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Comment fics!
For bekkis 's awesome Texts from Last Night fic meme:
Prompt: Just got a hand job during a movie in class today is gonna be great
Jared is having a shitty day. His alarm didn’t go off so he missed his eight am Calculus class where attendance is thirty percent of the grade. Because he was running so late, he didn’t have time to brush his teeth or change out of his ratty vintage He-man pajama pants. His mouth tastes like something died on his tongue overnight and people keep giving him funny looks. Which he might attribute to the pants, except he can literally feel his hair standing up all over the place, tangled and puffy and generally wrong. There was a pop quiz in the World History class he busted his ass to get to, but he hadn’t done the reading the night before and he was totally lost. He stepped on a rock while running across the quad and the bottom of his foot got bruised through the pitiful protection of his flip flops. The vending machine in the science building ate his last dollar so it’s almost noon and his empty stomach is trying to eat itself for sustenance. And since God clearly hates him, just before he got to his Intro to Film classroom, he bumped into someone carrying a full cup of coffee that he’s now wearing on the front of his shirt. He smells like sleep and rancid milk and stale Arabica beans.
When Jared enters the classroom and sees Jensen looking all clean and fresh and put together and fucking gorgeous, saving Jared his usual seat at the long table in the back, he wants to cry. Jensen glances up from the notebook he’s scribbling in and Jared can tell he’s trying not to laugh by the way he bites into his bottom lip and his cheeks turn red. Jared appreciates the effort, really, he does.
Jared drops into the chair, and lets out a grateful whoosh of air. He’s here, with Jensen, safe for the next two hours from any calamities.
Jensen leans in for a kiss and Jared holds up a hand. “You don’t want to do that, man. My mouth tastes like ass.”
Jensen smirks. “You’d know.” He kisses Jared quickly on the lips in spite of the warning and puts his hand comfortingly on the back of Jared’s neck, massaging lightly. “Nothing I haven’t tasted before. Crappy day?”
“Craptastic,” Jared confirms but he has to admit to himself, it’s getting better. He can feel his anxiety and tension melting away as Jensen tells him about the lecture he sat in on this morning and works his fingers into the tight muscles in Jared’s shoulders.
Professor Wilkes is setting up at the front of the room and Jared’s starting to look forward to something for the first time today. Wilkes is giving a short introduction about movies for teens but Jared tunes him out in favour of Jensen’s continued murmurs and his hands on Jared’s back.
The prof dims the lights and the credits start and Jared yelps, “Are you fucking kidding me? Glitter?”
Jensen finally loses it then, snorts of barely stifled laughter that causes several classmates to glare in their direction. Jared pinches his thigh under the table, to help him stop laughing and in retaliation. Tears are streaking down Jensen’s face and he’s shaking his head and mouthing “I’m sorry” in between spasms.
Jared is too defeated to be offended or angry or upset or anything. He just slumps in his seat with his hands hanging limply at his sides and stares at the ceiling.
Jensen finally sobers and scoots his chair closer to Jared’s, who almost squeaks when Jensen’s hand lands on his thigh under the table. His boyfriend’s eyes are fixed on the projection screen but his fingers are brushing against Jared’s inseam, higher and higher with every stroke until his knuckles bump against Jared’s dick. Jared’s kind of amazed that he can get an erection with the day he’s had and Mariah Carey attempting to deliver dialogue on the screen, but then again, it’s Jensen. Usually Jared can look at him and get hard.
Speaking of. He rolls his head on his shoulders so he can see Jensen’s face, carefully blank as his hand works Jared’s hardening dick through the thin material of his pajama pants. The lights flicker over his face, turning his pale eyes translucent and highlighting his high cheekbones. He’s so fucking beautiful that it makes Jared’s eyes water with want.
Jensen licks his lips carefully and smiles as Jared’s cock jumps against his hand, knowing exactly what effect the move would have. Jared squeezes his eyes shut as Jensen shifts so he can snake his hand under the loose waistband (God, why doesn’t he wear pajama pants all the time?) and grasp the hot, hard length of his erection. He twists his wrist as he works Jared inside the loose cloth, jerking hard and slow, dragging his thumb over the leaking slit on every upstroke.
Jared grits his teeth and tries not to pant as sweat blooms on his forehead and streaks in tickling lines down his neck. Jensen squeezes, up and down his length, using exactly the right pressure, that he’s learned through lots of practice drives Jared insane. Heat gathers in his balls and at the base of his spine, still incredibly and easily responsive to Jensen after all this time.
With coordination and control Jared couldn’t manage on his best day, Jensen leans into him, casually, like he’s going to ask him a question. His hand never breaks its rough, slow circuit on Jared’s dick - down, up, swipe, squeeze, repeat - as he turns his head and licks the sweat in a line from the bottom of Jared’s neck up to just beneath his ear. Fire streaks into Jared’s belly and coils low, and he can’t keep from jerking his hips up into Jensen’s hand as he gets closer. Just as Jensen’s thumb passes over the head of Jared’s dick, he bites down on Jared’s earlobe and tugs, and that’s it. Jared comes with an admirably stifled whimper, ropes of come that Jensen catches with his hand, considerately keeping as much of it out of Jared’s pants as he can, working him through it with the slick of Jared’s own body.
Jared slouches into a boneless heap and because he’s a magic creature, Jensen somehow cleans up his hand before he slips it into Jared’s and twines their fingers together. He’s got a soft smile on his face like he’s the one who just had the mind blowing orgasm and Jared loves him so much he’s giddy with it.
The credits to the movie roll and the lights go up. Jared looks at his boyfriend and thinks today is going to be awesome.
***
And for dev_earl 's also awesome Crack Open the AU Cans comment fic meme:
Prompt: Pro-football!player!Jared/Coach!Jensen
Four minutes and thirteen seconds on the clock in the fourth quarter, and the Cowboys are down by three, third and five on the Vikings forty eight yard line. Jensen’s up and down the sidelines, pacing in between the line of scrimmage and the first down marker, listening to his offensive coordinator’s tinny voice rattling off the defense’s weaknesses as the play clock blinks into the single digits and Padalecki lines up behind the center, barking out the formation.
This is the most important game of Jensen’s life. Jerry Jones took a huge risk hiring him as head coach, the youngest ever in the NFL at thirty-two. He’s worked his ass off to make sure Jones didn’t regret it, and now, here he is in December, and everything - validation, success, his fucking team and all the guys who look to him for leadership - rides on the outcome of this contest. Whoever wins is into the playoffs. Whoever loses is out.
Jensen doesn’t fucking breathe after the snap. His quarterback drops into the pocket, offensive linemen giving him one second, two seconds, three second to find an open receiver for a short slant pass. Murray slips his coverage with a nifty little bit of footwork, and Padalecki sees him right away, makes a beautiful, perfect pass that can only come from the arm of a natural, like his body was made to do this and only this. It hits Murray in the numbers, right in the fucking numbers, and Jensen’s heart stops beating as Murray’s hands fumble with the football and he fucking drops it.
The home crowd groans together in shared horror. The Cowboys have to punt, down by three, with only one time out, because Murray goddamn dropped the ball.
Murray is on the sidelines in a flash, the offense coming off the field as special teams trots out, and Beaver, the offensive coordinator, is on his way over, face dangerously red. Jensen just pats Murray on the back as he walks by - damage is done already, and Jensen has other people do to his yelling for him. Like Beaver.
Before he can get there, though, Padalekci is in Murray’s grill, helmet in one hand, gesticulating wildly with both.
“What the fuck, Chad? Are you fucking kidding me?” Some QBs get pissed at their receivers when they drop balls because it looks bad on their stats, and because teams that drop a lot of balls don’t win a lot of games. Padalecki ‘s not that guy. He never shows up his receivers like this, and Jensen has no idea what’s going on in his quarterback’s head, but Jensen knows that he’s got to get it screwed on straight if they’re going to win this fucking game.
“Jared,” Jensen says, quietly, but the yelling stops immediately, like throwing a switch. He’s always been responsive like that to Jensen, never had an ego, never needed to assert himself as the alpha male. When Jensen talks, Jared just… listens. He sidles up to Jensen’s side, and Jensen can hear his agitated breathing, feel the sweat on his arm where it brushes against Jensen’s.
“Sorry,” Jared says without looking at him. Jensen thinks about what to say as they watch Collins kick a beautiful punt that the Vikings receiver only takes to the eleven yard line. They’ve got an advantage with field position, and they’ve got the number one defense in the league. They’ve still got a chance.
“Don’t be sorry,” Jensen says, and the tone of his voice slips into something that seems reserved specifically for Jared. It’s softer than he would like, and reveals too much. “Just do what you’re good at and win the fucking game.”
Finally, Jared looks over at him and flashes that ridiculous grin, wide mouth revealing white teeth and dimples cutting his cheeks. “Wow. That’s some sophisticated coaching.”
Jensen tries to focus on the fact that his quarterback is a smart ass with no respect, instead of the way his slicked-back hair is soaked with sweat and the way his golden brown skin pinks with excitement and exertion and the way his slanted hazel eyes are so fucking expressive, or the way all those elements of Jared would look in his bedroom, on his white sheets, begging. “You need me to draw you some pictures, Jay?”
“I don’t know, I might. Would they be naughty pictures?”
The crowd starts fucking screaming just as Jared finishes the question, like they approve. The Vikings have gone three and out, the tight Cowboys defense allowing only six yards in three plays, but they’ve taken the clock down to the two minute warning because they know Jensen has to save his timeout for kicking the tying field goal, if it comes down to that. He really, really hopes it doesn’t.
Adrenaline floods Jensen’s system as the return team heads onto the field, and he huffs at Jared’s flippancy. This is the game of their lives. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Could you maybe think about winning this football game, and save the pornography for later?”
Jared looks at him for way too long, long enough for Jensen to start blushing, even in the middle of all this… everything… and flashes that goddamn, infuriating, beautiful smile again. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
Jared puts on his helmet and joins his teammates in the huddle, buckling his chin strap and slapping Hodge on the back.
Watching Jared run an offense is like watching poetry come to life. He’s efficient, and precise, and perfect in his decisions. Jensen barks plays into his headset, and Jared executes them flawlessly. He leads the offense down the field like the defense isn’t even there.
With ten seconds remaining in the game, he’s got them down to the Vikings thirty-two. Jensen rattles off the play, and Jared looks at him. From twenty yards away, Jensen can see him grinning like a loon.
The Vikings are expecting them to run, to be conservative and keep inching forward to give their kicker a better chance at making the field goal. Jensen’s a lot of things, but conservative isn’t one of them.
Hodge breaks, running the route they’ve practiced a thousand times, and Jared fakes the handoff. Hodge is in the end zone, but he hasn’t bucked his coverage. Jared rears back and throws anyway, and Jensen bites his lip bloody as the ball sails in the air, a spiral that has to be perfectly placed to avoid the interception. Hodge leaps at the same time as the defender and comes down with the ball, cradling it to his chest with excellent control.
They just made the fucking playoffs.
Jensen rips off his headset and runs into the field, along with the rest of the team, jumping up and down and generally making an ass of himself. He does not care. He feels like eight million tons just got lifted from his shoulders and now he’s fucking flying.
Jensen starts shaking hands and exchanging “good games” with the Vikings coaching staff, even though he can’t hear a goddamn thing but the crowd yelling its approval and the PA system blaring a victory song. He’s got one eye on Jared, watching him celebrate - an absurdly goofy dance that somehow manages to be endearing - so he doesn’t notice his defensive line sneaking up behind him with a cooler of Gatorade. He gasps in shock as gallons of the sticky red cold drink get dumped on his head and run into his clothes, soaking him from head to foot.
He’s still spluttering when Jared makes his way through the throng of reporters and players and VIPs.
“Coach!” he yells, before wrapping his long arms around Jensen and pulling him into a tight hug that lifts Jensen’s feet off the ground for a second. Jared is a sweaty fucking mess, soaked through with it, along with some dirt and some blood, but Jensen is already wet and this feels too good to protest, sharing the results of all their hard work, all their happiness.
Jensen squeezes back as hard as he can and doesn’t think about all the things he shouldn’t want but does.
They stay like that for a long time, until Jared pulls back just enough to speak. “So, about that pornography,” Jared says, low and intimate and right into Jensen’s ear so that shivers shoot down his spine. “Why don’t you come over later?”
For bekkis 's awesome Texts from Last Night fic meme:
Prompt: Just got a hand job during a movie in class today is gonna be great
Jared is having a shitty day. His alarm didn’t go off so he missed his eight am Calculus class where attendance is thirty percent of the grade. Because he was running so late, he didn’t have time to brush his teeth or change out of his ratty vintage He-man pajama pants. His mouth tastes like something died on his tongue overnight and people keep giving him funny looks. Which he might attribute to the pants, except he can literally feel his hair standing up all over the place, tangled and puffy and generally wrong. There was a pop quiz in the World History class he busted his ass to get to, but he hadn’t done the reading the night before and he was totally lost. He stepped on a rock while running across the quad and the bottom of his foot got bruised through the pitiful protection of his flip flops. The vending machine in the science building ate his last dollar so it’s almost noon and his empty stomach is trying to eat itself for sustenance. And since God clearly hates him, just before he got to his Intro to Film classroom, he bumped into someone carrying a full cup of coffee that he’s now wearing on the front of his shirt. He smells like sleep and rancid milk and stale Arabica beans.
When Jared enters the classroom and sees Jensen looking all clean and fresh and put together and fucking gorgeous, saving Jared his usual seat at the long table in the back, he wants to cry. Jensen glances up from the notebook he’s scribbling in and Jared can tell he’s trying not to laugh by the way he bites into his bottom lip and his cheeks turn red. Jared appreciates the effort, really, he does.
Jared drops into the chair, and lets out a grateful whoosh of air. He’s here, with Jensen, safe for the next two hours from any calamities.
Jensen leans in for a kiss and Jared holds up a hand. “You don’t want to do that, man. My mouth tastes like ass.”
Jensen smirks. “You’d know.” He kisses Jared quickly on the lips in spite of the warning and puts his hand comfortingly on the back of Jared’s neck, massaging lightly. “Nothing I haven’t tasted before. Crappy day?”
“Craptastic,” Jared confirms but he has to admit to himself, it’s getting better. He can feel his anxiety and tension melting away as Jensen tells him about the lecture he sat in on this morning and works his fingers into the tight muscles in Jared’s shoulders.
Professor Wilkes is setting up at the front of the room and Jared’s starting to look forward to something for the first time today. Wilkes is giving a short introduction about movies for teens but Jared tunes him out in favour of Jensen’s continued murmurs and his hands on Jared’s back.
The prof dims the lights and the credits start and Jared yelps, “Are you fucking kidding me? Glitter?”
Jensen finally loses it then, snorts of barely stifled laughter that causes several classmates to glare in their direction. Jared pinches his thigh under the table, to help him stop laughing and in retaliation. Tears are streaking down Jensen’s face and he’s shaking his head and mouthing “I’m sorry” in between spasms.
Jared is too defeated to be offended or angry or upset or anything. He just slumps in his seat with his hands hanging limply at his sides and stares at the ceiling.
Jensen finally sobers and scoots his chair closer to Jared’s, who almost squeaks when Jensen’s hand lands on his thigh under the table. His boyfriend’s eyes are fixed on the projection screen but his fingers are brushing against Jared’s inseam, higher and higher with every stroke until his knuckles bump against Jared’s dick. Jared’s kind of amazed that he can get an erection with the day he’s had and Mariah Carey attempting to deliver dialogue on the screen, but then again, it’s Jensen. Usually Jared can look at him and get hard.
Speaking of. He rolls his head on his shoulders so he can see Jensen’s face, carefully blank as his hand works Jared’s hardening dick through the thin material of his pajama pants. The lights flicker over his face, turning his pale eyes translucent and highlighting his high cheekbones. He’s so fucking beautiful that it makes Jared’s eyes water with want.
Jensen licks his lips carefully and smiles as Jared’s cock jumps against his hand, knowing exactly what effect the move would have. Jared squeezes his eyes shut as Jensen shifts so he can snake his hand under the loose waistband (God, why doesn’t he wear pajama pants all the time?) and grasp the hot, hard length of his erection. He twists his wrist as he works Jared inside the loose cloth, jerking hard and slow, dragging his thumb over the leaking slit on every upstroke.
Jared grits his teeth and tries not to pant as sweat blooms on his forehead and streaks in tickling lines down his neck. Jensen squeezes, up and down his length, using exactly the right pressure, that he’s learned through lots of practice drives Jared insane. Heat gathers in his balls and at the base of his spine, still incredibly and easily responsive to Jensen after all this time.
With coordination and control Jared couldn’t manage on his best day, Jensen leans into him, casually, like he’s going to ask him a question. His hand never breaks its rough, slow circuit on Jared’s dick - down, up, swipe, squeeze, repeat - as he turns his head and licks the sweat in a line from the bottom of Jared’s neck up to just beneath his ear. Fire streaks into Jared’s belly and coils low, and he can’t keep from jerking his hips up into Jensen’s hand as he gets closer. Just as Jensen’s thumb passes over the head of Jared’s dick, he bites down on Jared’s earlobe and tugs, and that’s it. Jared comes with an admirably stifled whimper, ropes of come that Jensen catches with his hand, considerately keeping as much of it out of Jared’s pants as he can, working him through it with the slick of Jared’s own body.
Jared slouches into a boneless heap and because he’s a magic creature, Jensen somehow cleans up his hand before he slips it into Jared’s and twines their fingers together. He’s got a soft smile on his face like he’s the one who just had the mind blowing orgasm and Jared loves him so much he’s giddy with it.
The credits to the movie roll and the lights go up. Jared looks at his boyfriend and thinks today is going to be awesome.
***
And for dev_earl 's also awesome Crack Open the AU Cans comment fic meme:
Prompt: Pro-football!player!Jared/Coach!Jensen
Four minutes and thirteen seconds on the clock in the fourth quarter, and the Cowboys are down by three, third and five on the Vikings forty eight yard line. Jensen’s up and down the sidelines, pacing in between the line of scrimmage and the first down marker, listening to his offensive coordinator’s tinny voice rattling off the defense’s weaknesses as the play clock blinks into the single digits and Padalecki lines up behind the center, barking out the formation.
This is the most important game of Jensen’s life. Jerry Jones took a huge risk hiring him as head coach, the youngest ever in the NFL at thirty-two. He’s worked his ass off to make sure Jones didn’t regret it, and now, here he is in December, and everything - validation, success, his fucking team and all the guys who look to him for leadership - rides on the outcome of this contest. Whoever wins is into the playoffs. Whoever loses is out.
Jensen doesn’t fucking breathe after the snap. His quarterback drops into the pocket, offensive linemen giving him one second, two seconds, three second to find an open receiver for a short slant pass. Murray slips his coverage with a nifty little bit of footwork, and Padalecki sees him right away, makes a beautiful, perfect pass that can only come from the arm of a natural, like his body was made to do this and only this. It hits Murray in the numbers, right in the fucking numbers, and Jensen’s heart stops beating as Murray’s hands fumble with the football and he fucking drops it.
The home crowd groans together in shared horror. The Cowboys have to punt, down by three, with only one time out, because Murray goddamn dropped the ball.
Murray is on the sidelines in a flash, the offense coming off the field as special teams trots out, and Beaver, the offensive coordinator, is on his way over, face dangerously red. Jensen just pats Murray on the back as he walks by - damage is done already, and Jensen has other people do to his yelling for him. Like Beaver.
Before he can get there, though, Padalekci is in Murray’s grill, helmet in one hand, gesticulating wildly with both.
“What the fuck, Chad? Are you fucking kidding me?” Some QBs get pissed at their receivers when they drop balls because it looks bad on their stats, and because teams that drop a lot of balls don’t win a lot of games. Padalecki ‘s not that guy. He never shows up his receivers like this, and Jensen has no idea what’s going on in his quarterback’s head, but Jensen knows that he’s got to get it screwed on straight if they’re going to win this fucking game.
“Jared,” Jensen says, quietly, but the yelling stops immediately, like throwing a switch. He’s always been responsive like that to Jensen, never had an ego, never needed to assert himself as the alpha male. When Jensen talks, Jared just… listens. He sidles up to Jensen’s side, and Jensen can hear his agitated breathing, feel the sweat on his arm where it brushes against Jensen’s.
“Sorry,” Jared says without looking at him. Jensen thinks about what to say as they watch Collins kick a beautiful punt that the Vikings receiver only takes to the eleven yard line. They’ve got an advantage with field position, and they’ve got the number one defense in the league. They’ve still got a chance.
“Don’t be sorry,” Jensen says, and the tone of his voice slips into something that seems reserved specifically for Jared. It’s softer than he would like, and reveals too much. “Just do what you’re good at and win the fucking game.”
Finally, Jared looks over at him and flashes that ridiculous grin, wide mouth revealing white teeth and dimples cutting his cheeks. “Wow. That’s some sophisticated coaching.”
Jensen tries to focus on the fact that his quarterback is a smart ass with no respect, instead of the way his slicked-back hair is soaked with sweat and the way his golden brown skin pinks with excitement and exertion and the way his slanted hazel eyes are so fucking expressive, or the way all those elements of Jared would look in his bedroom, on his white sheets, begging. “You need me to draw you some pictures, Jay?”
“I don’t know, I might. Would they be naughty pictures?”
The crowd starts fucking screaming just as Jared finishes the question, like they approve. The Vikings have gone three and out, the tight Cowboys defense allowing only six yards in three plays, but they’ve taken the clock down to the two minute warning because they know Jensen has to save his timeout for kicking the tying field goal, if it comes down to that. He really, really hopes it doesn’t.
Adrenaline floods Jensen’s system as the return team heads onto the field, and he huffs at Jared’s flippancy. This is the game of their lives. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Could you maybe think about winning this football game, and save the pornography for later?”
Jared looks at him for way too long, long enough for Jensen to start blushing, even in the middle of all this… everything… and flashes that goddamn, infuriating, beautiful smile again. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.”
Jared puts on his helmet and joins his teammates in the huddle, buckling his chin strap and slapping Hodge on the back.
Watching Jared run an offense is like watching poetry come to life. He’s efficient, and precise, and perfect in his decisions. Jensen barks plays into his headset, and Jared executes them flawlessly. He leads the offense down the field like the defense isn’t even there.
With ten seconds remaining in the game, he’s got them down to the Vikings thirty-two. Jensen rattles off the play, and Jared looks at him. From twenty yards away, Jensen can see him grinning like a loon.
The Vikings are expecting them to run, to be conservative and keep inching forward to give their kicker a better chance at making the field goal. Jensen’s a lot of things, but conservative isn’t one of them.
Hodge breaks, running the route they’ve practiced a thousand times, and Jared fakes the handoff. Hodge is in the end zone, but he hasn’t bucked his coverage. Jared rears back and throws anyway, and Jensen bites his lip bloody as the ball sails in the air, a spiral that has to be perfectly placed to avoid the interception. Hodge leaps at the same time as the defender and comes down with the ball, cradling it to his chest with excellent control.
They just made the fucking playoffs.
Jensen rips off his headset and runs into the field, along with the rest of the team, jumping up and down and generally making an ass of himself. He does not care. He feels like eight million tons just got lifted from his shoulders and now he’s fucking flying.
Jensen starts shaking hands and exchanging “good games” with the Vikings coaching staff, even though he can’t hear a goddamn thing but the crowd yelling its approval and the PA system blaring a victory song. He’s got one eye on Jared, watching him celebrate - an absurdly goofy dance that somehow manages to be endearing - so he doesn’t notice his defensive line sneaking up behind him with a cooler of Gatorade. He gasps in shock as gallons of the sticky red cold drink get dumped on his head and run into his clothes, soaking him from head to foot.
He’s still spluttering when Jared makes his way through the throng of reporters and players and VIPs.
“Coach!” he yells, before wrapping his long arms around Jensen and pulling him into a tight hug that lifts Jensen’s feet off the ground for a second. Jared is a sweaty fucking mess, soaked through with it, along with some dirt and some blood, but Jensen is already wet and this feels too good to protest, sharing the results of all their hard work, all their happiness.
Jensen squeezes back as hard as he can and doesn’t think about all the things he shouldn’t want but does.
They stay like that for a long time, until Jared pulls back just enough to speak. “So, about that pornography,” Jared says, low and intimate and right into Jensen’s ear so that shivers shoot down his spine. “Why don’t you come over later?”