rpf: with my good eye closed [jared padalecki/lauren graham, nc-17, 1380 words]
Um, so okay. I just went ahead and wrote myself some Jared/Lauren HET PORN. It's pretty short and raw and ambiguous and unbetaed and, I don't know! *hands* But Ti looked at it and promised it wasn't just a horrible delusion brought upon by my being sick and pathetic, and that I should POST it, so here. Have some het! DISCLAIMER: It's not as dirty or awesome as Lu's, I'm so sorry, AND I have to credit her with the Jared saying "girl" because that's just...that shit is hot. And so I stole it. *g*
And GOD, do I ever stop talking? Here's the FIC already. I'm SO SORRY if this is the worst thing ever...I am surviving on Nyquil and noodle soup at the moment.
with my good eye closed.
[jared padalecki/lauren graham, nc-17, 1380 words]
The thing is, she’s seen him around, sure. Hard not to when the suits are marketing his and his goddamn pretty co-star’s faces as the CW’s new Female Wet Dream. And okay, she’s kept up with him. Part of her still feels a bit protective of that lanky fresh-faced boy who showed up in Los Angeles with stars in his eyes and Texas on his tongue. One thing she knows, he’s always been the genuine article. Never had to fake it, just was.
When he catches her looking from across the room, some frothy pink concoction nestled between long fingers, there’s a momentary flash of surprise. The dimples, the bright smile, it’s all the same. Familiar. But the dark hair flipping over hooded eyes and, and she doesn’t really remember him being that tall. Was he always that tall?
She goes over because, well why not? It’s been months since she heard about whatever little actress was going to be the future Mrs. Padalecki and live in Jared’s white-picket fence fantasy world. Not that she doesn’t respect that he keeps trying. She just wishes maybe he’d look further than his limits, find someone who’d appreciate everything he wants to give and not suck it dry and move on.
“Lauren,” he says when she’s standing next to him, wicked smile in place, and now she can identify the fruity drink in his hand as the same that had her loosened up at the last network event. Enough, apparently, to write Amy’s home phone number on the bathroom wall in big, sloppy, bitter numbers: For a good tv series, call Kevin Williamson.
She snags the drink, swallows. “You old enough for this, Padalecki?”
The joke’s an old one, gets the same delighted belly laugh. Head thrown back, lips spread wide. Then, warm breath at her ear and his hand curls along her fingers. “Careful, now. Wouldn’t want Scott to be getting any crank calls next week.”
She snorts, shooting a look in her co-star’s direction. Jared’s still grinning when she turns back, and this time she notices the blur of pupil. “Are you already drunk?” She blurts it out because it’s Jared, and he’s safe and everything’s just fine.
“Completely,” he says, and there’s a distinct twinkle in those eyes that edges toward mischief. “You?”
“My goal for the evening.” Someone passes by with a platter of wine flutes, and she takes one. Mock-curtsies in Jared’s direction. “To old friends, hmm?” And young boys who grow into gorgeous men she had no business thinking about.
“Drink to that.” Slow drawl, and he taps his glass against hers, but doesn’t take a sip. Just stares at her, waiting. “Anything else?”
“Something on your mind?” And, oh god, she’s flirting. She’s flirting and he knows she’s flirting and maybe he’s flirting, too.
“Learned a few new tricks,” is all he says, and the implication’s more than clear when he follows it up with a lazy swipe of tongue, gaze dipping down. The dimples are back out in full force, and she’s not feeling a damn bit protective. His voice goes deeper, something interesting driving along the rhythm and flow. “Wanna see?”
There’s a beat of silence. She clears her throat, watches his hand flex around glass. Once, twice, someone laughs too loudly behind them, and she grabs his arm. “Well, come on then.”
It’s a little cute, reassuring, the way he stumbles over his too-big feet. Playing it cool’s all well and good, but control’s an issue she’s just not ready to give up at the moment. Not when it’s dark and hot and she’s probably about to make the biggest mistake of her career and the best decision in her life.
She’s turning forty next month, and she’s got Jared Padalecki’s head under her skirt. He licks between her thighs, voice rumbling, fingers stretching lace and god, why didn’t he talk more on the show? Didn’t they know what that mouth was capable of? There should’ve been hours and hours of just…Dean Forester running his fucking mouth, and.
“Lift up,” he’s saying, slurring the vowels to incoherence, and then those huge hands--should be illegal--have her by the hips, pulling her up and her panties down and she abruptly, impossibly remembers the first time Alexis rushed into her trailer, wide-eyed, Jared’s kisses fresh on her lips. Wonders if she looked in a mirror, would she see that same dazed flush on her own features?
“Fuck, so dirty.” Jared chuckles quietly, and oh god, she said that out loud? She has two seconds to care, and then he finds her clit with the tip of his tongue. One thing she knows…Jared always gives it his all when he works, whether it’s running a scene or tongue-fucking his former co-star’s pussy.
“Gettin’ close, girl?” Gaze-locked on her, lips shining wet. Coming from anyone else, she’d be a bit irked at the crude challenge. But Jared’s wearing that irresistible combination of good ol’ boy innocence, charm, and--thumbing circles on her thighs--where you think I can stick it next, baby?
She licks her lips, legs spread and warmth crawling low in her belly. “Show me,” she dares, voice gone husky and nothing at all like Lorelai’s mile-a-minute speed chatter. “If you’re lucky, if it’s pretty, maybe I’ll even let you play with it.”
He cocks a brow, but she can see she’s gotten one up on him. His hands shake a bit when he comes to his feet, wiping his chin with the back of his hand and reaching for his belt.
God bless Texas, anyway.
“Maybe, huh?” He’s got his tongue between his teeth, brows drawn together. And then he shoves his pants down and she gets a glimpse of that--oh sweet, sweet lord--big, beautiful, gorgeous dick. She opens her mouth, ready to admit defeat, spread out, bend over, whatever, but Jared reaches down and takes himself in hand. Strokes a few times, eyes heavy on her, and grins. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.” She laughs, because the entire situation is so ridiculous. It’s also the hottest thing that’s happened to her in longer than she can remember, and that’s enough to wipe away the lingering doubt as to what the hell she thinks she’s doing, and then she’s got her own hand on his dick. Squeezes, and Jared comes forward like a rubber band snap.
He’s still got his shirt on--white collar unbuttoned, mysterious pink stain edging the corner of his breast pocket--and her underwear’s hanging from the heel of her Manolo. He takes her skirt between his fingers and shoves it up, comes between her legs and cups the back of her head. All at once, she’s drunk on bourbon and Jared Padalecki’s mouth. She lets him finger her until she’s squirming for dick, and he lets her bite down on his shoulder, stifle a scream, when he gives it to her.
She has a condom in her purse, but she wants it messy. Fast. Real. The timing’s off anyway, and he’s muttering tight words in her ear--l’pull out, goddamn you’re wet, so fucking dirty girl--and she’s pretty sure she already knew this was a dumb decision, right? But god, so good, and he’s growling against her throat. Humping against her hips, full and hot and hard inside.
She comes until she’s dripping, feels it against her thighs and can hear it every time they move. He grabs her hand, lashes a fan against his cheekbones, and sucks her fingers into his mouth. Slumps against her, moans long and low. It’s dark, too dark, but she can still see when he pulls back. Jerks off against his fingers and pants her name through a steady thrum of filthy curses.
She’s half-waiting for him to call out mommy and can’t decide if that’s disturbingly hot, or just disturbing. And then he’s staring at her, sweaty and spent and nothing at all like the teenage boy she saw grow up, helped nurture and protect.
“Nice trick,” she gets out, and if there was ever an understatement…
He laughs, bends down and presses a sweet kiss to her cheek. “Sleeves are longer these days. Got plenty more to entertain you.”
And one thing she knows…Jared’s always been a generous soul.
And GOD, do I ever stop talking? Here's the FIC already. I'm SO SORRY if this is the worst thing ever...I am surviving on Nyquil and noodle soup at the moment.
with my good eye closed.
[jared padalecki/lauren graham, nc-17, 1380 words]
The thing is, she’s seen him around, sure. Hard not to when the suits are marketing his and his goddamn pretty co-star’s faces as the CW’s new Female Wet Dream. And okay, she’s kept up with him. Part of her still feels a bit protective of that lanky fresh-faced boy who showed up in Los Angeles with stars in his eyes and Texas on his tongue. One thing she knows, he’s always been the genuine article. Never had to fake it, just was.
When he catches her looking from across the room, some frothy pink concoction nestled between long fingers, there’s a momentary flash of surprise. The dimples, the bright smile, it’s all the same. Familiar. But the dark hair flipping over hooded eyes and, and she doesn’t really remember him being that tall. Was he always that tall?
She goes over because, well why not? It’s been months since she heard about whatever little actress was going to be the future Mrs. Padalecki and live in Jared’s white-picket fence fantasy world. Not that she doesn’t respect that he keeps trying. She just wishes maybe he’d look further than his limits, find someone who’d appreciate everything he wants to give and not suck it dry and move on.
“Lauren,” he says when she’s standing next to him, wicked smile in place, and now she can identify the fruity drink in his hand as the same that had her loosened up at the last network event. Enough, apparently, to write Amy’s home phone number on the bathroom wall in big, sloppy, bitter numbers: For a good tv series, call Kevin Williamson.
She snags the drink, swallows. “You old enough for this, Padalecki?”
The joke’s an old one, gets the same delighted belly laugh. Head thrown back, lips spread wide. Then, warm breath at her ear and his hand curls along her fingers. “Careful, now. Wouldn’t want Scott to be getting any crank calls next week.”
She snorts, shooting a look in her co-star’s direction. Jared’s still grinning when she turns back, and this time she notices the blur of pupil. “Are you already drunk?” She blurts it out because it’s Jared, and he’s safe and everything’s just fine.
“Completely,” he says, and there’s a distinct twinkle in those eyes that edges toward mischief. “You?”
“My goal for the evening.” Someone passes by with a platter of wine flutes, and she takes one. Mock-curtsies in Jared’s direction. “To old friends, hmm?” And young boys who grow into gorgeous men she had no business thinking about.
“Drink to that.” Slow drawl, and he taps his glass against hers, but doesn’t take a sip. Just stares at her, waiting. “Anything else?”
“Something on your mind?” And, oh god, she’s flirting. She’s flirting and he knows she’s flirting and maybe he’s flirting, too.
“Learned a few new tricks,” is all he says, and the implication’s more than clear when he follows it up with a lazy swipe of tongue, gaze dipping down. The dimples are back out in full force, and she’s not feeling a damn bit protective. His voice goes deeper, something interesting driving along the rhythm and flow. “Wanna see?”
There’s a beat of silence. She clears her throat, watches his hand flex around glass. Once, twice, someone laughs too loudly behind them, and she grabs his arm. “Well, come on then.”
It’s a little cute, reassuring, the way he stumbles over his too-big feet. Playing it cool’s all well and good, but control’s an issue she’s just not ready to give up at the moment. Not when it’s dark and hot and she’s probably about to make the biggest mistake of her career and the best decision in her life.
She’s turning forty next month, and she’s got Jared Padalecki’s head under her skirt. He licks between her thighs, voice rumbling, fingers stretching lace and god, why didn’t he talk more on the show? Didn’t they know what that mouth was capable of? There should’ve been hours and hours of just…Dean Forester running his fucking mouth, and.
“Lift up,” he’s saying, slurring the vowels to incoherence, and then those huge hands--should be illegal--have her by the hips, pulling her up and her panties down and she abruptly, impossibly remembers the first time Alexis rushed into her trailer, wide-eyed, Jared’s kisses fresh on her lips. Wonders if she looked in a mirror, would she see that same dazed flush on her own features?
“Fuck, so dirty.” Jared chuckles quietly, and oh god, she said that out loud? She has two seconds to care, and then he finds her clit with the tip of his tongue. One thing she knows…Jared always gives it his all when he works, whether it’s running a scene or tongue-fucking his former co-star’s pussy.
“Gettin’ close, girl?” Gaze-locked on her, lips shining wet. Coming from anyone else, she’d be a bit irked at the crude challenge. But Jared’s wearing that irresistible combination of good ol’ boy innocence, charm, and--thumbing circles on her thighs--where you think I can stick it next, baby?
She licks her lips, legs spread and warmth crawling low in her belly. “Show me,” she dares, voice gone husky and nothing at all like Lorelai’s mile-a-minute speed chatter. “If you’re lucky, if it’s pretty, maybe I’ll even let you play with it.”
He cocks a brow, but she can see she’s gotten one up on him. His hands shake a bit when he comes to his feet, wiping his chin with the back of his hand and reaching for his belt.
God bless Texas, anyway.
“Maybe, huh?” He’s got his tongue between his teeth, brows drawn together. And then he shoves his pants down and she gets a glimpse of that--oh sweet, sweet lord--big, beautiful, gorgeous dick. She opens her mouth, ready to admit defeat, spread out, bend over, whatever, but Jared reaches down and takes himself in hand. Strokes a few times, eyes heavy on her, and grins. “Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah.” She laughs, because the entire situation is so ridiculous. It’s also the hottest thing that’s happened to her in longer than she can remember, and that’s enough to wipe away the lingering doubt as to what the hell she thinks she’s doing, and then she’s got her own hand on his dick. Squeezes, and Jared comes forward like a rubber band snap.
He’s still got his shirt on--white collar unbuttoned, mysterious pink stain edging the corner of his breast pocket--and her underwear’s hanging from the heel of her Manolo. He takes her skirt between his fingers and shoves it up, comes between her legs and cups the back of her head. All at once, she’s drunk on bourbon and Jared Padalecki’s mouth. She lets him finger her until she’s squirming for dick, and he lets her bite down on his shoulder, stifle a scream, when he gives it to her.
She has a condom in her purse, but she wants it messy. Fast. Real. The timing’s off anyway, and he’s muttering tight words in her ear--l’pull out, goddamn you’re wet, so fucking dirty girl--and she’s pretty sure she already knew this was a dumb decision, right? But god, so good, and he’s growling against her throat. Humping against her hips, full and hot and hard inside.
She comes until she’s dripping, feels it against her thighs and can hear it every time they move. He grabs her hand, lashes a fan against his cheekbones, and sucks her fingers into his mouth. Slumps against her, moans long and low. It’s dark, too dark, but she can still see when he pulls back. Jerks off against his fingers and pants her name through a steady thrum of filthy curses.
She’s half-waiting for him to call out mommy and can’t decide if that’s disturbingly hot, or just disturbing. And then he’s staring at her, sweaty and spent and nothing at all like the teenage boy she saw grow up, helped nurture and protect.
“Nice trick,” she gets out, and if there was ever an understatement…
He laughs, bends down and presses a sweet kiss to her cheek. “Sleeves are longer these days. Got plenty more to entertain you.”
And one thing she knows…Jared’s always been a generous soul.