In the Cold Light of Morning
Fandom: Supernatural RPS
Characters: Jensen/Jared
Summary: It was a lazy night. Early and autumn cold... A night like any other. But there was something more. Something different. Tempting and scary at once...
A very, very tiny bit of angst, 'the morning after', schmoop
Wordcount: 2, 318
Disclaimer: F.I.C.T.I.O.N.
Beta: borgmama1of5 . Remaining mistakes are mine
A/N: Title from Placebo (Time to change my inspiration, I guess)
First fic in ages that I actually finished. Still nothing special though.
In the Cold Light of Morning
Setting the plate, which is still dripping suds, onto the kitchen counter beside the other clean dishes, Jared glances at Jensen, who is furiously drying Jared’s stripped coffee cup.
“You okay?”
Jensen looks up from what he’s doing and nods, confused. “Sure.”
“Just ‘cause you’re, you know, dryin’ the same cup for the fourth time.”
Jensen pauses, hands stopping mid-movement, and frowns. Then shoves the cup into Jared’s hands with a quiet, mumbled, “Damn it.”
Amused, Jared puts his cup into the cupboard then leans back against the counter, watching Jensen dry his hands. And forearms, because there are drops of water sliding all the way to his elbows and dampening his rolled-up sleeves. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
Jared crosses his arms over his chest and arches his eyebrow, regarding Jensen doubtfully. The way he said ‘nothing’ and the wrinkled lines etched on his forehead clearly indicate that there’s no nothing going on, rather something with a capital S.
“Oh, yeah, right. I noticed.” And not once.
The obsessive cup-drying is the third time this morning Jensen has spaced out.
The first time had been when Jared, for some unknown, mysterious reason, dumped two full spoons of sugar in Jensen’s coffee, although he knows (damn well) that Jensen drinks his coffee black, and black only, and Jensen didn’t even notice. He drank the entire cup in five minutes without a single comment. Without as much as wincing in disgust.
Then again, when Harley stood up on his back legs and made a dive for Jensen’s breakfast, stealing three-quarters of Jensen’s scrambled eggs. Jensen barely noticed. In fact, lost in his thoughts and staring blankly at some point behind Jared’s head, Jensen picked up his plate and set it on the floor, so Harley could finish it comfortably.
That was something Jensen had never done before. He liked Jared’s dogs, a lot, but not so much he’d share his food (let alone his dishes) with them.
Jared’s used to grumpy Jensen. To tired Jensen. To morning Jensen, who crawls out of bed, still half asleep, with only enough energy to throw one curse after another. He knows how to deal with Jensen’s “too early” silence. Because Jensen’s always, more or less, present in all these states. Today he’s distracted, broody, and basically like he’s completely somewhere else.
“What is it?”
Jensen opens his mouth and Jared can practically hear the word ‘Nothing’ again, but it never comes. Scrunching the dish towel in his hands and winding it around his fingers nervously, Jensen sits down on the window-sill and glances up at Jared, eyes darting away from Jared’s face. He looks unsure and almost panicked.
“Do you-do… You remember yesterday. Right?”
“Like it was yesterday,” Jared jokes, unable to help himself, which earns him a very unimpressed scowl from the other side of the kitchen. “Yeah. Twelve of hours of shooting, buckets of freezing rain, warm dinner, cold beer, I remember... Or did I forget something?”
Jensen looks shocked, to say the least. A whole palette of emotions projects across his face, going from surprised to unbalanced, through pissed off and angry, to clearly disappointed. Wounded.
“Yeah. No. No, that’s… exactly all.”
Jared doesn’t know the place inside of Jensen where he goes to hide, but he can see him disappear there within a second.
And, okay, maybe Jared’s teasing isn’t exactly fair. But then again, he wasn’t the one who crept out of bed, his own bed, to go sleep on the couch not even three hours after they fell asleep. Driven by panic or guilt. Or something completely different.
Waking up in Jensen’s bed alone was strange. Finding Jensen half naked and sound asleep in the living room even stranger. Jensen had seemed like he’d decided to deny last night had happened. Jared had just followed his lead.
Jensen stands up and, trading the dish towel for his mug of cooling coffee, heads out onto the back porch. Jared blocks his path in two fast steps, determined to put a halt to the games and silent wars.
“Jensen... I remember. Jen...”
It was a lazy night. Early and autumn cold.
Jensen’s feet were dangling over the arm of the couch, his head pillowed on Jared’s thighs. Jared’s legs were propped up on the coffee table in front of him, because Sadie was sprawled across the better part of the couch, sending wounded looks on all sides and refusing to move. Decepticons and Autobots were battling in their never-ending war on the wrong planet, totally unaware that they had no audience. Jensen was asleep, his breathing quiet and rhythmic. His calm face was a stark contrast to all the stunts and screams and addictive doses of adrenaline that had filled up their hours of shooting. And Jared was simply too busy watching Jensen’s eyelashes flutter every now and then, and willing his body to cool down every time Jensen moved, wriggled or just sighed, to pay any attention to the movie.
A night like any other. But there was something more. Something different. Tempting and scary at once.
The noisy blare of the end credits made Jensen writhe about, then open his eyes and blink owlishly up at Jared. “They won?” He asked, simultaneously rubbing one eye and grabbing blindly for his glasses on the table.
Jared really tried to stay calm and composed, but Jensen’s proximity and sleepy cuteness made his body react more than ever before. “Yeah, they won,” he smiled, hoping it didn’t sound too tight or forced. “Just like all the times before.”
They’d watched this film for the sixth time. At least. One of them really needed to stop being so lazy and change the disc in the DVD player.
“Good.” Jensen seemed contented nevertheless, even more so when Jared shifted the glasses towards his searching fingers.
The first brush of lips was an accident. Nothing more. Jared leaned forward, reaching for the remote control, just as Jensen began to sit up. Their noses bumped and their lips collided. Startled silence, then a mutual experimental shift forward.
The second kiss, because this time it was a kiss, was anything but accidental. Jared moaned, honestly startled, when Jensen responded and nipped on Jared’s bottom lip, then opened his mouth for Jared’s probing tongue.
Removal of Jared’s T-shirt and Jensen’s plaid shirt, one jammed belt buckle and two pairs of jeans. Hurried and uncoordinated stumble for the closest bedroom...It all happened so fast.
Jared wasn’t cruel. He’d never tied cans to cats’ tails or torn wings off insects. But this frantic Jensen, wriggling underneath him, struggling to reverse their position and gain control, or force Jared to move, to fucking do something, was awakening some hidden torturing desires within him. He wanted to make Jensen beg, wanted to shred him to tiny pieces, bit by bit, and then put him back together. He loved the needy, desperate noises Jensen was making, struggling to be quiet and patient, but failing miserably. Loved feeling the fever-hot skin, smooth and slick under his finger tips.
“C’mon... ngh, c’mon,” Jensen mumbled breathlessly, arching against Jared. His fingers, shockingly cold in contrast to the rest of his body, were spread on Jared’s cheek, keeping his face near as he gazed at him, pleading with his eyes, mouth, and his ragged and heavy breathing. His touch was light, careful, but his other hand was twisted in the sheets, gripping it so tightly his knuckles were completely white.
Jared held him down though, keeping his hips still and pressing Jensen back to the mattress. Jensen’s body was like a live wire underneath his hands, unused to being controlled, unable to move, wanting, needing. Wanting Jared. A palpable spasm ran through Jensen’s spine like an electric current. His skin was flushed, glistening with perspiration that rolled down his temples and into his eyes, pearled on his throat and chest. He was beautiful. But Jared had always known that.
“Shhhh,” Jared whispered into Jensen’s mouth, biting onto his lip gently. “I want it slow.”
I want it to last.
Jensen’s spine arched off the bed, or tried to at least, taut and trembling, like a bow ready to snap. When he blinked, tears spurted from the corners of his eyes. “S-s-slow,” he hissed, gasping for breath. “Slow, but move. Goddamn move, Jared...” The next sound was a breathless, desperate sob filled with frustration, pain and need, as his head fell back, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. “Please...”
Arms shaking with the effort to keep himself up, and blood boiling with his own lust, Jared took a pity on Jensen. On both of them. He thrust his tongue in between Jensen’s lips, mimicking the movements of his hips as he moved forward, finally, one step from falling apart, making Jensen cry out into his mouth.
“I do remember,” Jared repeats. “Everything. Perfectly.”
Jensen’s eyebrows knot in sheer confusion and he purses his lips thoughtfully. “You do? Then... then why’d you...?”
“Because you’re so freakishly cute when you pout.”
“I do not pout,” Jensen protests vehemently. Only then he does exactly that. Again.
“You do,” Jared grins. Then he looks at Jensen seriously. “And... Also, ‘cause I wanted to know if you feel the same.”
Jensen tilts his head to the side, measuring Jared curiously. “And how’s that?”
“Nervous. Kinda freaked out. Scared that it’s gonna fuck us up.” He leans against the threshold, mirroring Jensen’s stance. “And,” he adds softly, as he touches Jensen’s chest with his finger, sliding down to his stomach, pointedly, before pulling back again. “Wanting a recap.”
“Yeah,” Jensen nods slowly, appearing to be kind of stunned. “Sounds about right.”
“Believe me; it would take more than four beers to forget you. Or that.”
For the first time this morning, Jensen smiles. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“So... we’re good?”
“We’re good.”
“Good.”
“Funny,” Jared responds as he watches Jensen biting his lip. “You don’t really look like it’s that good.”
Jensen casts his eyes to the ground and shakes his head. When he looks up, Jared would swear he’s blushing. “I don’t do one-night stands.” He murmurs, embarrassed, before he takes another eye-trip to their bare feet.
“I know you don’t... I never took it as one.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that... God...” Jared pauses, looking for the right words.
He knows them. Has known them for months. Two, three years. Never thinking he’d say them aloud. Maybe now, with Jensen’s eyes glued to Jared’s so firmly, and with his lips parted in anticipation, they won’t work? Maybe they won’t be enough?
“It means that I’d like more. More of that. Of you. More of us... I want ‘us’ to be. To mean something. I’ve wanted you since... like always. Because you’re... you’re just fuckin’ hot, you know, and pretty, and--”
He stops again, because Jensen doesn’t look flattered, rather tired. And really, how many times has Jensen heard those words already? And how many times have they really meant something?
“Yeah, I’m shallow like that,” Jared says mock-serious. “Didn’t you know?”
This time Jensen chuckles and that might be the best sound ever.
“But, really, it was... the first time I heard you laugh. You, you know, not Dean. It was so… rich, so spontaneous. And contagious. From then on, I knew I’d do anything to hear it again. Make you laugh, ‘cause you’re always so serious, so guarded. So heedful to remain the serious actor you are, too afraid to let the mask crack and reveal what’s underneath. But that’s just what I like. The underneath you don’t let everyone to see.”
The last words are basically whispered, though they carry the biggest weight and meaning. “I love you, that’s what it means. And I don’t feel like letting you go now.”
Jensen blinks and closes his mouth. Then opens it again and says, “Wow.”
Not exactly what Jared expected. “Wow?”
“What the hell am I supposed to say now?” Jensen questions cluelessly, almost reproachful. “Ditto sounds kinda stupid and lame.”
He takes a step forward and grabs a handful of Jared’s T-shirt, pulling him nearer, and Jared realizes how startlingly green and deep Jensen’s eyes are from this close up.
“Say it anyway,” Jared thinks.
“Ditto, Jay.” Jensen whispers, practically putting the words on Jared’s lips with his own.
And it’s only then that Jared realizes he’s said it aloud. “I don’t want to let you go either.”
Jared grins so wide he’s partly afraid his face will end up stuck that way. He rests his hands on Jensen’s waist, slipping his fingers underneath the hem of his shirt to feel the warm skin there, and nudges Jensen’s nose with the tip of his own. “Won’t get rid of me now,” he says threateningly, but Jensen just smiles.
His hand touches Jared’s cheek, slipping down the rough, unshaved skin, and lower, over his chest and taut stomach, until his fingers close around the lacing in Jared’s track pants and tugs at it, pulling their bodies flush together.
The kiss he plants on Jared’s lips is gentle, nearly lazy. It tastes like coffee and Jensen. Like yesterday, and tomorrow.
Breaking their connection, Jared’s lips slide lower, kissing Jensen’s jaw-line, his throat, the soft skin underneath his ear; looking for the little spot that made Jensen moan and tremble last night.
When Jensen gasps and the noise is, a millisecond later, followed by a sharp crack of shattering porcelain, Jared glances down at the tiled floor with a naughty smirk. Following Jensen’s frowning look, he watches the dark, cold liquid trickling between them and along the black cracks.
“That was my favourite mug,” Jensen says mournfully, like he was saying goodbye to an old friend. His injured pout is worth a thousand broken cups.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” Jared laughs. “Promise.”
“You better.”
“And when your hand starts to shake, for real, I’ll buy you a Tupperware cup.”
Characters: Jensen/Jared
Summary: It was a lazy night. Early and autumn cold... A night like any other. But there was something more. Something different. Tempting and scary at once...
A very, very tiny bit of angst, 'the morning after', schmoop
Wordcount: 2, 318
Disclaimer: F.I.C.T.I.O.N.
Beta: borgmama1of5 . Remaining mistakes are mine
A/N: Title from Placebo (Time to change my inspiration, I guess)
First fic in ages that I actually finished. Still nothing special though.
In the Cold Light of Morning
Setting the plate, which is still dripping suds, onto the kitchen counter beside the other clean dishes, Jared glances at Jensen, who is furiously drying Jared’s stripped coffee cup.
“You okay?”
Jensen looks up from what he’s doing and nods, confused. “Sure.”
“Just ‘cause you’re, you know, dryin’ the same cup for the fourth time.”
Jensen pauses, hands stopping mid-movement, and frowns. Then shoves the cup into Jared’s hands with a quiet, mumbled, “Damn it.”
Amused, Jared puts his cup into the cupboard then leans back against the counter, watching Jensen dry his hands. And forearms, because there are drops of water sliding all the way to his elbows and dampening his rolled-up sleeves. “What’s up?”
“Nothing.”
Jared crosses his arms over his chest and arches his eyebrow, regarding Jensen doubtfully. The way he said ‘nothing’ and the wrinkled lines etched on his forehead clearly indicate that there’s no nothing going on, rather something with a capital S.
“Oh, yeah, right. I noticed.” And not once.
The obsessive cup-drying is the third time this morning Jensen has spaced out.
The first time had been when Jared, for some unknown, mysterious reason, dumped two full spoons of sugar in Jensen’s coffee, although he knows (damn well) that Jensen drinks his coffee black, and black only, and Jensen didn’t even notice. He drank the entire cup in five minutes without a single comment. Without as much as wincing in disgust.
Then again, when Harley stood up on his back legs and made a dive for Jensen’s breakfast, stealing three-quarters of Jensen’s scrambled eggs. Jensen barely noticed. In fact, lost in his thoughts and staring blankly at some point behind Jared’s head, Jensen picked up his plate and set it on the floor, so Harley could finish it comfortably.
That was something Jensen had never done before. He liked Jared’s dogs, a lot, but not so much he’d share his food (let alone his dishes) with them.
Jared’s used to grumpy Jensen. To tired Jensen. To morning Jensen, who crawls out of bed, still half asleep, with only enough energy to throw one curse after another. He knows how to deal with Jensen’s “too early” silence. Because Jensen’s always, more or less, present in all these states. Today he’s distracted, broody, and basically like he’s completely somewhere else.
“What is it?”
Jensen opens his mouth and Jared can practically hear the word ‘Nothing’ again, but it never comes. Scrunching the dish towel in his hands and winding it around his fingers nervously, Jensen sits down on the window-sill and glances up at Jared, eyes darting away from Jared’s face. He looks unsure and almost panicked.
“Do you-do… You remember yesterday. Right?”
“Like it was yesterday,” Jared jokes, unable to help himself, which earns him a very unimpressed scowl from the other side of the kitchen. “Yeah. Twelve of hours of shooting, buckets of freezing rain, warm dinner, cold beer, I remember... Or did I forget something?”
Jensen looks shocked, to say the least. A whole palette of emotions projects across his face, going from surprised to unbalanced, through pissed off and angry, to clearly disappointed. Wounded.
“Yeah. No. No, that’s… exactly all.”
Jared doesn’t know the place inside of Jensen where he goes to hide, but he can see him disappear there within a second.
And, okay, maybe Jared’s teasing isn’t exactly fair. But then again, he wasn’t the one who crept out of bed, his own bed, to go sleep on the couch not even three hours after they fell asleep. Driven by panic or guilt. Or something completely different.
Waking up in Jensen’s bed alone was strange. Finding Jensen half naked and sound asleep in the living room even stranger. Jensen had seemed like he’d decided to deny last night had happened. Jared had just followed his lead.
Jensen stands up and, trading the dish towel for his mug of cooling coffee, heads out onto the back porch. Jared blocks his path in two fast steps, determined to put a halt to the games and silent wars.
“Jensen... I remember. Jen...”
It was a lazy night. Early and autumn cold.
Jensen’s feet were dangling over the arm of the couch, his head pillowed on Jared’s thighs. Jared’s legs were propped up on the coffee table in front of him, because Sadie was sprawled across the better part of the couch, sending wounded looks on all sides and refusing to move. Decepticons and Autobots were battling in their never-ending war on the wrong planet, totally unaware that they had no audience. Jensen was asleep, his breathing quiet and rhythmic. His calm face was a stark contrast to all the stunts and screams and addictive doses of adrenaline that had filled up their hours of shooting. And Jared was simply too busy watching Jensen’s eyelashes flutter every now and then, and willing his body to cool down every time Jensen moved, wriggled or just sighed, to pay any attention to the movie.
A night like any other. But there was something more. Something different. Tempting and scary at once.
The noisy blare of the end credits made Jensen writhe about, then open his eyes and blink owlishly up at Jared. “They won?” He asked, simultaneously rubbing one eye and grabbing blindly for his glasses on the table.
Jared really tried to stay calm and composed, but Jensen’s proximity and sleepy cuteness made his body react more than ever before. “Yeah, they won,” he smiled, hoping it didn’t sound too tight or forced. “Just like all the times before.”
They’d watched this film for the sixth time. At least. One of them really needed to stop being so lazy and change the disc in the DVD player.
“Good.” Jensen seemed contented nevertheless, even more so when Jared shifted the glasses towards his searching fingers.
The first brush of lips was an accident. Nothing more. Jared leaned forward, reaching for the remote control, just as Jensen began to sit up. Their noses bumped and their lips collided. Startled silence, then a mutual experimental shift forward.
The second kiss, because this time it was a kiss, was anything but accidental. Jared moaned, honestly startled, when Jensen responded and nipped on Jared’s bottom lip, then opened his mouth for Jared’s probing tongue.
Removal of Jared’s T-shirt and Jensen’s plaid shirt, one jammed belt buckle and two pairs of jeans. Hurried and uncoordinated stumble for the closest bedroom...It all happened so fast.
Jared wasn’t cruel. He’d never tied cans to cats’ tails or torn wings off insects. But this frantic Jensen, wriggling underneath him, struggling to reverse their position and gain control, or force Jared to move, to fucking do something, was awakening some hidden torturing desires within him. He wanted to make Jensen beg, wanted to shred him to tiny pieces, bit by bit, and then put him back together. He loved the needy, desperate noises Jensen was making, struggling to be quiet and patient, but failing miserably. Loved feeling the fever-hot skin, smooth and slick under his finger tips.
“C’mon... ngh, c’mon,” Jensen mumbled breathlessly, arching against Jared. His fingers, shockingly cold in contrast to the rest of his body, were spread on Jared’s cheek, keeping his face near as he gazed at him, pleading with his eyes, mouth, and his ragged and heavy breathing. His touch was light, careful, but his other hand was twisted in the sheets, gripping it so tightly his knuckles were completely white.
Jared held him down though, keeping his hips still and pressing Jensen back to the mattress. Jensen’s body was like a live wire underneath his hands, unused to being controlled, unable to move, wanting, needing. Wanting Jared. A palpable spasm ran through Jensen’s spine like an electric current. His skin was flushed, glistening with perspiration that rolled down his temples and into his eyes, pearled on his throat and chest. He was beautiful. But Jared had always known that.
“Shhhh,” Jared whispered into Jensen’s mouth, biting onto his lip gently. “I want it slow.”
I want it to last.
Jensen’s spine arched off the bed, or tried to at least, taut and trembling, like a bow ready to snap. When he blinked, tears spurted from the corners of his eyes. “S-s-slow,” he hissed, gasping for breath. “Slow, but move. Goddamn move, Jared...” The next sound was a breathless, desperate sob filled with frustration, pain and need, as his head fell back, exposing the vulnerable line of his throat. “Please...”
Arms shaking with the effort to keep himself up, and blood boiling with his own lust, Jared took a pity on Jensen. On both of them. He thrust his tongue in between Jensen’s lips, mimicking the movements of his hips as he moved forward, finally, one step from falling apart, making Jensen cry out into his mouth.
“I do remember,” Jared repeats. “Everything. Perfectly.”
Jensen’s eyebrows knot in sheer confusion and he purses his lips thoughtfully. “You do? Then... then why’d you...?”
“Because you’re so freakishly cute when you pout.”
“I do not pout,” Jensen protests vehemently. Only then he does exactly that. Again.
“You do,” Jared grins. Then he looks at Jensen seriously. “And... Also, ‘cause I wanted to know if you feel the same.”
Jensen tilts his head to the side, measuring Jared curiously. “And how’s that?”
“Nervous. Kinda freaked out. Scared that it’s gonna fuck us up.” He leans against the threshold, mirroring Jensen’s stance. “And,” he adds softly, as he touches Jensen’s chest with his finger, sliding down to his stomach, pointedly, before pulling back again. “Wanting a recap.”
“Yeah,” Jensen nods slowly, appearing to be kind of stunned. “Sounds about right.”
“Believe me; it would take more than four beers to forget you. Or that.”
For the first time this morning, Jensen smiles. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
“So... we’re good?”
“We’re good.”
“Good.”
“Funny,” Jared responds as he watches Jensen biting his lip. “You don’t really look like it’s that good.”
Jensen casts his eyes to the ground and shakes his head. When he looks up, Jared would swear he’s blushing. “I don’t do one-night stands.” He murmurs, embarrassed, before he takes another eye-trip to their bare feet.
“I know you don’t... I never took it as one.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that... God...” Jared pauses, looking for the right words.
He knows them. Has known them for months. Two, three years. Never thinking he’d say them aloud. Maybe now, with Jensen’s eyes glued to Jared’s so firmly, and with his lips parted in anticipation, they won’t work? Maybe they won’t be enough?
“It means that I’d like more. More of that. Of you. More of us... I want ‘us’ to be. To mean something. I’ve wanted you since... like always. Because you’re... you’re just fuckin’ hot, you know, and pretty, and--”
He stops again, because Jensen doesn’t look flattered, rather tired. And really, how many times has Jensen heard those words already? And how many times have they really meant something?
“Yeah, I’m shallow like that,” Jared says mock-serious. “Didn’t you know?”
This time Jensen chuckles and that might be the best sound ever.
“But, really, it was... the first time I heard you laugh. You, you know, not Dean. It was so… rich, so spontaneous. And contagious. From then on, I knew I’d do anything to hear it again. Make you laugh, ‘cause you’re always so serious, so guarded. So heedful to remain the serious actor you are, too afraid to let the mask crack and reveal what’s underneath. But that’s just what I like. The underneath you don’t let everyone to see.”
The last words are basically whispered, though they carry the biggest weight and meaning. “I love you, that’s what it means. And I don’t feel like letting you go now.”
Jensen blinks and closes his mouth. Then opens it again and says, “Wow.”
Not exactly what Jared expected. “Wow?”
“What the hell am I supposed to say now?” Jensen questions cluelessly, almost reproachful. “Ditto sounds kinda stupid and lame.”
He takes a step forward and grabs a handful of Jared’s T-shirt, pulling him nearer, and Jared realizes how startlingly green and deep Jensen’s eyes are from this close up.
“Say it anyway,” Jared thinks.
“Ditto, Jay.” Jensen whispers, practically putting the words on Jared’s lips with his own.
And it’s only then that Jared realizes he’s said it aloud. “I don’t want to let you go either.”
Jared grins so wide he’s partly afraid his face will end up stuck that way. He rests his hands on Jensen’s waist, slipping his fingers underneath the hem of his shirt to feel the warm skin there, and nudges Jensen’s nose with the tip of his own. “Won’t get rid of me now,” he says threateningly, but Jensen just smiles.
His hand touches Jared’s cheek, slipping down the rough, unshaved skin, and lower, over his chest and taut stomach, until his fingers close around the lacing in Jared’s track pants and tugs at it, pulling their bodies flush together.
The kiss he plants on Jared’s lips is gentle, nearly lazy. It tastes like coffee and Jensen. Like yesterday, and tomorrow.
Breaking their connection, Jared’s lips slide lower, kissing Jensen’s jaw-line, his throat, the soft skin underneath his ear; looking for the little spot that made Jensen moan and tremble last night.
When Jensen gasps and the noise is, a millisecond later, followed by a sharp crack of shattering porcelain, Jared glances down at the tiled floor with a naughty smirk. Following Jensen’s frowning look, he watches the dark, cold liquid trickling between them and along the black cracks.
“That was my favourite mug,” Jensen says mournfully, like he was saying goodbye to an old friend. His injured pout is worth a thousand broken cups.
“I’ll buy you a new one,” Jared laughs. “Promise.”
“You better.”
“And when your hand starts to shake, for real, I’ll buy you a Tupperware cup.”