Porn. No excuses.
Some blowjob porn for danxsunday who requested: cocksucking, Jensen, and the following lines: You can pour your heart out around 3 o clock / When the 2 for 1’s undone the writer's block. So here it is. In my mind, Christian Kane swears. A lot.
Pour Your (Something) Out
WB RPS
Jensen Ackles/Christian Kane
Rating: blowjob
Disclaimer: They own themselves. Or maybe the WB does.
Being in a band is probably the best thing that could've ever happened to Chris. It doesn't take a lot of effort on a day to day basis, he gets all the sex and free beer a man could ever want, no one expects him to settle down and make an honest woman out of some cheap broad from a two dollar town, and he gets to travel fucking everywhere. They even went to Sweden once, man. Fucking Sweden.
The problem comes when they're on hiatus, because then he's supposed to do the actual real work of like, writing the songs and shit. Normally Chris would just use his life experience as a basis and write about getting drunk, or his truck, or possibly his vast array of women, because that's what country rockers write about. And he does love his truck, only the vast array of women seems to have dwindled, specifically down to one, and Jensen hardly counts as a woman no matter how pretty he is. For one thing, he's proven many times over the past week that he quite definitely has a dick and he's willing, ready, and able to use it, which is probably why Chris is having so much trouble with the whole writing thing.
When it comes right on down to it, he can trace just about anything back to being all Jensen's fault.
Especially the situation he finds himself in currently, because listening to some country-ass cover band in a roadhouse bar in the middle of fucking Canada is seriously not helping. Like, at all. But Jensen's grinning at him like this is the best thing ever, making a total ass of himself rocking out to a truly terrible rendition of 'Friends in Low Places' and honestly, where Chris is from? They treat Garth with a little respect, goddamnit.
"It's good, huh?" Jensen says, beer bottle dangling from his fingers and for fuck's sake, the place only has Canadian beer, whoever heard of something as stupid as that? Jensen takes a long pull and really, Chris can think of at least five better things for Jensen's mouth to be doing right about now.
"Son, this is the sorriest ass shit I have ever heard in my entire fucking life, and you will be making this up to me later, you hear?"
"Yes sir," Jensen says, holding his beer up in a mock salute. And then he winks. Fucking winks. That smarmy bastard.
Later comes a lot sooner than planned because Jensen takes it upon himself to ask what has to be the trashiest Canadian girl Chris has ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on to dance. She probably doesn't even know the difference between Garth and Keith Urban, but she sure knows how to put her trashy little hands all over Jensen's ass. Chris never before considered himself a proprietary man forsaking all others, but if there's one thing he knows, it's that Jensen's ass is (for the moment) completely his, and he's not going to let some Canadian hussy make grabby hands at it.
"It's later," Chris whispers roughly in Jensen's ear, and Jensen just grins and follows him out the back, like that was his aim all along. What Jensen really needs is a lesson in not being such a cocky bastard, and Chris is pretty sure that some time on his knees with Chris's dick in his mouth will learn him good. At the very least, you know-blowjob.
And normally Chris would deride anyone for being crass enough to fuck in the inevitable alley behind some seedy roadhouse bar (seriously, save that shit for the high class establishments-better back alleys, less trash, or at least high-end trash, like that fucking fugi water, expensive as shit and then people just toss the bottles like they didn't pay eight dollars for something the rest of society gets for free) but this is an emergency. Writer's block is a fucking bitch, and she needs to be serviced like, now.
And then Jensen's on his knees, doing what he does best, which really really isn't acting and honestly, the boy would've made a fantastic fluffer in another life because he's got some serious talent. He does this swirly thing with his tongue that drives Chris insane, and just looking at him-perfect lips stretched around Chris's dick, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks and they hollow out, throat working as he moans and tries to take Chris deeper-is enough to make Chris's cock twitch expectantly, like it knows exactly what's coming and it can't fucking wait.
Chris reaches down to tangle his fingers in Jensen's hair, to direct him away from this teasing-licking thing Jensen's got going on, to just fucking push himself as far down Jensen's throat as he can take, but Jensen has other ideas, and that alone sort of pisses Chris off because Jensen-not allowed to have ideas. Especially when the satisfaction of Chris's dick is on the line.
"Nuh uh," Jensen mutters, pulling off and pressing Chris's palms against the building with his own. "No grabby hands, man. And I swear if you get come in my hair again, I'm going to kick your sorry redneck ass."
"Fucking… Jenny. Just. Fuck." Chris wants to retaliate in kind, come back with some sort of witty retort about Jensen's face and just exactly how appropriate semen really is in relation, but Jensen goes down just then-fucking goes down-and all Chris can think is that he's getting his dick sucked. He's getting his dick sucked by Jensen, who looks ridiculous and beautiful and like he should always have a cock in his mouth, man was born to be a cock sucker with a mouth like that, and it's. Perfect. Wet and hot, Jensen's fingers pressing hard into the curves of his hips so he can't even fucking thrust like he wants, his throat and mouth working him until Chris knows he's saying shit, totally losing it and muttering things like, So hot, fuck, please, that he will later deny because Kanes never beg, unless the matter is truck-related.
And then Jensen's mouth is gone, replaced by a hot, rough palm jacking him slow, like Jensen wants to stretch this out as long as fucking possible, despite the fact that they're in a goddamned alley and outside and it's Canada, so it's not exactly warm and the cement underneath cannot be feeling good on Jensen's knees.
"This what you wanted, baby?" Jensen smirks, lips red and slightly swollen from, you know, the part where he was just sucking some serious dick. "Nah," he mutters to himself, and Chris can't believe Jensen's trying to fuck with him now, of all times. "You wanted to fuck my mouth, didn't you? Poor baby, maybe if you're good I'll-"
But it's too late. There's something about Jensen talking trash and acting like Chris is one of his sleazy bar pickups combined with the slow jerk of his palm, tight and hot and perfect as it slides across the head of his dick, that makes Chris crazy, until he twitches and groans, coming all over Jensen's fingers. And his shirt. And his hair.
"Dude! You fucker! Not. Again."
Chris just grins and tips his hat at Jensen, who stares down at his shirt with the best look ever on his face, like he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"Your own fucking fault, son," Chris says, tucking himself back inside his pants. "If you'd been putting your mouth to proper uses instead of jabbering my ear off, I reckon you wouldn't be in this predicament now."
"You did this on purpose," Jensen accuses.
"Well." No, he just has a long range, it's a talent of his and he's not one to brag, but on the other hand, "Yes." He smiles and wipes his fingers off on Jensen's shirt because, hey-already covered in come. "Come on now, boy. I got a song to write."
Pour Your (Something) Out
WB RPS
Jensen Ackles/Christian Kane
Rating: blowjob
Disclaimer: They own themselves. Or maybe the WB does.
Being in a band is probably the best thing that could've ever happened to Chris. It doesn't take a lot of effort on a day to day basis, he gets all the sex and free beer a man could ever want, no one expects him to settle down and make an honest woman out of some cheap broad from a two dollar town, and he gets to travel fucking everywhere. They even went to Sweden once, man. Fucking Sweden.
The problem comes when they're on hiatus, because then he's supposed to do the actual real work of like, writing the songs and shit. Normally Chris would just use his life experience as a basis and write about getting drunk, or his truck, or possibly his vast array of women, because that's what country rockers write about. And he does love his truck, only the vast array of women seems to have dwindled, specifically down to one, and Jensen hardly counts as a woman no matter how pretty he is. For one thing, he's proven many times over the past week that he quite definitely has a dick and he's willing, ready, and able to use it, which is probably why Chris is having so much trouble with the whole writing thing.
When it comes right on down to it, he can trace just about anything back to being all Jensen's fault.
Especially the situation he finds himself in currently, because listening to some country-ass cover band in a roadhouse bar in the middle of fucking Canada is seriously not helping. Like, at all. But Jensen's grinning at him like this is the best thing ever, making a total ass of himself rocking out to a truly terrible rendition of 'Friends in Low Places' and honestly, where Chris is from? They treat Garth with a little respect, goddamnit.
"It's good, huh?" Jensen says, beer bottle dangling from his fingers and for fuck's sake, the place only has Canadian beer, whoever heard of something as stupid as that? Jensen takes a long pull and really, Chris can think of at least five better things for Jensen's mouth to be doing right about now.
"Son, this is the sorriest ass shit I have ever heard in my entire fucking life, and you will be making this up to me later, you hear?"
"Yes sir," Jensen says, holding his beer up in a mock salute. And then he winks. Fucking winks. That smarmy bastard.
Later comes a lot sooner than planned because Jensen takes it upon himself to ask what has to be the trashiest Canadian girl Chris has ever had the misfortune of laying eyes on to dance. She probably doesn't even know the difference between Garth and Keith Urban, but she sure knows how to put her trashy little hands all over Jensen's ass. Chris never before considered himself a proprietary man forsaking all others, but if there's one thing he knows, it's that Jensen's ass is (for the moment) completely his, and he's not going to let some Canadian hussy make grabby hands at it.
"It's later," Chris whispers roughly in Jensen's ear, and Jensen just grins and follows him out the back, like that was his aim all along. What Jensen really needs is a lesson in not being such a cocky bastard, and Chris is pretty sure that some time on his knees with Chris's dick in his mouth will learn him good. At the very least, you know-blowjob.
And normally Chris would deride anyone for being crass enough to fuck in the inevitable alley behind some seedy roadhouse bar (seriously, save that shit for the high class establishments-better back alleys, less trash, or at least high-end trash, like that fucking fugi water, expensive as shit and then people just toss the bottles like they didn't pay eight dollars for something the rest of society gets for free) but this is an emergency. Writer's block is a fucking bitch, and she needs to be serviced like, now.
And then Jensen's on his knees, doing what he does best, which really really isn't acting and honestly, the boy would've made a fantastic fluffer in another life because he's got some serious talent. He does this swirly thing with his tongue that drives Chris insane, and just looking at him-perfect lips stretched around Chris's dick, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks and they hollow out, throat working as he moans and tries to take Chris deeper-is enough to make Chris's cock twitch expectantly, like it knows exactly what's coming and it can't fucking wait.
Chris reaches down to tangle his fingers in Jensen's hair, to direct him away from this teasing-licking thing Jensen's got going on, to just fucking push himself as far down Jensen's throat as he can take, but Jensen has other ideas, and that alone sort of pisses Chris off because Jensen-not allowed to have ideas. Especially when the satisfaction of Chris's dick is on the line.
"Nuh uh," Jensen mutters, pulling off and pressing Chris's palms against the building with his own. "No grabby hands, man. And I swear if you get come in my hair again, I'm going to kick your sorry redneck ass."
"Fucking… Jenny. Just. Fuck." Chris wants to retaliate in kind, come back with some sort of witty retort about Jensen's face and just exactly how appropriate semen really is in relation, but Jensen goes down just then-fucking goes down-and all Chris can think is that he's getting his dick sucked. He's getting his dick sucked by Jensen, who looks ridiculous and beautiful and like he should always have a cock in his mouth, man was born to be a cock sucker with a mouth like that, and it's. Perfect. Wet and hot, Jensen's fingers pressing hard into the curves of his hips so he can't even fucking thrust like he wants, his throat and mouth working him until Chris knows he's saying shit, totally losing it and muttering things like, So hot, fuck, please, that he will later deny because Kanes never beg, unless the matter is truck-related.
And then Jensen's mouth is gone, replaced by a hot, rough palm jacking him slow, like Jensen wants to stretch this out as long as fucking possible, despite the fact that they're in a goddamned alley and outside and it's Canada, so it's not exactly warm and the cement underneath cannot be feeling good on Jensen's knees.
"This what you wanted, baby?" Jensen smirks, lips red and slightly swollen from, you know, the part where he was just sucking some serious dick. "Nah," he mutters to himself, and Chris can't believe Jensen's trying to fuck with him now, of all times. "You wanted to fuck my mouth, didn't you? Poor baby, maybe if you're good I'll-"
But it's too late. There's something about Jensen talking trash and acting like Chris is one of his sleazy bar pickups combined with the slow jerk of his palm, tight and hot and perfect as it slides across the head of his dick, that makes Chris crazy, until he twitches and groans, coming all over Jensen's fingers. And his shirt. And his hair.
"Dude! You fucker! Not. Again."
Chris just grins and tips his hat at Jensen, who stares down at his shirt with the best look ever on his face, like he doesn't know whether to laugh or cry.
"Your own fucking fault, son," Chris says, tucking himself back inside his pants. "If you'd been putting your mouth to proper uses instead of jabbering my ear off, I reckon you wouldn't be in this predicament now."
"You did this on purpose," Jensen accuses.
"Well." No, he just has a long range, it's a talent of his and he's not one to brag, but on the other hand, "Yes." He smiles and wipes his fingers off on Jensen's shirt because, hey-already covered in come. "Come on now, boy. I got a song to write."