Ficlet: Cold Turkey Sandwiches
You have no idea how happy I am to be posting something right now. My head is way too blaaaaah today. So this might be is one of those things I post as a super-secret writing exercise and that I try and claim as fic. Oh, I am such a tricksy little fish.
Mmmmnnn, cranberry sauce.
Title: Cold Turkey Sandwiches
Characters/Pairings: Jared/Jensen, Jensen/Cranberry sauce
Rating: R
Word Count: 940
Notes: Most of the food comes from "The Globalist's Thanksgiving" here. This also lives in the same universe as A Surfeit of Tarts.
Summary: Post-Thanksgiving J2 fluff wherein Jared is a holiday gourmet and Jensen likes cranberry sauce from a can.
Oven-roasted papas fritas and brussel sprouts with Chorizo dripping in seasoning. Parmesan-stuffed asparagus with hand-whipped garlic butter. Coconut-fried yams, then mashed with a splash of maple syrup for an extra kick of sweetness. Potato-Gnocchi gratin, still warm from the oven, so delicate the cheese just melted in your mouth, sauced with butternut-squash purée. Cornmeal fritters, so light and airy, topped with chevre croquettes and cranberry jam. The crowning jewel of the meal had to be the 13-pound Harissa-roasted turkey, smelling of chili and coriander. So spicy and tender, it'd been marinating for a day before, and slow-cooked since 9 that morning.
Jensen eyes the entire spread before him and can only say, "Cranberry sauce. Spoon."
Jared's mouth drops open and he's torn between crumbling up in a ball on the floor and smashing the Pumpkin Cheesecake in Jensen's smug (and squishy) face. Instead he composes himself and twists a potholder in his hands. "But I made cranberry gelée. From scratch." He starts and Jensen cuts him off.
"Cranberry sauce, from a can, and a spoon. Please." Jensen folds his arms, "I really can't eat anything without it."
Jared gives up and stomps into the kitchen and angrily grabs one of the cans Jensen bought (under his severe protest). "Just keeping you humble, Jay!" Jensen calls from the dining room.
***
"Oh god. I can't move."
"Me neither. That pie…"
"Jesus Christ, no more pie. None!"
"Good thing, because I can't feel my legs."
"Ha-ha." Jared turns his head in Jensen's lap and sticks his tongue out at him. Jensen blows him an air-kiss and rubs his temples.
"What the hell are we watching?" Jensen asks, eying the television.
"You feel up to finding the remote? Be my guest."
"But that would require moving."
"Ha!"
"I meant you, Sasquatch. I'm kinda trapped here." Jared smiles, snuggling comfortably against him, draped across the couch and Jensen, who has his feet up on the coffee table. Jensen really is stuck sitting on the couch, between him and the cushions.
"Does it really matter?" Jared asks, mind drifting away from thoughts of football or movies.
Jensen softens his expression and his eyes close. "I guess not."
Jared turns in his lap, whispering, "You fallin' asleep on me?" And getting a nod in response.
Jared toys with the bottom of Jensen's shirt, slipping it out from his slacks, pulling the buttons undone until his soft, paunchy stomach peeks through. Little transparent hairs tickling his fingers as he runs them over the skin, like always. Fingers tracing the light brown happy trail running from his navel and disappearing under his pants. He dips his head in closer to kiss it, the little flab that peeks over where his pants fasten. The rise and fall as he breathes in and out. Jensen hums in response so Jared moves closer, nipping and touching and the angle is really, really bad. He makes the mistake of trying to wriggle into Jensen's fly and doesn't anticipate the jerk of his hips-
Jared finds himself on the floor, in-between the couch and the coffee table, kind of stunned at his own lack of coordination. Jensen looks down sputtering and laughing, slapping his own thigh with amusement because Jared's legs are still on the couch and he's all sprawled-out on one end and squished up on the other.
"Very funny. Ow."
"If you could just see the look on your face!" Jensen sighs, and slides down to help him up, and they stumble away from the couch, Jared in his arms and Jensen still vibrating with laughter. Jared finally gives in and starts snickering uncontrollably into Jensen's chest, and then they're both holding each other and laughing like maniacs, like it's the funniest thing in the world.
Then Jared's hand moves against the exposed skin, warmth on Jensen's belly again. He swallows hard and hooks his fingers into Jared's belt-loops. "Try again?" he asks.
Jared kisses him, tasting the pumpkin and port wine on his lips. Tart, sweet and wet most importantly of all. Jensen's mouth is wet.
"You still hungry, Jen?"
"I like leftovers." Jensen touches his nose to Jared's, mouth teasing his with closeness. "Y'know, when no one's looking. Nibbling here and there..." Jensen trails off, because Jared's sucking at his throat, licking and biting his neck, teeth just barely touching the soft skin under his chin. Jensen sighs and starts pulling him closer, hands clasping around Jared's waist.
"Bedroom." Jensen says, and Jared follows. Grabbing the half-empty bottle of wine and the almost-full box of pecan truffles with him. And the last can of cranberry sauce.
***
In the morning there are cold turkey sandwiches waiting for Jared with his cranberry gelée slathered on the bread. Jensen's sitting at the kitchen counter, already nibbling on his.
"It's not too bad," Jensen says, chewing thoughtfully.
"Careful Jen," Jared says, kissing the side of his face. "Don't go all Hollywood on me now."
"Well, I would've had mine if you hadn't spent half the night spoon-feeding it to me while we fucked."
Jared looks up slightly, remembering. Still feeling the push of Jensen's cock into him, the seal of his mouth around the spoon as his red, swollen lips closed over it. The sound of happiness and satisfaction he made in the back of his throat, the jerk of his hips deeper into him, hands squeezing and gripping tight. Jensen coming into him hard, the spoon falling from his mouth and his lips crushing against Jared's. His body covering him like a blanket.
"Totally worth it though," Jared says as he bites into his sandwich.
And Jensen won't argue with that.
Mmmmnnn, cranberry sauce.
Title: Cold Turkey Sandwiches
Characters/Pairings: Jared/Jensen, Jensen/Cranberry sauce
Rating: R
Word Count: 940
Notes: Most of the food comes from "The Globalist's Thanksgiving" here. This also lives in the same universe as A Surfeit of Tarts.
Summary: Post-Thanksgiving J2 fluff wherein Jared is a holiday gourmet and Jensen likes cranberry sauce from a can.
Oven-roasted papas fritas and brussel sprouts with Chorizo dripping in seasoning. Parmesan-stuffed asparagus with hand-whipped garlic butter. Coconut-fried yams, then mashed with a splash of maple syrup for an extra kick of sweetness. Potato-Gnocchi gratin, still warm from the oven, so delicate the cheese just melted in your mouth, sauced with butternut-squash purée. Cornmeal fritters, so light and airy, topped with chevre croquettes and cranberry jam. The crowning jewel of the meal had to be the 13-pound Harissa-roasted turkey, smelling of chili and coriander. So spicy and tender, it'd been marinating for a day before, and slow-cooked since 9 that morning.
Jensen eyes the entire spread before him and can only say, "Cranberry sauce. Spoon."
Jared's mouth drops open and he's torn between crumbling up in a ball on the floor and smashing the Pumpkin Cheesecake in Jensen's smug (and squishy) face. Instead he composes himself and twists a potholder in his hands. "But I made cranberry gelée. From scratch." He starts and Jensen cuts him off.
"Cranberry sauce, from a can, and a spoon. Please." Jensen folds his arms, "I really can't eat anything without it."
Jared gives up and stomps into the kitchen and angrily grabs one of the cans Jensen bought (under his severe protest). "Just keeping you humble, Jay!" Jensen calls from the dining room.
***
"Oh god. I can't move."
"Me neither. That pie…"
"Jesus Christ, no more pie. None!"
"Good thing, because I can't feel my legs."
"Ha-ha." Jared turns his head in Jensen's lap and sticks his tongue out at him. Jensen blows him an air-kiss and rubs his temples.
"What the hell are we watching?" Jensen asks, eying the television.
"You feel up to finding the remote? Be my guest."
"But that would require moving."
"Ha!"
"I meant you, Sasquatch. I'm kinda trapped here." Jared smiles, snuggling comfortably against him, draped across the couch and Jensen, who has his feet up on the coffee table. Jensen really is stuck sitting on the couch, between him and the cushions.
"Does it really matter?" Jared asks, mind drifting away from thoughts of football or movies.
Jensen softens his expression and his eyes close. "I guess not."
Jared turns in his lap, whispering, "You fallin' asleep on me?" And getting a nod in response.
Jared toys with the bottom of Jensen's shirt, slipping it out from his slacks, pulling the buttons undone until his soft, paunchy stomach peeks through. Little transparent hairs tickling his fingers as he runs them over the skin, like always. Fingers tracing the light brown happy trail running from his navel and disappearing under his pants. He dips his head in closer to kiss it, the little flab that peeks over where his pants fasten. The rise and fall as he breathes in and out. Jensen hums in response so Jared moves closer, nipping and touching and the angle is really, really bad. He makes the mistake of trying to wriggle into Jensen's fly and doesn't anticipate the jerk of his hips-
Jared finds himself on the floor, in-between the couch and the coffee table, kind of stunned at his own lack of coordination. Jensen looks down sputtering and laughing, slapping his own thigh with amusement because Jared's legs are still on the couch and he's all sprawled-out on one end and squished up on the other.
"Very funny. Ow."
"If you could just see the look on your face!" Jensen sighs, and slides down to help him up, and they stumble away from the couch, Jared in his arms and Jensen still vibrating with laughter. Jared finally gives in and starts snickering uncontrollably into Jensen's chest, and then they're both holding each other and laughing like maniacs, like it's the funniest thing in the world.
Then Jared's hand moves against the exposed skin, warmth on Jensen's belly again. He swallows hard and hooks his fingers into Jared's belt-loops. "Try again?" he asks.
Jared kisses him, tasting the pumpkin and port wine on his lips. Tart, sweet and wet most importantly of all. Jensen's mouth is wet.
"You still hungry, Jen?"
"I like leftovers." Jensen touches his nose to Jared's, mouth teasing his with closeness. "Y'know, when no one's looking. Nibbling here and there..." Jensen trails off, because Jared's sucking at his throat, licking and biting his neck, teeth just barely touching the soft skin under his chin. Jensen sighs and starts pulling him closer, hands clasping around Jared's waist.
"Bedroom." Jensen says, and Jared follows. Grabbing the half-empty bottle of wine and the almost-full box of pecan truffles with him. And the last can of cranberry sauce.
***
In the morning there are cold turkey sandwiches waiting for Jared with his cranberry gelée slathered on the bread. Jensen's sitting at the kitchen counter, already nibbling on his.
"It's not too bad," Jensen says, chewing thoughtfully.
"Careful Jen," Jared says, kissing the side of his face. "Don't go all Hollywood on me now."
"Well, I would've had mine if you hadn't spent half the night spoon-feeding it to me while we fucked."
Jared looks up slightly, remembering. Still feeling the push of Jensen's cock into him, the seal of his mouth around the spoon as his red, swollen lips closed over it. The sound of happiness and satisfaction he made in the back of his throat, the jerk of his hips deeper into him, hands squeezing and gripping tight. Jensen coming into him hard, the spoon falling from his mouth and his lips crushing against Jared's. His body covering him like a blanket.
"Totally worth it though," Jared says as he bites into his sandwich.
And Jensen won't argue with that.