keep you steady satisfied
Rewind
by Charli J. Jared/Jensen. Clips from a private collection.
02:00:39
Seconds of black screen roll as Jared says, "Okay, we're settling this shit right now--"
"You covered the lens again."
"--huh? Aw, hold on," and now they lie on the bed, Jensen's face buried into a pillow and Jared angling the camera, then glancing away somewhere and fixing the shot until both their faces are in the screen. "All right, true or true: Jared Padalecki gives head to risk the presidency for."
The cotton muffles Jensen's laughter.
00:46:15
Seven feet away, Jared kisses Jensen with his thumbs tracing his collarbone until Jensen pulls back and demands Jared, "turn over."
He does, jeans coming all the way off finally, instead of halfway down his legs, restricting. Jensen presses his dry hand to the base of Jared's spine. He says, "Wider," and the sheets ripple around Jared's knees as he pushes them apart.
Jared tips head back, dragging his teeth over lower lip, then drops it forward again, staring straight into the lens. He pants.
"You trying to freak yourself out later?" Jensen asks, bent closer to Jared's shoulder, arm working behind him.
"Jensen. Just fuckin'--" Jared spits out, grabbing at the edge of the mattress, and Jensen smirks.
He repositions himself, bracing Jared with one arm curved under his belly. His eyes close, squeezed shut as he thrusts, setting the rhythm and Jared swears over and over -- J and goddamn and harder. Harder.
00:20:04
"What're you doing?" Jensen asks somewhere offscreen, presumably connected to the foot in the bottom left corner.
Jared hovers at the side of the bed, dragging the camera's attention from ankle to calf to thigh, humming a little as he passes over Jensen's cock, half hard -- check and check -- before sliding down the opposite side, then sweeping back up to creep along his torso.
"Jared, what the hell?" Jensen says, louder but slower, words thick like he's slept for days, for decades and forgot how to form vowels.
Or maybe it's just the heat. His skin shines, sun cutting across his throat. He has one arm thrown over his forehead, shielding his eyes.
"Not while I'm setting the stage," Jared warns.
"Fuuuck you," Jensen slurs, laughing and flings out his other arm. Jared shouts abruptly at the same time the picture jerks to the side, then recovers.
He says, "That was kind of the point, Ackles."
"Oh, is it?" Jen asks and the frame bobs deliberately this time, a couple quick up and down swings. Jensen lifts the arm from his forehead, extends it, and Jared growls so close to the microphone that the sound statics.
01:39:07
Jared runs his tongue over his top lip, then swipes down across his bottom, chin lifted.
"Thank you, Jenna Jameson," Jensen says. The camera's resting on his chest, a plane of tan skin spreading outward.
Jared hovers between his thighs, smiling with his tongue caught by his teeth. He says, "I know your thing for pornstars, so I figure -- since I don't have the tits," and pats his own chest, the picture bouncing as Jensen chuckles.
Jared drops his hand, lays it flat on Jensen's abs and then slides it diagonal across the skin to Jensen's cock. He wraps his hand around him, long fingers and wide palm as Jared strokes, thumb slipping over the head on the upstroke and Jared grins when Jensen cusses but doesn't look up. Jensen's hand moves to Jared's hair, separating the strands and then curls into a loose fist.
"Easy," Jared warns when Jensen lifts his hips, and, "don't let the camera fall," before he sits back a little, face framed in the V of Jensen's thighs.
Jensen's breath is shallow -- breathy and tight when he says, "I got the fucking camera," as Jared ducks forward, lips parted.
00:03:26
"And this," Jensen narrates, swinging the camera around to capture the couch, "is Jared. Say hi, Jared."
"Hi, Jared," comes the voice while the camera refocuses, blurred colors and then cleaner lines. Jared laughs, unfolding his arms, and leans back into the cushions. Jensen zooms in too quickly, catching the curve of naked shoulder against dark fabric and then slides to get Jared's white, white grin. "Dude, you suck at this. Stop shaking it."
"Do me a favor: hush your mouth," Jensen suggests carefully and eventually zooms out. Jared makes faces -- sticks his tongue out, squints, and then crosses his eyes, one arm wrapped across his chest and fingertips tucked under the armpit. He wears no shirt and his feet are bare, belt and jeans open and set loose around his hips.
Jensen says, camera still, "Now do sad," and Jared frowns, head drooping so the hair shadows his eyes.
"Hm, but can the boy be happy?"
Jared sits up and raises his eyebrow, smirks.
"What are they paying you for? I said --"
"I heard you," Jared says, and untucks his arm to push his hand over his stomach and under the waistband.
by Charli J. Jared/Jensen. Clips from a private collection.
02:00:39
Seconds of black screen roll as Jared says, "Okay, we're settling this shit right now--"
"You covered the lens again."
"--huh? Aw, hold on," and now they lie on the bed, Jensen's face buried into a pillow and Jared angling the camera, then glancing away somewhere and fixing the shot until both their faces are in the screen. "All right, true or true: Jared Padalecki gives head to risk the presidency for."
The cotton muffles Jensen's laughter.
00:46:15
Seven feet away, Jared kisses Jensen with his thumbs tracing his collarbone until Jensen pulls back and demands Jared, "turn over."
He does, jeans coming all the way off finally, instead of halfway down his legs, restricting. Jensen presses his dry hand to the base of Jared's spine. He says, "Wider," and the sheets ripple around Jared's knees as he pushes them apart.
Jared tips head back, dragging his teeth over lower lip, then drops it forward again, staring straight into the lens. He pants.
"You trying to freak yourself out later?" Jensen asks, bent closer to Jared's shoulder, arm working behind him.
"Jensen. Just fuckin'--" Jared spits out, grabbing at the edge of the mattress, and Jensen smirks.
He repositions himself, bracing Jared with one arm curved under his belly. His eyes close, squeezed shut as he thrusts, setting the rhythm and Jared swears over and over -- J and goddamn and harder. Harder.
00:20:04
"What're you doing?" Jensen asks somewhere offscreen, presumably connected to the foot in the bottom left corner.
Jared hovers at the side of the bed, dragging the camera's attention from ankle to calf to thigh, humming a little as he passes over Jensen's cock, half hard -- check and check -- before sliding down the opposite side, then sweeping back up to creep along his torso.
"Jared, what the hell?" Jensen says, louder but slower, words thick like he's slept for days, for decades and forgot how to form vowels.
Or maybe it's just the heat. His skin shines, sun cutting across his throat. He has one arm thrown over his forehead, shielding his eyes.
"Not while I'm setting the stage," Jared warns.
"Fuuuck you," Jensen slurs, laughing and flings out his other arm. Jared shouts abruptly at the same time the picture jerks to the side, then recovers.
He says, "That was kind of the point, Ackles."
"Oh, is it?" Jen asks and the frame bobs deliberately this time, a couple quick up and down swings. Jensen lifts the arm from his forehead, extends it, and Jared growls so close to the microphone that the sound statics.
01:39:07
Jared runs his tongue over his top lip, then swipes down across his bottom, chin lifted.
"Thank you, Jenna Jameson," Jensen says. The camera's resting on his chest, a plane of tan skin spreading outward.
Jared hovers between his thighs, smiling with his tongue caught by his teeth. He says, "I know your thing for pornstars, so I figure -- since I don't have the tits," and pats his own chest, the picture bouncing as Jensen chuckles.
Jared drops his hand, lays it flat on Jensen's abs and then slides it diagonal across the skin to Jensen's cock. He wraps his hand around him, long fingers and wide palm as Jared strokes, thumb slipping over the head on the upstroke and Jared grins when Jensen cusses but doesn't look up. Jensen's hand moves to Jared's hair, separating the strands and then curls into a loose fist.
"Easy," Jared warns when Jensen lifts his hips, and, "don't let the camera fall," before he sits back a little, face framed in the V of Jensen's thighs.
Jensen's breath is shallow -- breathy and tight when he says, "I got the fucking camera," as Jared ducks forward, lips parted.
00:03:26
"And this," Jensen narrates, swinging the camera around to capture the couch, "is Jared. Say hi, Jared."
"Hi, Jared," comes the voice while the camera refocuses, blurred colors and then cleaner lines. Jared laughs, unfolding his arms, and leans back into the cushions. Jensen zooms in too quickly, catching the curve of naked shoulder against dark fabric and then slides to get Jared's white, white grin. "Dude, you suck at this. Stop shaking it."
"Do me a favor: hush your mouth," Jensen suggests carefully and eventually zooms out. Jared makes faces -- sticks his tongue out, squints, and then crosses his eyes, one arm wrapped across his chest and fingertips tucked under the armpit. He wears no shirt and his feet are bare, belt and jeans open and set loose around his hips.
Jensen says, camera still, "Now do sad," and Jared frowns, head drooping so the hair shadows his eyes.
"Hm, but can the boy be happy?"
Jared sits up and raises his eyebrow, smirks.
"What are they paying you for? I said --"
"I heard you," Jared says, and untucks his arm to push his hand over his stomach and under the waistband.