Fic: Wake-up call (JA/CK)
Title: Wake-up call
Author: irisgirl12000
Pairing: JA/CK
Rating: Adult
Warning: PWP, phone sex
Disclaimer: Sadly, this is not true. It's fiction made up about these folks, and implies absolutely nothing about their real lives or behavior.
Notes: This is for why_me_why_not, who needs some loving, and who told me that talking to Chris or Jensen on the phone, no matter what the topic of conversation, counted as phone sex because their voices are so hot. I imagined something like this happening after Mr. Ackles' debut in A Few Good Men. Unbeta'd.
The phone was ringing. It took every bit of energy Chris could muster to stretch out an arm, pick it up and hold it to his ear. He couldn't believe it was already time to get up.
Instead of the hotel's pre-recorded message, Steve's voice rumbled in his ear. "Looks like our boy's done us proud."
"Mmph." Chris lifted his head from the pillow and rolled over, squinting at the clock. "S'fucking noon, Carlson. We don't have to be at the train station until four. Goin' back to sleep." He fumbled with the "end" button and returned the handset to its cradle, burrowing down into the blankets.
The phone rang again. That fucker, he wasn't going to let Chris sleep. Sighing, he grabbed the phone again.
"You're not even curious to see how it went?"
Coherent thought began to return, and with it understanding. He wasn't going to give in that easily, though. Steve would never let him hear the end of it.
"I'm sure you'll keep me up to date."
"Some friend you are." Paper rustled in the background, and Chris could hear the sound of Windows shutting down. "Reviews are up in the local papers. They mention him specifically."
"Bastard. You couldn't read 'em to me?"
"Nope. I think you need to see some of the chatter yourself." Steve's grin is very nearly audible.
"Fine, fine. Force me to find my laptop and search on my own."
"Quit bitching and check 'em out, then call your boy." The phone clicked off.
Chris climbed out of bed and went over to the desk - he'd just been giving Steve grief about his laptop - and booted it up. As soon as Firefox opened, he went to the Dallas Morning News entertainment section. He skimmed through the article until he got to Jensen's name. Seeing the positive review, he breathed deeply, relieved, then backed up and reread the entire text more carefully. Once done there, he went to the Fort Worth Star-Telegram and did the same.
He leaned back in the chair, a proud smile on his face. Then, unable to resist, he went to the forum at one of the fan sites devoted to Jensen and followed the links various users had posted. Mostly the posts were fangirl squees over Jen in uniform (Chris could totally get behind that; he'd had Jensen model the dress whites for him one night before he left for Europe), but a few included detailed critiques of the play, and there was a set of pictures of Jensen outside the theatre, accepting a teenager's Sharpie and playbill to sign, his arm around the blushing girl.
It was just like Jen to sign autographs for any fan who wanted them. After years in the entertainment business, Chris understood that sometimes fans' devotion made a difference in the sales of the next album, the next ticket, the next season, so he didn't begrudge the girl her hug.
No, sir. Not Chris Kane.
But that was Chris's Jen, the guy with the fresh-shaved cheeks and still-wet hair, a tight white t-shirt stretched across his chest, and he was smiling his bashful, dazed smile, which only Chris was supposed to receive, preferably first thing in the morning when it was the only thing Jensen was wearing, at a gaggle of giggling fangirls.
Chris brushed a finger over the curve of the lower lip, contemplating the sparkle in the green eyes. Then he flipped the laptop closed and flopped back down on the bed, grabbing his mobile from his duffel as he passed.
The phone rang for a long time, and he was trying to decide if he was going to leave a voicemail when he heard, "This better be an emergency, man."
Nerves Chris didn't realize were tight relaxed when the rusty, sleep-clogged voice scraped over them.
"Oh, it's definitely urgent. Five alarm fire in Fort Worth, where a thousand fangirls spontaneously combusted last night."
There was a pause. "Fucker. Like there weren't just as many ovaries exploding in London last night." Chris knew Jen was smiling, just from the way the words sounded. He pictured Jen lying against his pillow, hair rumpled, eyes barely open.
"C'mon, Jen, they were all there for Steve."
Jen's muffled snort sounded suspiciously like a snore.
"You falling asleep on me, Jen?"
"It's the ass-crack of dawn here, and I didn't come to bed 'til late. Early. Whatever."
"Out late flirting with the fangirls?" Chris was glad he was able to keep his voice light and teasing.
"My parents. They bought tickets for every show. Every show, man. Even though I told 'em I'd comp 'em some. Had to do something to make up for that and for not stayin' at home."
"You're not curled up in your childhood bed?"
A rough chuckle trickled over Chris's skin and down his spine.
"Not hardly. I think I outgrew that bed by the time I was sixteen. No, I'm staying at the Worthington."
"All by your lonesome in a suite?"
"Not lonesome. Got you on the phone, don't I?" Jensen's voice, already morning-rough, dropped a notch lower. Chris heard bedclothes moving, then a soft sigh that he recognized, one that had blood rushing south. Chris reclined against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed and let his free hand rest on his stomach, waiting.
"What're you doing, Chris?" It was a purr now, no other way to describe it. "Got big plans for the afternoon - it's afternoon there, now, isn't it?"
"Mmm, I'm just lying here, thinking about the pictures I just saw on the internet," Chris murmured, letting his voice hit a pitch and cadence he knew made Jensen squirm. "Some guy in a white uniform, name of Daniel Kaffee. Heard of him?"
Jensen just hummed quietly, and there was a hitch of breath. Chris recognized that sound, too; it was the sound Jensen usually made when Chris had his hand or mouth attached to Jensen's body. He had to clear his throat before he could push his next words out.
"What're you doin', boy?"
"Imagining you're here with me instead of five thousand miles away."
"And what am I doing in this waking fantasy of yours?"
"You woke me for morning sex, of course."
Chris's breath caught in his throat, because he couldn't count the number of times he had done that, woken Jen with slow, soft kisses, stroked and rubbed them both to orgasm, too lazy and sleepy still for fucking.
"Stop that right now." There was a moment of silence, then Chris continued, "I'm the one woke you. I'm in control."
Jensen made an agreeable sound, and Chris smiled.
"Push your blankets off." He wanted to picture Jensen's wanton sprawl on an empty bed, golden skin against white sheets.
"Bring one hand up to your mouth. Suck on a couple of fingers. Get 'em good and wet." Jensen's moan was slightly muffled, telling Chris that he was obeying.
"Ready? Trail your fingers down your neck and chest. Slow…. Circle your nipple. S'it hard yet? Got your ring in? Give it a good tug." Chris followed his own directions, shivering when the calluses on his fingers caught at sensitive skin. He shifted, lifting his hips to pull his boxers off.
From the phone, he heard a whimper, then the sound of muffled cursing.
"Go ahead and put it on speaker, baby. I know you like to grab onto something." There was a click, and then the faint echo of an empty room.
"Don't stop there, though. I can just imagine you stretched out, hard and waiting for me. If I were there-God, what I'd do to you, the places I'd touch you. Your hipbones are perfect, did you know that? Just the right size and curve for the palm of my hands, so my thumbs can rest in their shadow. I'd hold you there, hold you against me, before I touched you anywhere else. And the crease of your thigh? I know that makes you crazy, when you think I'm heading for your dick and take a detour; the skin there is so soft, so easily bruised; I can't help but want to mark it, mark you." Chris rested his own fingers in the vee of his thighs, ignoring the pulse of his own erection for the moment.
A moan was Jensen's only contribution to the conversation. Chris could hear the shift of weight over sheets and mattress, and he smiled predatorily.
"I won't make you wait long, though. Once I'm done there, I'd finally touch your cock, hold you in my hand, feel you getting hard. I wouldn't stroke or squeeze, just hold you."
A soft sigh filtered through to Chris.
"I love that. Feeling you get hard while I kiss you, whisper in your ear, tell you what I'm gonna do to you."
"Chris." Jen's voice was soft, raw, but not quite where Chris wanted it yet.
"Then, when I think you're ready for it, I'd stroke and squeeze you, sliding my palm over the head of your dick every so often. Know how you love that."
"Chris."
"I'd keep doing it, not quite fast or hard enough to make you come, but to work you up."
Chris could hear heavy breathing, and his eyes closed as he stroked himself, picturing Jensen doing the very same thing in another hotel room half the world away.
"Yeah, like that."
"Chris." He imagined Jen biting into his lower lip to hold in the begging moan.
"I love how you look when you're out of your head, wanting it, wanting me."
"Chris, please." Finally, there was the note of desperation Chris was waiting for.
"And that's when I'd push you over, pulling and stroking hard, jerking you off until you're moaning my name and coming all over us both."
"Ch-Chris, Chris, Chris."
And that was it. Even if the talking, touching, and soundtrack hadn't been enough, Jensen's voice like that, all fucked-out and satisfied, would induce a Pavlovian response; it was beyond his control. Chris's hand tightened on his phone, but the only thing he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, the sound of his own groan, and the echo of Jensen calling his name.
"Christian." The soft, sleepy tone of Jensen's voice gave Chris an aching moment to wish that they were in the same bed, that Jen was curled warm and comfortable against him.
"Jen…." Chris let that single word say everything he felt, not hiding anything.
There was silence for a while, but it wasn't empty or awkward. Eventually Chris wondered if maybe Jensen had really fallen back asleep, but then there was a soft chuckle.
"You really looked at pictures from last night's play?"
"Shut it, man. Steve made me do it."
"You went to the fan forum, didn't you?"
"Maybe." Chris wasn't blushing. Seriously.
"Fangirls are crazy. Just wait until I see the comments about you and Steve at last night's gig, Kane."
Chris just smiled. "I'm lookin' forward to it."
Author: irisgirl12000
Pairing: JA/CK
Rating: Adult
Warning: PWP, phone sex
Disclaimer: Sadly, this is not true. It's fiction made up about these folks, and implies absolutely nothing about their real lives or behavior.
Notes: This is for why_me_why_not, who needs some loving, and who told me that talking to Chris or Jensen on the phone, no matter what the topic of conversation, counted as phone sex because their voices are so hot. I imagined something like this happening after Mr. Ackles' debut in A Few Good Men. Unbeta'd.
The phone was ringing. It took every bit of energy Chris could muster to stretch out an arm, pick it up and hold it to his ear. He couldn't believe it was already time to get up.
Instead of the hotel's pre-recorded message, Steve's voice rumbled in his ear. "Looks like our boy's done us proud."
"Mmph." Chris lifted his head from the pillow and rolled over, squinting at the clock. "S'fucking noon, Carlson. We don't have to be at the train station until four. Goin' back to sleep." He fumbled with the "end" button and returned the handset to its cradle, burrowing down into the blankets.
The phone rang again. That fucker, he wasn't going to let Chris sleep. Sighing, he grabbed the phone again.
"You're not even curious to see how it went?"
Coherent thought began to return, and with it understanding. He wasn't going to give in that easily, though. Steve would never let him hear the end of it.
"I'm sure you'll keep me up to date."
"Some friend you are." Paper rustled in the background, and Chris could hear the sound of Windows shutting down. "Reviews are up in the local papers. They mention him specifically."
"Bastard. You couldn't read 'em to me?"
"Nope. I think you need to see some of the chatter yourself." Steve's grin is very nearly audible.
"Fine, fine. Force me to find my laptop and search on my own."
"Quit bitching and check 'em out, then call your boy." The phone clicked off.
Chris climbed out of bed and went over to the desk - he'd just been giving Steve grief about his laptop - and booted it up. As soon as Firefox opened, he went to the Dallas Morning News entertainment section. He skimmed through the article until he got to Jensen's name. Seeing the positive review, he breathed deeply, relieved, then backed up and reread the entire text more carefully. Once done there, he went to the Fort Worth Star-Telegram and did the same.
He leaned back in the chair, a proud smile on his face. Then, unable to resist, he went to the forum at one of the fan sites devoted to Jensen and followed the links various users had posted. Mostly the posts were fangirl squees over Jen in uniform (Chris could totally get behind that; he'd had Jensen model the dress whites for him one night before he left for Europe), but a few included detailed critiques of the play, and there was a set of pictures of Jensen outside the theatre, accepting a teenager's Sharpie and playbill to sign, his arm around the blushing girl.
It was just like Jen to sign autographs for any fan who wanted them. After years in the entertainment business, Chris understood that sometimes fans' devotion made a difference in the sales of the next album, the next ticket, the next season, so he didn't begrudge the girl her hug.
No, sir. Not Chris Kane.
But that was Chris's Jen, the guy with the fresh-shaved cheeks and still-wet hair, a tight white t-shirt stretched across his chest, and he was smiling his bashful, dazed smile, which only Chris was supposed to receive, preferably first thing in the morning when it was the only thing Jensen was wearing, at a gaggle of giggling fangirls.
Chris brushed a finger over the curve of the lower lip, contemplating the sparkle in the green eyes. Then he flipped the laptop closed and flopped back down on the bed, grabbing his mobile from his duffel as he passed.
The phone rang for a long time, and he was trying to decide if he was going to leave a voicemail when he heard, "This better be an emergency, man."
Nerves Chris didn't realize were tight relaxed when the rusty, sleep-clogged voice scraped over them.
"Oh, it's definitely urgent. Five alarm fire in Fort Worth, where a thousand fangirls spontaneously combusted last night."
There was a pause. "Fucker. Like there weren't just as many ovaries exploding in London last night." Chris knew Jen was smiling, just from the way the words sounded. He pictured Jen lying against his pillow, hair rumpled, eyes barely open.
"C'mon, Jen, they were all there for Steve."
Jen's muffled snort sounded suspiciously like a snore.
"You falling asleep on me, Jen?"
"It's the ass-crack of dawn here, and I didn't come to bed 'til late. Early. Whatever."
"Out late flirting with the fangirls?" Chris was glad he was able to keep his voice light and teasing.
"My parents. They bought tickets for every show. Every show, man. Even though I told 'em I'd comp 'em some. Had to do something to make up for that and for not stayin' at home."
"You're not curled up in your childhood bed?"
A rough chuckle trickled over Chris's skin and down his spine.
"Not hardly. I think I outgrew that bed by the time I was sixteen. No, I'm staying at the Worthington."
"All by your lonesome in a suite?"
"Not lonesome. Got you on the phone, don't I?" Jensen's voice, already morning-rough, dropped a notch lower. Chris heard bedclothes moving, then a soft sigh that he recognized, one that had blood rushing south. Chris reclined against the pile of pillows at the head of the bed and let his free hand rest on his stomach, waiting.
"What're you doing, Chris?" It was a purr now, no other way to describe it. "Got big plans for the afternoon - it's afternoon there, now, isn't it?"
"Mmm, I'm just lying here, thinking about the pictures I just saw on the internet," Chris murmured, letting his voice hit a pitch and cadence he knew made Jensen squirm. "Some guy in a white uniform, name of Daniel Kaffee. Heard of him?"
Jensen just hummed quietly, and there was a hitch of breath. Chris recognized that sound, too; it was the sound Jensen usually made when Chris had his hand or mouth attached to Jensen's body. He had to clear his throat before he could push his next words out.
"What're you doin', boy?"
"Imagining you're here with me instead of five thousand miles away."
"And what am I doing in this waking fantasy of yours?"
"You woke me for morning sex, of course."
Chris's breath caught in his throat, because he couldn't count the number of times he had done that, woken Jen with slow, soft kisses, stroked and rubbed them both to orgasm, too lazy and sleepy still for fucking.
"Stop that right now." There was a moment of silence, then Chris continued, "I'm the one woke you. I'm in control."
Jensen made an agreeable sound, and Chris smiled.
"Push your blankets off." He wanted to picture Jensen's wanton sprawl on an empty bed, golden skin against white sheets.
"Bring one hand up to your mouth. Suck on a couple of fingers. Get 'em good and wet." Jensen's moan was slightly muffled, telling Chris that he was obeying.
"Ready? Trail your fingers down your neck and chest. Slow…. Circle your nipple. S'it hard yet? Got your ring in? Give it a good tug." Chris followed his own directions, shivering when the calluses on his fingers caught at sensitive skin. He shifted, lifting his hips to pull his boxers off.
From the phone, he heard a whimper, then the sound of muffled cursing.
"Go ahead and put it on speaker, baby. I know you like to grab onto something." There was a click, and then the faint echo of an empty room.
"Don't stop there, though. I can just imagine you stretched out, hard and waiting for me. If I were there-God, what I'd do to you, the places I'd touch you. Your hipbones are perfect, did you know that? Just the right size and curve for the palm of my hands, so my thumbs can rest in their shadow. I'd hold you there, hold you against me, before I touched you anywhere else. And the crease of your thigh? I know that makes you crazy, when you think I'm heading for your dick and take a detour; the skin there is so soft, so easily bruised; I can't help but want to mark it, mark you." Chris rested his own fingers in the vee of his thighs, ignoring the pulse of his own erection for the moment.
A moan was Jensen's only contribution to the conversation. Chris could hear the shift of weight over sheets and mattress, and he smiled predatorily.
"I won't make you wait long, though. Once I'm done there, I'd finally touch your cock, hold you in my hand, feel you getting hard. I wouldn't stroke or squeeze, just hold you."
A soft sigh filtered through to Chris.
"I love that. Feeling you get hard while I kiss you, whisper in your ear, tell you what I'm gonna do to you."
"Chris." Jen's voice was soft, raw, but not quite where Chris wanted it yet.
"Then, when I think you're ready for it, I'd stroke and squeeze you, sliding my palm over the head of your dick every so often. Know how you love that."
"Chris."
"I'd keep doing it, not quite fast or hard enough to make you come, but to work you up."
Chris could hear heavy breathing, and his eyes closed as he stroked himself, picturing Jensen doing the very same thing in another hotel room half the world away.
"Yeah, like that."
"Chris." He imagined Jen biting into his lower lip to hold in the begging moan.
"I love how you look when you're out of your head, wanting it, wanting me."
"Chris, please." Finally, there was the note of desperation Chris was waiting for.
"And that's when I'd push you over, pulling and stroking hard, jerking you off until you're moaning my name and coming all over us both."
"Ch-Chris, Chris, Chris."
And that was it. Even if the talking, touching, and soundtrack hadn't been enough, Jensen's voice like that, all fucked-out and satisfied, would induce a Pavlovian response; it was beyond his control. Chris's hand tightened on his phone, but the only thing he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears, the sound of his own groan, and the echo of Jensen calling his name.
"Christian." The soft, sleepy tone of Jensen's voice gave Chris an aching moment to wish that they were in the same bed, that Jen was curled warm and comfortable against him.
"Jen…." Chris let that single word say everything he felt, not hiding anything.
There was silence for a while, but it wasn't empty or awkward. Eventually Chris wondered if maybe Jensen had really fallen back asleep, but then there was a soft chuckle.
"You really looked at pictures from last night's play?"
"Shut it, man. Steve made me do it."
"You went to the fan forum, didn't you?"
"Maybe." Chris wasn't blushing. Seriously.
"Fangirls are crazy. Just wait until I see the comments about you and Steve at last night's gig, Kane."
Chris just smiled. "I'm lookin' forward to it."