Ficlet: Cocky Bastard | Star Trek XI/Supernatural | Jim/Dean | NC-17 | 1/1
Title: Cocky Bastard
Fandom: Star Trek XI/Supernatural (yes, THAT XD)
Pairing: Jim Kirk/Dean Winchester
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 920
Prompt: For the Porn Battle: Star Trek: Reboot/Supernatural, Jim Kirk/Dean Winchester, cocky, academy, competition
Summary: At a bar in San Fransisco, Jim hustles a hustler, and pays for it. Sorta. Set during the Academy years.
Disclaimer: Paramount, CBS, and WB own everything. I STILL own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: I figure it must be like looking into a mirror with these two. Naturally, they can't resist each other. XD
Cocky Bastard
Jim has this cocky bastard figured out, he thinks, sinking another two of the lucite pool balls, securing the game and winning five hundred credits for his efforts. Dude tried to hustle him, but it was obvious this Dean guy hadn't figured on a cadet running the table after a slow start. He just happened to beat the guy to the punch.
Injecting an innocent look to his usual wide grin, Jim looks at the table, then at Dean's horrified expression. “Guess that means I win.”
“Fuck,” the other man spits emphatically, slapping the pool cue down, his full-of-himself attitude gone in an instant. Scowling, he reaches into his wallet for the credits, then drops them on the table next to the cue and turns to stalk off.
Jim pockets the money, already moving on as he heads to the bar to order another beer. It's a quiet night in the hole-in-the-wall bar he chose for the evening, not many prospects for the rest of his plans, but that doesn't stop him from trying. He chats up a brunette at the bar, and when that doesn't pan out, he tries his luck with a redhead. But still no luck. After his third attempt, he's starting to realize his good fortune for the night might be wearing thin, so he shrugs to himself and makes to head back to campus. He's got a nice buzz going, money in his pocket, and plenty of masturbatory material back in his dorm room. No real loss there, and he can always try again tomorrow night.
With those thoughts in mind, he heads out, rounding the corner of the building to where he'd parked his bike in the alley.
He doesn't expect the fist that reaches out to grab his uniform, or the hand that shoves him back into the brick wall. “The fuck?” he manages, stunned momentarily as the face of his attacker comes into view.
Dean scowls at him some more, close enough for Jim to tell he's had a few. “How the hell did you do that?” he growls. “I haven't lost a game of pool in over a hundred fucking years!”
Stilling in the other man's grip, Jim blinks at him. “Practice, ass hole. Genius IQ and a lot of time on my hands.” He studiously ignores the 'hundred fucking years' comment, not needing to open that can of worms. Anything's possible, anyway.
“No way. No cadet's smart enough to pull on over on me,” Dean says, a little bit of confusion peeking through. “You people just don't have the skills.”
Jim can't help a grin, loving the chance to prove some local wrong about Starfleet and him in particular. “You haven't met James T. Kirk. I've got skills you can't even imagine.” For fun emphasis, he flicks his tongue out over his top lip, and reaches a hand between them to press against Dean's crotch. He'll either get a punch to the gut or a good fuck for it, but either way, it's worth it to get a feel of Dean's half-hard cock.
The way the other man's eyes widen is almost comical, but he growls again and presses Jim into the wall bodily, lining them up from shoulder to knee.
Oh yeah, it's gonna be the latter, and Jim can't help rocking his hips against Dean's, letting out a low whine as he hardens quickly. “Seems like you need to work off some tension,” he offers, leaning close to nip at Dean's jaw. “I'm more than happy to oblige.”
In an instant, Dean's mouth is on his, crushing his lips with a brutal kiss, rocking their hips together against the wall. Their tongues twine together, wrestling for control, and Jim gets both of their zippers down quick, freeing them both to the cool night air. Taking their cocks in hand, he groans into their kiss at the weight of them, both hard and fucking ready.
Dean jerks his hips to get friction between them, and Jim responds with a tight stroke, drawing a keening moan from the other man.
Moving against him as well, Jim fists his free hand in Dean's leather jacket as his body tightens with impending release. Fuck, this was the best idea he's had all week.
And after what seems like no time at all, Dean stiffens, jerks harder, and shoots over Jim's hand, Jim unable to help following right behind him, his vision graying out for a while before he comes back to himself. Leaning there against the wall, both of them pant for air as they recover, and Dean drops his head on Jim's shoulder.
“Fuck,” the other man says, his voice shaking almost imperceptibly with the aftermath of a good orgasm.
Jim grins, feeling that sweet post-coital tingle himself. “Yup.”
Another few moments, and Dean pulls away, dragging a rag out of a back pocket to clean himself up with. He passes Jim the cloth while he tucks himself away and straightens his t-shirt and jacket. “So, uh, you wanna grab another beer?” he says cautiously, running a hand through his short hair while Jim wipes himself off and makes himself more or less presentable.
“Hell yeah. And I'll tell you what. We can split that five hundred, call it even. Whaddya say?”
Dean gives him a curious look, accepting the rag and tossing it into an open dumpster, then barks a laugh. “You are one cocky bastard, aren't you?”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” Jim shoots back, grinning widely again. Hooking a thumb back toward the bar, he says, “Come on, I'm buying.”
“Damn right you are.”
* * * * *
Fandom: Star Trek XI/Supernatural (yes, THAT XD)
Pairing: Jim Kirk/Dean Winchester
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 920
Prompt: For the Porn Battle: Star Trek: Reboot/Supernatural, Jim Kirk/Dean Winchester, cocky, academy, competition
Summary: At a bar in San Fransisco, Jim hustles a hustler, and pays for it. Sorta. Set during the Academy years.
Disclaimer: Paramount, CBS, and WB own everything. I STILL own nothing. Darnit.
Author's Notes: I figure it must be like looking into a mirror with these two. Naturally, they can't resist each other. XD
Cocky Bastard
Jim has this cocky bastard figured out, he thinks, sinking another two of the lucite pool balls, securing the game and winning five hundred credits for his efforts. Dude tried to hustle him, but it was obvious this Dean guy hadn't figured on a cadet running the table after a slow start. He just happened to beat the guy to the punch.
Injecting an innocent look to his usual wide grin, Jim looks at the table, then at Dean's horrified expression. “Guess that means I win.”
“Fuck,” the other man spits emphatically, slapping the pool cue down, his full-of-himself attitude gone in an instant. Scowling, he reaches into his wallet for the credits, then drops them on the table next to the cue and turns to stalk off.
Jim pockets the money, already moving on as he heads to the bar to order another beer. It's a quiet night in the hole-in-the-wall bar he chose for the evening, not many prospects for the rest of his plans, but that doesn't stop him from trying. He chats up a brunette at the bar, and when that doesn't pan out, he tries his luck with a redhead. But still no luck. After his third attempt, he's starting to realize his good fortune for the night might be wearing thin, so he shrugs to himself and makes to head back to campus. He's got a nice buzz going, money in his pocket, and plenty of masturbatory material back in his dorm room. No real loss there, and he can always try again tomorrow night.
With those thoughts in mind, he heads out, rounding the corner of the building to where he'd parked his bike in the alley.
He doesn't expect the fist that reaches out to grab his uniform, or the hand that shoves him back into the brick wall. “The fuck?” he manages, stunned momentarily as the face of his attacker comes into view.
Dean scowls at him some more, close enough for Jim to tell he's had a few. “How the hell did you do that?” he growls. “I haven't lost a game of pool in over a hundred fucking years!”
Stilling in the other man's grip, Jim blinks at him. “Practice, ass hole. Genius IQ and a lot of time on my hands.” He studiously ignores the 'hundred fucking years' comment, not needing to open that can of worms. Anything's possible, anyway.
“No way. No cadet's smart enough to pull on over on me,” Dean says, a little bit of confusion peeking through. “You people just don't have the skills.”
Jim can't help a grin, loving the chance to prove some local wrong about Starfleet and him in particular. “You haven't met James T. Kirk. I've got skills you can't even imagine.” For fun emphasis, he flicks his tongue out over his top lip, and reaches a hand between them to press against Dean's crotch. He'll either get a punch to the gut or a good fuck for it, but either way, it's worth it to get a feel of Dean's half-hard cock.
The way the other man's eyes widen is almost comical, but he growls again and presses Jim into the wall bodily, lining them up from shoulder to knee.
Oh yeah, it's gonna be the latter, and Jim can't help rocking his hips against Dean's, letting out a low whine as he hardens quickly. “Seems like you need to work off some tension,” he offers, leaning close to nip at Dean's jaw. “I'm more than happy to oblige.”
In an instant, Dean's mouth is on his, crushing his lips with a brutal kiss, rocking their hips together against the wall. Their tongues twine together, wrestling for control, and Jim gets both of their zippers down quick, freeing them both to the cool night air. Taking their cocks in hand, he groans into their kiss at the weight of them, both hard and fucking ready.
Dean jerks his hips to get friction between them, and Jim responds with a tight stroke, drawing a keening moan from the other man.
Moving against him as well, Jim fists his free hand in Dean's leather jacket as his body tightens with impending release. Fuck, this was the best idea he's had all week.
And after what seems like no time at all, Dean stiffens, jerks harder, and shoots over Jim's hand, Jim unable to help following right behind him, his vision graying out for a while before he comes back to himself. Leaning there against the wall, both of them pant for air as they recover, and Dean drops his head on Jim's shoulder.
“Fuck,” the other man says, his voice shaking almost imperceptibly with the aftermath of a good orgasm.
Jim grins, feeling that sweet post-coital tingle himself. “Yup.”
Another few moments, and Dean pulls away, dragging a rag out of a back pocket to clean himself up with. He passes Jim the cloth while he tucks himself away and straightens his t-shirt and jacket. “So, uh, you wanna grab another beer?” he says cautiously, running a hand through his short hair while Jim wipes himself off and makes himself more or less presentable.
“Hell yeah. And I'll tell you what. We can split that five hundred, call it even. Whaddya say?”
Dean gives him a curious look, accepting the rag and tossing it into an open dumpster, then barks a laugh. “You are one cocky bastard, aren't you?”
“Funny, I was thinking the same thing about you,” Jim shoots back, grinning widely again. Hooking a thumb back toward the bar, he says, “Come on, I'm buying.”
“Damn right you are.”
* * * * *