(no subject)
Coming Clean
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Jared/JDM
Rating: R
Spoilers: slight, for "Shadow"
Warnings: Nope
Disclaimer: This never happened. If it had, I'd have pictures.
Synopsis: Jeffathon Prompt #28
Fake blood is made with water, cornstarch, milk, and red and green food coloring. Nothing toxic, but it turns a little sour after awhile, and you wouldn't want it in your mouth.
Jared was grateful that he didn't meet anyone on the way back to his trailer; he'd just finished an intense scene in a cold alley with Jensen and Jeff, and a fierce satisfaction soared through him at how they'd all hit their marks under Kim's direction. Jared grinned and the red shit pulled at his face. Ow. He was going to try to scrub it off himself, but he'd bet that Shannon would have to scrape off what was left. He opened his trailer door and almost fell inside as the warmth lured him in. Groaning, he peeled off his jacket and sweatshirt, not knowing if Wardrobe could get the bloodstains out.
Someone knocked on the door, once.
"Yeah?" Jared froze in mid-yank. The door opened and cold air feathered across his bared belly, penetrating his red-spattered tee shirt and jeans. Jeff was standing at the bottom of the stairs.
"Can I come in?" he asked.
"Sure. Shut the door, man."
Jeff climbed up into the trailer and closed the door, his presence shrinking the space around them. He had already showered and changed, the silvery flecks in his hair and beard glittering in the light. He shrugged out of his jacket and slung it over a chair. He wore a button-down shirt, tails out, the sleeves rolled up over his forearms, jeans that looked creased and new, and cowboy boots. He looked good, pulled together. In his ruined tee and gory makeup, Jared felt like a skinny, gigantic dork.
Jeff smiled, white teeth flashing in that wreath of facial hair. "You should see yourself."
He could imagine. Sam Winchester, ghostbuster. Sexy ghostbuster, according to People magazine. And I told them I eat candy...
"Go shower. I'll wait."
"What for?"
"We're goin' out for a beer, to celebrate. Might just be you and me, if we can't pry Ackles away from his adoring public."
"Oh, I don't have any? And you're not up to your ass in Gray's Anatomy groupies?"
Jeff scooped up a pillow from the sofa and tossed it at him. "Go wash up, kid, and you might get dinner."
Jared tossed it back. "Okay." Scratching his sticky scalp, he headed for the bathroom.
"Jared."
He looked back.
"You kicked ass today. I was damn proud to work with you." Jeff's eyes were warm as amber. "Both of you."
Jared blushed. "Thanks," he said hoarsely, and escaped to the bathroom, which was smaller than a phone booth and felt like a coffin, but suddenly he needed to put some space between himself and this man. It wasn' t until he climbed out of the shower and snatched a towel off the hook that he realized that he hadn't brought in any clean clothes. He'd have to go out in the towel, grab his stuff, and duck back into his steamy little phone booth to change--
He scowled. Hell no.
He stomped out with his wet head held high, bare feet slapping on the floor and sending trembling echoes through the trailer. Jeff looked up in mild surprise from the copy of Vanity Fair someone had left behind, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, perfectly at home on the sofa. Jared could see the amused glint in the older man's eyes as he scooped up the Tupperware container. "Padalecki, you need some real grub," he said, shaking the multicolored candy that looked like a pile of shoelaces. "Where do you put it all?"
Jared shrugged, pulling clean jeans, socks, boxers and a shirt from various drawers. "Long as I don't get a gut, who cares?"
"Take it easy, okay? I'm just jerking your chain."
"Yeah, I know." As casually as he could manage, Jared stepped behind the counter, shucked the towel, and pulled on his boxers. He dressed quickly, telling himself he was cold, unable to shake off the feeling that he was putting on armor instead of cotton and denim. He padded out in his socks, boots in hand, and plopped down on the edge of the sofa to pull them on.
"You missed a spot, " Jeff said.
"What?"
Jeff leaned toward him. Cushions shifted as his thumb touched Jared's cheekbone at its widest point and came away with a tiny red smear. "This."
Jared swallowed, his throat crackling in the sudden silence. His heart pounded and he couldn't tear his eyes away from Jeff's.
"You're always hungry, Jay," Jeff murmured roughly. "What do you want tonight? Burgers? Chinese? Or...what?"
The spot he'd touched felt like it was glowing, the sensation drizzling down Jared's face like warm honey. He felt himself weakening, swaying. Jeff was a great guy and an amazing actor, but this was a million kinds of wrong, and all kinds of professional and private crap could hit the fan. Jared knew all that, and he wanted to touch Jeff again, taste him, feel the brush of his whiskers and the strength of his arms.
"Jay..".
Jared grabbed Jeff's wrist and pressed his mouth to that stained thumb. The rumors were true; fake blood tasted awful. But now it was gone, and he licked Jeff's bare skin, tasting salt and soap and the musk of a mature man, the mix as dark and sweet as fertile soil.
Jeff hissed. "Yeah..." He pushed his thumb against Jared's lips. "Take it."
The two words were a plea, order, and dare, all at once. Jared kissed the fleshy tip, nipping at the callus, and when Jeff growled deep in his throat he plunged his mouth down to the base as the rest of Jeff's fingers cupped his chin and gently tilted his head back against the couch cushions. Jeff watched him as he sucked, his eyes hooded. "Love that? It feels good. I like watching you lick me..." He pulled his wet thumb free with a pop. "Open your eyes, Jared. Look at me."
Jared's eyelids felt heavy; he had to concentrate to force them open. He was still on the end of the sofa, but Jeff was right there with him, pressed against him from hip to ankle.
"Those cat's eyes..." He bent down, and Jared shivered as those whiskers brushed the curve of his ear, a delicious itch running straight to his cock. "What'll make you purr? This?" He rubbed the tips of his fingers over Jared's left nipple, nodding as the younger man crumpled, his long legs falling limp, bootheels scraping the floor as his knees sagged open. "Or..." He dragged his big, warm hand down Jared's chest and over his stomach, landing flat on his crotch.
"Oh..." Jared groaned, arching up into those fingers as they cupped and stroked. Jeff kept the rhythm slow and steady, looking down into his face, his eyes lazy and hot. He chuckled, the sound as sinful as chocolate.
"Damn, boy, you're huge," he muttered against Jared's swollen lips. He moved his hand, and Jared was glad to see it tremble. Jeff rolled away from him and stood. He grabbed his jacket, knuckles white against navy wool, and looked down at him, sprawled on the couch, legs apart, with a lump under his button fly that could cut glass.
"It's your call," he said, his voice deep enough to drown in. "You want this?"
"Yes."
"Then let's go. I want you, too." He smiled. "After we eat."
Jared was surprised that he could stand. He pulled on his jacket, buttoning it over his hard-on, and stumbled out after Jeff into the dusk, hoping that Jensen wouldn't come, the growing-Texas-boy part of him hoping that cold beer and leftover pizza might be on the menu, but he didn't care what was for dinner, as long as Jeff was the appetizer.
And dessert.
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Jared/JDM
Rating: R
Spoilers: slight, for "Shadow"
Warnings: Nope
Disclaimer: This never happened. If it had, I'd have pictures.
Synopsis: Jeffathon Prompt #28
Fake blood is made with water, cornstarch, milk, and red and green food coloring. Nothing toxic, but it turns a little sour after awhile, and you wouldn't want it in your mouth.
Jared was grateful that he didn't meet anyone on the way back to his trailer; he'd just finished an intense scene in a cold alley with Jensen and Jeff, and a fierce satisfaction soared through him at how they'd all hit their marks under Kim's direction. Jared grinned and the red shit pulled at his face. Ow. He was going to try to scrub it off himself, but he'd bet that Shannon would have to scrape off what was left. He opened his trailer door and almost fell inside as the warmth lured him in. Groaning, he peeled off his jacket and sweatshirt, not knowing if Wardrobe could get the bloodstains out.
Someone knocked on the door, once.
"Yeah?" Jared froze in mid-yank. The door opened and cold air feathered across his bared belly, penetrating his red-spattered tee shirt and jeans. Jeff was standing at the bottom of the stairs.
"Can I come in?" he asked.
"Sure. Shut the door, man."
Jeff climbed up into the trailer and closed the door, his presence shrinking the space around them. He had already showered and changed, the silvery flecks in his hair and beard glittering in the light. He shrugged out of his jacket and slung it over a chair. He wore a button-down shirt, tails out, the sleeves rolled up over his forearms, jeans that looked creased and new, and cowboy boots. He looked good, pulled together. In his ruined tee and gory makeup, Jared felt like a skinny, gigantic dork.
Jeff smiled, white teeth flashing in that wreath of facial hair. "You should see yourself."
He could imagine. Sam Winchester, ghostbuster. Sexy ghostbuster, according to People magazine. And I told them I eat candy...
"Go shower. I'll wait."
"What for?"
"We're goin' out for a beer, to celebrate. Might just be you and me, if we can't pry Ackles away from his adoring public."
"Oh, I don't have any? And you're not up to your ass in Gray's Anatomy groupies?"
Jeff scooped up a pillow from the sofa and tossed it at him. "Go wash up, kid, and you might get dinner."
Jared tossed it back. "Okay." Scratching his sticky scalp, he headed for the bathroom.
"Jared."
He looked back.
"You kicked ass today. I was damn proud to work with you." Jeff's eyes were warm as amber. "Both of you."
Jared blushed. "Thanks," he said hoarsely, and escaped to the bathroom, which was smaller than a phone booth and felt like a coffin, but suddenly he needed to put some space between himself and this man. It wasn' t until he climbed out of the shower and snatched a towel off the hook that he realized that he hadn't brought in any clean clothes. He'd have to go out in the towel, grab his stuff, and duck back into his steamy little phone booth to change--
He scowled. Hell no.
He stomped out with his wet head held high, bare feet slapping on the floor and sending trembling echoes through the trailer. Jeff looked up in mild surprise from the copy of Vanity Fair someone had left behind, his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, perfectly at home on the sofa. Jared could see the amused glint in the older man's eyes as he scooped up the Tupperware container. "Padalecki, you need some real grub," he said, shaking the multicolored candy that looked like a pile of shoelaces. "Where do you put it all?"
Jared shrugged, pulling clean jeans, socks, boxers and a shirt from various drawers. "Long as I don't get a gut, who cares?"
"Take it easy, okay? I'm just jerking your chain."
"Yeah, I know." As casually as he could manage, Jared stepped behind the counter, shucked the towel, and pulled on his boxers. He dressed quickly, telling himself he was cold, unable to shake off the feeling that he was putting on armor instead of cotton and denim. He padded out in his socks, boots in hand, and plopped down on the edge of the sofa to pull them on.
"You missed a spot, " Jeff said.
"What?"
Jeff leaned toward him. Cushions shifted as his thumb touched Jared's cheekbone at its widest point and came away with a tiny red smear. "This."
Jared swallowed, his throat crackling in the sudden silence. His heart pounded and he couldn't tear his eyes away from Jeff's.
"You're always hungry, Jay," Jeff murmured roughly. "What do you want tonight? Burgers? Chinese? Or...what?"
The spot he'd touched felt like it was glowing, the sensation drizzling down Jared's face like warm honey. He felt himself weakening, swaying. Jeff was a great guy and an amazing actor, but this was a million kinds of wrong, and all kinds of professional and private crap could hit the fan. Jared knew all that, and he wanted to touch Jeff again, taste him, feel the brush of his whiskers and the strength of his arms.
"Jay..".
Jared grabbed Jeff's wrist and pressed his mouth to that stained thumb. The rumors were true; fake blood tasted awful. But now it was gone, and he licked Jeff's bare skin, tasting salt and soap and the musk of a mature man, the mix as dark and sweet as fertile soil.
Jeff hissed. "Yeah..." He pushed his thumb against Jared's lips. "Take it."
The two words were a plea, order, and dare, all at once. Jared kissed the fleshy tip, nipping at the callus, and when Jeff growled deep in his throat he plunged his mouth down to the base as the rest of Jeff's fingers cupped his chin and gently tilted his head back against the couch cushions. Jeff watched him as he sucked, his eyes hooded. "Love that? It feels good. I like watching you lick me..." He pulled his wet thumb free with a pop. "Open your eyes, Jared. Look at me."
Jared's eyelids felt heavy; he had to concentrate to force them open. He was still on the end of the sofa, but Jeff was right there with him, pressed against him from hip to ankle.
"Those cat's eyes..." He bent down, and Jared shivered as those whiskers brushed the curve of his ear, a delicious itch running straight to his cock. "What'll make you purr? This?" He rubbed the tips of his fingers over Jared's left nipple, nodding as the younger man crumpled, his long legs falling limp, bootheels scraping the floor as his knees sagged open. "Or..." He dragged his big, warm hand down Jared's chest and over his stomach, landing flat on his crotch.
"Oh..." Jared groaned, arching up into those fingers as they cupped and stroked. Jeff kept the rhythm slow and steady, looking down into his face, his eyes lazy and hot. He chuckled, the sound as sinful as chocolate.
"Damn, boy, you're huge," he muttered against Jared's swollen lips. He moved his hand, and Jared was glad to see it tremble. Jeff rolled away from him and stood. He grabbed his jacket, knuckles white against navy wool, and looked down at him, sprawled on the couch, legs apart, with a lump under his button fly that could cut glass.
"It's your call," he said, his voice deep enough to drown in. "You want this?"
"Yes."
"Then let's go. I want you, too." He smiled. "After we eat."
Jared was surprised that he could stand. He pulled on his jacket, buttoning it over his hard-on, and stumbled out after Jeff into the dusk, hoping that Jensen wouldn't come, the growing-Texas-boy part of him hoping that cold beer and leftover pizza might be on the menu, but he didn't care what was for dinner, as long as Jeff was the appetizer.
And dessert.