Realizations (Jack/Assad, NC-17)
Title: Realizations
Series: 24
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Jack/Assad
Warnings: Slash, PWP
Spoilers: None I can think of.
Summary: Jack. Assad. The front seat of a car. Do I have to spell it out for you? Takes place in the earlier part of the sixth season.
Jack Bauer is aware of three things.
First of all, he is aware of the fact that a moment ago, while sitting in the car with Assad, he found himself looking at the other man’s mouth and wondering what it tasted like. The fact that he had thought of this does not surprise him; he often thinks of things like that, especially when he hasn’t had a lot of sleep.
The second thing of which Jack becomes aware is the fact that his question has been answered: Assad’s mouth tastes of water and heat and some indeterminate flavor Jack thinks is a spice of some sort, but isn’t sure. It occurs to Jack that he knows the answer to this question because he is kissing Assad, but this is not the third thing he notices.
The third thing he notices is that Assad is kissing him back.
Jack hadn’t expected that at all. Hadn’t planned it, to be sure. As with many things in his life, it seemed to have just happened, in the middle of a conversation about the finer points of stopping terrorist organizations before they could do greater damage. And now all he can do is taste water and heat and spice and feel Assad’s beard scratching his face and hear small, hungry noises escaping his throat, and it’s as if two years of torture in a Chinese prison have been washed away, because it’s here and now and he’s alive and whatever they did to him, it must not have worked, because he’s more turned on than he can remember being since he and Teri were first married, and all he can think of is how he wants to crawl inside this man and devour him piece by piece, going in through the mouth.
Assad breaks off the kiss, and for one brief moment, Jack panics, thinking he’s having second thoughts and is about to run or deck him or something, but instead he looks Jack squarely in the eye, his own eyes blazing, chest heaving, and says:
“Does your seat go back?”
It does, or at least Jack thinks it does, and when he pushes the lever he finds out he’s right, which is a relief, because now he has Assad crawling all over him, all tongue and lips and amber eyes and scratchy beard, erection pressing hot and hard against Jack’s thigh, which makes Jack’s own hardon practically leap out of his jeans in response, because oh my God he wants it too, and damned if that hasn’t always been the biggest fucking turn-on in the world for Jack, knowing the other person is just as desperate for it as he is.
Assad’s pulling off his shirt, and Jack flinches at first when he realizes what’s just been exposed, every tell-tale mark from what the Chinese interrogators did to him. But then he feels a soft bat of eyelashes on his chest followed by the warm-wet touch of a tongue-tip, and now it’s all he can do not to jizz himself because he realizes that his scars are a virtual roadmap of nerve endings, and that the same points which can be used for pain are now being used for pleasure.
Assad takes his time, kissing and licking and sucking gently and caressing with his hands, and Jack lets him do it, running a hand almost reverently through soft brown hair as though he can’t believe Assad’s real, that this is really happening to him. But then nimble fingers reach the top button of his jeans, and Assad looks up at him, almost shyly, and asks:
“May I?”
May I. The man’s asking fucking permission to suck Jack off, and it almost makes him have to stifle a laugh, because if there’s one thing Jack wants more than anything in the world right now, it’s to feel that mouth on his cock. So he chokes out, “Please,” begging him to go ahead, and when he hears that zipper go down and feels himself freed he almost weeps with relief.
Then Assad tongues Jack’s cockhead, and he forgets how to see.
The next few minutes are all tight wet heat, sucking, licking, stroking, so heavenly it’s almost painful, and then it nearly does become painful, because Jack wants this to go on forever, but he needs to come so badly he can taste it, so he manages to gasp out what he wants to be a warning: “I... I...”
But Assad understands without him needing to finish his sentence, just grasps Jack’s hand - I’m here - with his free hand, the one that isn’t cradling Jack’s balls, and one hand strokes another hand, and that’s it for Jack; he knew he couldn’t last very long; nothing lasts very long in this world, but the temporal nature of the universe doesn’t occur to him, because his mind goes deliciously blank as he comes, shaking, eyes lifting to heaven, biting his lower lip hard enough to bruise to stifle a shout of ecstasy.
Jack’s first thought, when he’s able to think again, is of what in the hell you say to a former terrorist-turned-pacifist who’s just given you the mother of all blowjobs, but once again Assad manages to save him from having to come up with something by asking, “Do you have a...?” And the word he wants is “tissue,” but Jack realizes not only that that’s the word he’s looking for, but that the tissue is for Assad, and Jack sees the damp patch on Assad’s trousers and realizes oh my God he came in his pants just from blowing me, and Jack wants to thank him but can’t think of a way that doesn’t sound ridiculous, so he reaches into the glove compartment and finds the tissues that just happen to be there, and they both clean up and re-dress themselves in silence.
“We haven’t much time,” says Assad. “Do you know which way we have to go?”
“Yeah,” says Jack, and damned if he doesn’t suddenly think that for once in his life, he actually does know.
Series: 24
Rating: NC-17
Pairings: Jack/Assad
Warnings: Slash, PWP
Spoilers: None I can think of.
Summary: Jack. Assad. The front seat of a car. Do I have to spell it out for you? Takes place in the earlier part of the sixth season.
Jack Bauer is aware of three things.
First of all, he is aware of the fact that a moment ago, while sitting in the car with Assad, he found himself looking at the other man’s mouth and wondering what it tasted like. The fact that he had thought of this does not surprise him; he often thinks of things like that, especially when he hasn’t had a lot of sleep.
The second thing of which Jack becomes aware is the fact that his question has been answered: Assad’s mouth tastes of water and heat and some indeterminate flavor Jack thinks is a spice of some sort, but isn’t sure. It occurs to Jack that he knows the answer to this question because he is kissing Assad, but this is not the third thing he notices.
The third thing he notices is that Assad is kissing him back.
Jack hadn’t expected that at all. Hadn’t planned it, to be sure. As with many things in his life, it seemed to have just happened, in the middle of a conversation about the finer points of stopping terrorist organizations before they could do greater damage. And now all he can do is taste water and heat and spice and feel Assad’s beard scratching his face and hear small, hungry noises escaping his throat, and it’s as if two years of torture in a Chinese prison have been washed away, because it’s here and now and he’s alive and whatever they did to him, it must not have worked, because he’s more turned on than he can remember being since he and Teri were first married, and all he can think of is how he wants to crawl inside this man and devour him piece by piece, going in through the mouth.
Assad breaks off the kiss, and for one brief moment, Jack panics, thinking he’s having second thoughts and is about to run or deck him or something, but instead he looks Jack squarely in the eye, his own eyes blazing, chest heaving, and says:
“Does your seat go back?”
It does, or at least Jack thinks it does, and when he pushes the lever he finds out he’s right, which is a relief, because now he has Assad crawling all over him, all tongue and lips and amber eyes and scratchy beard, erection pressing hot and hard against Jack’s thigh, which makes Jack’s own hardon practically leap out of his jeans in response, because oh my God he wants it too, and damned if that hasn’t always been the biggest fucking turn-on in the world for Jack, knowing the other person is just as desperate for it as he is.
Assad’s pulling off his shirt, and Jack flinches at first when he realizes what’s just been exposed, every tell-tale mark from what the Chinese interrogators did to him. But then he feels a soft bat of eyelashes on his chest followed by the warm-wet touch of a tongue-tip, and now it’s all he can do not to jizz himself because he realizes that his scars are a virtual roadmap of nerve endings, and that the same points which can be used for pain are now being used for pleasure.
Assad takes his time, kissing and licking and sucking gently and caressing with his hands, and Jack lets him do it, running a hand almost reverently through soft brown hair as though he can’t believe Assad’s real, that this is really happening to him. But then nimble fingers reach the top button of his jeans, and Assad looks up at him, almost shyly, and asks:
“May I?”
May I. The man’s asking fucking permission to suck Jack off, and it almost makes him have to stifle a laugh, because if there’s one thing Jack wants more than anything in the world right now, it’s to feel that mouth on his cock. So he chokes out, “Please,” begging him to go ahead, and when he hears that zipper go down and feels himself freed he almost weeps with relief.
Then Assad tongues Jack’s cockhead, and he forgets how to see.
The next few minutes are all tight wet heat, sucking, licking, stroking, so heavenly it’s almost painful, and then it nearly does become painful, because Jack wants this to go on forever, but he needs to come so badly he can taste it, so he manages to gasp out what he wants to be a warning: “I... I...”
But Assad understands without him needing to finish his sentence, just grasps Jack’s hand - I’m here - with his free hand, the one that isn’t cradling Jack’s balls, and one hand strokes another hand, and that’s it for Jack; he knew he couldn’t last very long; nothing lasts very long in this world, but the temporal nature of the universe doesn’t occur to him, because his mind goes deliciously blank as he comes, shaking, eyes lifting to heaven, biting his lower lip hard enough to bruise to stifle a shout of ecstasy.
Jack’s first thought, when he’s able to think again, is of what in the hell you say to a former terrorist-turned-pacifist who’s just given you the mother of all blowjobs, but once again Assad manages to save him from having to come up with something by asking, “Do you have a...?” And the word he wants is “tissue,” but Jack realizes not only that that’s the word he’s looking for, but that the tissue is for Assad, and Jack sees the damp patch on Assad’s trousers and realizes oh my God he came in his pants just from blowing me, and Jack wants to thank him but can’t think of a way that doesn’t sound ridiculous, so he reaches into the glove compartment and finds the tissues that just happen to be there, and they both clean up and re-dress themselves in silence.
“We haven’t much time,” says Assad. “Do you know which way we have to go?”
“Yeah,” says Jack, and damned if he doesn’t suddenly think that for once in his life, he actually does know.