine path across his hipbone. Jeff feels the heat of it surge in his belly. "Takin' you home." He nips at Jensen's ear. "Tonight, I'm fuckin' you."
He feels Jensen register the words, feels them reverberate through him like a gunshot, like a punch to the gut. Jensen's hand comes up, catching at his mouth, and he grinds himself back against Jeff's aching dick before he manages a "Fuck," and then: "Jeff --"
He curses, low. Jeff can't resist another bite, sucked into a bruise, before he says, "you kiss your goddamn mother with that mouth?"
Jensen's grinning when he turns, hands skating up Jeff's neck, twining into the hair at the back of his skull. He works himself close, leans up and close, and their mouths are nearly level when he says, "Nah." He nips at Jeff's mouth, sucks at the swell of his lower lip. "Could kiss my daddy with it, though, if you wanted."
Jeff doesn't mean to make bruises when he hauls Jensen in, both hands on his ass, growl rising in his throat. But it kinda can't be helped.
Jeff/Jensen, 800 words of suggestiveness that I probably shouldn't post because I am drunk but whatever ~
Jeff's too old for clubs like this -- ask anyone, and they'd say as much. The sort of place where the lights strobe blue and orange over Jensen's downturned face, his clavicle, the sweat in the hollow of his throat; the sort of place where the music isn't so much heard as experienced pounding up through the soles of Jeff's feet. He's too old for it, Jesus, gonna go cataleptic from all the goddamn flashes, but Jensen -- Christ, Jensen.
Jeff's seen him drunk before, sprawled out in his trailer and laughing too hard over Mariokart 2, but this is different. This is Jensen's hips punching forward with the beat as his arms sway upward, face slack, mouth soft and open. This is Jensen lost to it, bleeding into sensation, and Jeff wants to take him home and anchor him down, fuck him till he remembers what reality is.
His jeans have slid low, too loose on his waist and too tight over his ass, the spurs of his hipbones thrusting up above the slouched, stretched waistband. No fucking underwear, that much is clear, and Jeff'd be having words about that in the morning if the thought of it didn't make his throat close up, imagining shoving his own hand in there, feeling Jensen's cock push up bare against his palm. Fuck. The thrust of it is obvious already, shoving up fat and clear against his fly, and Jeff wants to lick all the salt-sourness from the head, work back the foreskin, nip down the shaft. Jensen's not stupid; he knows what he looks like. His eyes catch Jeff's, somewhere in the middle of this, and Jeff can see from the quirk of his smile that he knows what Jeff's thinking -- thinkin' about fucking him, about how Jensen would look, worked open on his dick. How he might squirm, cry out, pinned between some mattress and Jeff, pounded against a wall, splayed open, taken. How it might feel. Yeah, Jensen's thinking about that right now. Jeff can see his face getting pink at the prospect, flush along his cheekbones, sweat sheening his neck. So fucking pretty; should be illegal, face like that in a place like this. Jeff's moving closer before he knows it, sidling up close till he's cradling Jensen's ass in the pan of his pelvis, fingers spanning the shallows of Jensen's hips.
"Jeff, hey!" Jensen's had one too many, that much is obvious from the way his head goes back, eyes green and glittering. It doesn't stop him dancing, hips still going, and Jeff's rough laughter is one breath away from a moan as Jensen twists his body to nuzzle his face into the curve of Jeff's neck.
"Time to go home," Jeff says, curt. Jensen's breath catches, brow pulling tight, like some part of him wants in but the rest of him doesn't quite know what it's signing up for. His hand comes up, covers Jeff's on his hip, and Jeff's dick twitches hard against Jensen's ass.
"Time...why?" Jensen shifts his head again, rubs his nose against the bolt of Jeff's jaw, animalistic. "Havin' a good time, man."
A shudder trips its way down Jeff's spine. He leans in, licks -- once -- at the soft place behind Jensen's ear, where the skin goes pale and fine. He says -- feels it ripping out of his throat like stitches -- "Because, Jensen." His hand skates lower, traces the line of Jensen's jeans, thumb making a slow, fine path across his hipbone. Jeff feels the heat of it surge in his belly. "Takin' you home." He nips at Jensen's ear. "Tonight, I'm fuckin' you."
He feels Jensen register the words, feels them reverberate through him like a gunshot, like a punch to the gut. Jensen's hand comes up, catching at his mouth, and he grinds himself back against Jeff's aching dick before he manages a "Fuck," and then: "Jeff --"
He curses, low. Jeff can't resist another bite, sucked into a bruise, before he says, "you kiss your goddamn mother with that mouth?"
Jensen's grinning when he turns, hands skating up Jeff's neck, twining into the hair at the back of his skull. He works himself close, leans up and close, and their mouths are nearly level when he says, "Nah." He nips at Jeff's mouth, sucks at the swell of his lower lip. "Could kiss my daddy with it, though, if you wanted."
Jeff doesn't mean to make bruises when he hauls Jensen in, both hands on his ass, growl rising in his throat. But it kinda can't be helped.