Mid-Afternoon Sun on Texas Sky (2/?)
Title: Mid-Afternoon Sun on Texas Sky
Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki
POV: Jensen Ackles
Author's Notes: It’s fiction. That means it’s not real, folks. Jensen and Jared are real people. So is Eric Kripke. The show “Supernatural” is a real TV show on the WB11. If anything else in this is real, I wasn’t aware of it.
This is a sequel to the previously ‘neverending story’, Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky. It finally ended.
Summary: Jensen and Jared go back to Texas for Christmas. Their relationship deepens and they take the next step… pr0n!
Spoilers: none to speak of
-------------------------
Chapter Two: Arousal
Rating: NC-17 for the m/m slash… handjob in the shower pr0n! Yes! There’s pr0n!!!
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Word Count: 3,026
Chapter Two: Arousal
I wake with a start, pulling myself out of the fuzzy depths of sleep-induced unconsciousness, wondering why I’m in the living room, and then, as reality slams into me, give a lurch, my heart beating fast in my chest-what time is it? We’re supposed to be at the airport at five… why didn’t my alarm go off? Why am I still on the couch?
Jared’s curled in my arms, his hair tickling my neck from where his head rests beneath my chin on my chest. He shifts, one arm sliding closer around my waist, his fingers tickling my side and kidneys between my back and the sofa cushions. I turn my head to look at the clock on the cable box. The LCD digital display clicks to 3:24 as I’m staring at it, and as I’m running through things in my head-things like ‘my alarm didn’t go off… we overslept… maybe we just didn’t hear it since we’re on the couch… we have to be out of the house in a half hour’ (it takes us forty-five minutes to an hour-fifteen to get to the airport from my apartment-depending on weather and traffic)-I hear the sound of my alarm drifting down the hall, an angry ‘beep-beep-beep’, and I lift my head to look down at my sleeping co-star. My sleeping roommate. My best friend. My boyfriend.
My head slams back against the armrest, almost painfully. My boyfriend. How long have I been thinking of Jared that way and just not realized it?
I can’t think of that now. We both have to shower and pack up our toiletries in near record-time now so we can be on the road by four. Not for the first time I thank myself for getting and keeping the two-bedroom apartment when I’d really only needed a one-bedroom. Two full bathrooms is certainly a perk, especially on days like this.
I gently shake Jared, whisper to him to wake up.
He groans, shifts again, then mumbles sleepily into my throat, “Mmmm… wha’time s’it?”
“Three-thirty.” I tell him, already moving to sit up, lifting Jared with me. “We have to shower, Jare… gotta be on the road in a half hour…”
“An hour.” He slurs, but sits up with me, starts rubbing his eyes with one hand. “We can still make it through security in an hour…” He’s slightly more understandable than he was seconds ago, but not much.
“Better to be safe than sorry. Get moving.” I push gently at his back, and stand up, watching as he lets himself fall back against the sofa, raising one arm over his eyes, peering at me over his forearm, between disheveled and too-long stray bangs.
“Shower, Jared. Better not be still on the sofa when I’m done.”
He’s right. We could probably make it through security and to our gate in an hour if we had to, but I know he’s going to want to stop at Starbucks once we hit the road, because there’s no place at the airport to get even halfway decent coffee. The Starbucks is five or six minutes in the opposite direction of the airport, so it’s at least another fifteen or twenty minutes in our trip that we don’t need if we’re running late.
I strip as I’m heading down the hall to my bedroom, toss the clothes I slept in on the floor near the door and grab a clean pair of boxer briefs from the dresser. I take jeans and a black tank to the bathroom-it’s going to be warm in Houston, likely where a hoodie over my tank top will be sufficiently warm. Hopefully we won’t be braving the cold here for more than the few minutes it takes to run from the apartment to the car, and from the car through the parking lot to the airport. I don’t want to carry a heavy coat with me to Texas.
I step into the shower once I get a steady stream of hot water coming from the showerhead, grab a washcloth and lather up. I think I hear the sound of water running in the main bathroom-which would mean Jared’s thankfully awake and off the couch-but the sound stops fast, so I can’t be sure.
Seconds later, there’s a tentative tapping at the glass door of my shower, and Jared’s voice filters through to my ears, soft and unsure. “Jensen?”
I’m thankful the shower door is opaque. “Jared!” I exclaim. “What… what do you want?”
“There’s a spider in the other shower.”
“So kill it and take a shower.” I tell him. I don’t think I’d be averse to showering with Jared, but it’s got to be his move. I’ve already decided I’m not going to push him into anything. Anything we do… any major steps in the sexuality or the physicality of our relationship… has to come from Jared first. I don’t want him to ever be uncomfortable with me, don’t want him to ever think I’ll hurt him like those people did when he was in high school. They beat him… they raped him. I will never hurt him that way.
I’m facing the wall the showerhead’s on, my eyes are closed under the spray, so I hear rather than see the shower door sliding open. “I… I was thinking… that maybe I could…” Jared whispers. “…shower… with you.”
“Jare…” I open my eyes and turn towards him. He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist. I’m naked, dripping with water and soap suds under a rainfall of hot water that stings my eyes. I blink. “Jare… I…”
Is he ready for this? He’s rocking on his heels, and he’s staring down at his feet, at the tracking the shower door rests in. I reach out of the shower and tilt his head up so I can look in his eyes. They shift from side to side, nervously, and he’s gnawing at his lower lip, sucking it into his mouth and chewing on it.
“Jare…”
“I’ll go… I’m sorry.” He whispers. “I didn’t mean to… I don’t…”
I grab his arm. “Jared, no.” I release his arm and step back, making room for him to step into the shower with me. I don’t know how much time we’re going to have for this… and I’m really hoping he’s not pushing himself too far with this… that he’s not doing it because he feels he has to…
He lets the towel fall to the floor around his feet, and he steps out of it, and into the shower stall, under the water with me. I take in all of him in one long glance, running the length of his body, head to toe, pausing slightly at the dark, coarse hair between his legs that surrounds a cock that’s impressive in size even flaccid. The scars are there, slightly more visible underwater, but they don’t detract from his attractiveness. He’s beautiful. It hurts me to know that he doesn’t think of himself that way. “Jare… I just…”
“We’re just showering together.” He says, bringing a finger to my lips, then pressing his chest to mine and letting his lips replace his finger.
Just showering. Right. My cock certainly doesn’t think so-it’s already taking more than just idle interest in the proceedings as I part my lips beneath Jared’s, allowing him to deepen our kiss.
Warm water seeps into our mouths, runs down our bodies, and I give in to the want/desire/need to touch him, taking the soap and running it over his shoulders, down the muscled span of his back, pausing just slightly at his hips before letting my hands skim down further, to cup his ass. He murmurs something that sounds like encouragement into my mouth, and his hands move from my hips to my thighs, tentatively moving between my legs.
He cups my balls in one hand, brings his other hand quickly up to silence me when I open my mouth. “Shhh… shhh, Jenny… I want to do this…” He whispers, dipping his head to lick at a trail of water along my collarbone, gently nipping and sucking at the pulse point in my neck when his lips find the throbbing vein.
“I… wasn’t… going to stop you…” I breathe, unable to stop my hips from pressing into Jared’s thighs.
He pushes me back, just enough to make me moan at the loss of warmth from his thighs against my dick. His hand slides around my cock, works up and down along the base, fingers brushing my balls and rustling my pubic hair.
“Tell me what you like, Jensen…” He whispers into my ear, and just his voice alone, that close to my ear, is enough to make me thrust into his hand-anything to keep that friction, that warmth, that pressure. Feels so good.
He chuckles, low and rumbling. I can feel his body tremble from it, and I press closer to him, tilting my neck, seeking his mouth with mine. He twists his wrist suddenly, a small jerk, a swirling motion with his palm over my throbbing erection. I suck in a breath, arching against him, and his teeth dig into my exposed neck, almost painfully, but I’m too lost in sensations to really be able to discern pleasure from pain anymore.
He slides one arm around me, keeping me against him. “I got you, Jen…” He whispers when my legs turn to Jello and threaten to give out on me. My hands are still cupped around the firm muscles of his butt, and I dig my fingers into them experimentally, pulling up, then releasing to let my hands slide up his back, and slowly down again. He murmurs my name, slides a finger between my balls as his palm strokes against the base of my dick.
He turns me around then, so my back presses to his chest, and I can feel his hard length at the small of my back as my head comes back to rest against his neck/shoulder. One thing about being smaller than Jared, I think… my head will always be able to rest just like this on his shoulder. It’s a nice coherent thought, but it’s erased quickly, as is the rest of any coherent thought I might have had, when he fists around my dick and starts jacking me off in earnest.
His breath is hot in my ear, the water is still warm against my skin, relaxing and soothing. There’s still soap dribbling in small bubbles along ridges of muscle-both his and mine, and as one of his legs wraps around mine, I can feel his cock press hot and hard and slick against my skin. “Jare…” I choke out.
“Does that feel good, Jen…” He whispers, sending shivers up and down my spine.
I don’t know if I can answer him. I know it’s just (just?) his hand, but it feels so good… and the way we fit together… Jared pressing behind me, our sweat washed away by the shower… I’m far from making any sense. I can’t think clearly, but I do know that this… with Jared… is worth it. Worth all the panic attacks, all the nights spent worrying, wondering, thinking too much and too hard about what other people might think. I know that this… This is what I was looking for.
“Tell me what feels good, Jen… tell me what you want me to do…” He slides his hand, slick with soap somehow-when did he soap up his hand?-up my length, lets his thumb flicker over the leaking tip.
“Oh… Jare…” I stumble over words. “Jare… please…” I just want to come. I slide one of my own hands down to help things along, and get a singing swat to the back of my hand as a reward. Swats hurt more when your skin is wet. I’m convinced of this.
“No.” He whispers harshly. “No.” He bats my hand away. “You don’t get to touch yourself, Jenny…”
I moan, a pitiful sound, turn my face into his neck to kiss his collarbone as a way of saying sorry, please don’t stop jerking me off, please let me come.
“Does that feel good, Jen…” He whispers, and his hand is moving again, sliding slowly-painstakingly so-up and down the length of my dick. I don’t think I can take much more of this. I’m surrounded by sensations, bombarded, and I can’t focus on just one of them. “Tell me… do you like it when I do this to you?” His thumb again trails almost painfully over the sensitive tip of me, mixing my pre-come with the still-warm water.
“Jare…” My tongue is thick in my mouth. “Jare… feels so good…”
He nudges my head up from his shoulder, dips his own head to nibble at the skin stretched tight over the bone and muscle of my shoulder. “What do you want, Jen… tell me how you want me to touch you… how you want me to make you come…”
He’s talking while he’s jacking my cock, and it’s such a turn-on. I’ve had Luanne talk me through a hand-job before, but never like this. Jared’s voice is deep, sends jolts of electricity through me like I’ve never felt before. His hand is huge, has calluses and wraps around me easily-pleasantly different from any girl’s dainty soft hand. Even the hard pressure of his cock against the upper curve of my ass, the heat of his body and the hardness of it-no breasts, no soft gentle curves, just roughened planes of muscle and sharp edges of bone-against mine… it all serves to arouse me further.
His hand moves to cup my balls, and he rolls them in his long fingers, slowly, gently. “Feel good, Jen…”
And there’s no teasing in his voice, and that tugs at my heart, because those words should be teasing, and perhaps from anyone else they would be, but not from Jared. I’m sure he knows it feels good, but he’s asking like he really needs to know, and it grates at me inside, that he’s so insecure… A flicker of doubt that it was just the attack that made him this way passes quickly… but it’s not the first time I’ve wondered. I’ll try to remember and ask him, but with what he’s doing to me, I doubt I’ll remember anything other than this…
“So good, Jare… just… yeah…” His fingers slide lower, curving around my balls and between my legs, sliding along the flesh between my dick and my asshole until his palm rests wide and warm against my balls. “Jare!” I thrust against him, arch my neck, press my skull into his shoulder. His middle finger presses against the rim of my hole but doesn’t penetrate, and his palm exerts gentle pressure against my balls. “Just… just like that… oh God, Jare…”
“The Lords name in vain… must be doing something right…” He chuckles, low in my ear. I’m too far gone to care. He moves his hand back up, encircling my cock, and he’s not teasing anymore, just moving in sure, strong strokes, still slow, but smooth and rhythmic, up and down, up and down.
I thrust into his hand, trying for that last piece of the puzzle, the last thing I need to come, but Jared stills me again, fingers holding bone. His hips suddenly draw back, and he pushes forward, and I can feel his length slip-slide against me, slick and smooth from the soap and water, hot and throbbing, stretched skin against skin.
“Jared!” I cry, as he bites down against my collarbone and pumps my cock faster.
“Come for me, Jenny…” He whispers in my ear, and he sounds almost broken for some reason, and I don’t know why. “Come for me…” He repeats, and the soft plea in his words sends me over the edge, and my hips jerk involuntarily, I buck into his hand, and I send strands of white-cream come all over me, the tile wall of the shower, and his hand.
I slump against him, too far gone for it to really register that he’s still rigidly hard, and hasn’t come. He’s holding me up, supporting me with one hand, while his other-the one he’d used to bring me to climax-fishes for the soap and washes me gently, skimming over the painfully sensitive flesh of my spent cock, pressing harder against the skin of my hips and thighs. “Shhh…” He murmurs in my ear when I breathe hard, whimper his name.
When I get my legs back, I turn to face him, kiss him deeply, cupping his face in my hands. “Jare…” I whisper into his mouth.
His hands move fast up water-soaked skin, fingers tweak my nipples. “You’re beautiful, Jen…” He smiles. “Beautiful when you come…”
I blush. I’ve heard that I’m hot, I’ve heard that I’m gorgeous, and even once or twice that I was ‘pretty’. No one has ever told me that I was beautiful before, and least of all not beautiful when I come.
“You didn’t…” I whisper.
He bites his lower lip. “It’s okay… we should go… before we’re late.”
My brow furrows at the twinge of nervousness in him, the way he stiffens and chews at the corner of his lip. “Jare…” I slide my hand slowly down his chest, raising my eyes to his, and my other hand to his head, to move through soaked locks of hair. His hair hangs heavy and sodden in his eyes, water running down silken strands along the curves of his cheeks, jaw, down his neck to the defined muscles of his abs. I let my hand trace the furrows of his belly, the cut muscle, and he tenses under my touch as my fingers glance over his scar.
He draws back. “Jare…” I whisper. “Jare… please… let me…”
He shakes his head ‘no’, even as my hand glides lower and lower. He doesn’t turn away from me until my fingers brush into his pubic hair. “Jen, no…” It’s a strangled, painful sound.
-------------------------
Characters/Pairing: Jensen Ackles / Jared Padalecki
POV: Jensen Ackles
Author's Notes: It’s fiction. That means it’s not real, folks. Jensen and Jared are real people. So is Eric Kripke. The show “Supernatural” is a real TV show on the WB11. If anything else in this is real, I wasn’t aware of it.
This is a sequel to the previously ‘neverending story’, Early Mornings and Late Nights Under Overcast Sky. It finally ended.
Summary: Jensen and Jared go back to Texas for Christmas. Their relationship deepens and they take the next step… pr0n!
Spoilers: none to speak of
-------------------------
Chapter Two: Arousal
Rating: NC-17 for the m/m slash… handjob in the shower pr0n! Yes! There’s pr0n!!!
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Word Count: 3,026
Chapter Two: Arousal
I wake with a start, pulling myself out of the fuzzy depths of sleep-induced unconsciousness, wondering why I’m in the living room, and then, as reality slams into me, give a lurch, my heart beating fast in my chest-what time is it? We’re supposed to be at the airport at five… why didn’t my alarm go off? Why am I still on the couch?
Jared’s curled in my arms, his hair tickling my neck from where his head rests beneath my chin on my chest. He shifts, one arm sliding closer around my waist, his fingers tickling my side and kidneys between my back and the sofa cushions. I turn my head to look at the clock on the cable box. The LCD digital display clicks to 3:24 as I’m staring at it, and as I’m running through things in my head-things like ‘my alarm didn’t go off… we overslept… maybe we just didn’t hear it since we’re on the couch… we have to be out of the house in a half hour’ (it takes us forty-five minutes to an hour-fifteen to get to the airport from my apartment-depending on weather and traffic)-I hear the sound of my alarm drifting down the hall, an angry ‘beep-beep-beep’, and I lift my head to look down at my sleeping co-star. My sleeping roommate. My best friend. My boyfriend.
My head slams back against the armrest, almost painfully. My boyfriend. How long have I been thinking of Jared that way and just not realized it?
I can’t think of that now. We both have to shower and pack up our toiletries in near record-time now so we can be on the road by four. Not for the first time I thank myself for getting and keeping the two-bedroom apartment when I’d really only needed a one-bedroom. Two full bathrooms is certainly a perk, especially on days like this.
I gently shake Jared, whisper to him to wake up.
He groans, shifts again, then mumbles sleepily into my throat, “Mmmm… wha’time s’it?”
“Three-thirty.” I tell him, already moving to sit up, lifting Jared with me. “We have to shower, Jare… gotta be on the road in a half hour…”
“An hour.” He slurs, but sits up with me, starts rubbing his eyes with one hand. “We can still make it through security in an hour…” He’s slightly more understandable than he was seconds ago, but not much.
“Better to be safe than sorry. Get moving.” I push gently at his back, and stand up, watching as he lets himself fall back against the sofa, raising one arm over his eyes, peering at me over his forearm, between disheveled and too-long stray bangs.
“Shower, Jared. Better not be still on the sofa when I’m done.”
He’s right. We could probably make it through security and to our gate in an hour if we had to, but I know he’s going to want to stop at Starbucks once we hit the road, because there’s no place at the airport to get even halfway decent coffee. The Starbucks is five or six minutes in the opposite direction of the airport, so it’s at least another fifteen or twenty minutes in our trip that we don’t need if we’re running late.
I strip as I’m heading down the hall to my bedroom, toss the clothes I slept in on the floor near the door and grab a clean pair of boxer briefs from the dresser. I take jeans and a black tank to the bathroom-it’s going to be warm in Houston, likely where a hoodie over my tank top will be sufficiently warm. Hopefully we won’t be braving the cold here for more than the few minutes it takes to run from the apartment to the car, and from the car through the parking lot to the airport. I don’t want to carry a heavy coat with me to Texas.
I step into the shower once I get a steady stream of hot water coming from the showerhead, grab a washcloth and lather up. I think I hear the sound of water running in the main bathroom-which would mean Jared’s thankfully awake and off the couch-but the sound stops fast, so I can’t be sure.
Seconds later, there’s a tentative tapping at the glass door of my shower, and Jared’s voice filters through to my ears, soft and unsure. “Jensen?”
I’m thankful the shower door is opaque. “Jared!” I exclaim. “What… what do you want?”
“There’s a spider in the other shower.”
“So kill it and take a shower.” I tell him. I don’t think I’d be averse to showering with Jared, but it’s got to be his move. I’ve already decided I’m not going to push him into anything. Anything we do… any major steps in the sexuality or the physicality of our relationship… has to come from Jared first. I don’t want him to ever be uncomfortable with me, don’t want him to ever think I’ll hurt him like those people did when he was in high school. They beat him… they raped him. I will never hurt him that way.
I’m facing the wall the showerhead’s on, my eyes are closed under the spray, so I hear rather than see the shower door sliding open. “I… I was thinking… that maybe I could…” Jared whispers. “…shower… with you.”
“Jare…” I open my eyes and turn towards him. He’s got a towel wrapped around his waist. I’m naked, dripping with water and soap suds under a rainfall of hot water that stings my eyes. I blink. “Jare… I…”
Is he ready for this? He’s rocking on his heels, and he’s staring down at his feet, at the tracking the shower door rests in. I reach out of the shower and tilt his head up so I can look in his eyes. They shift from side to side, nervously, and he’s gnawing at his lower lip, sucking it into his mouth and chewing on it.
“Jare…”
“I’ll go… I’m sorry.” He whispers. “I didn’t mean to… I don’t…”
I grab his arm. “Jared, no.” I release his arm and step back, making room for him to step into the shower with me. I don’t know how much time we’re going to have for this… and I’m really hoping he’s not pushing himself too far with this… that he’s not doing it because he feels he has to…
He lets the towel fall to the floor around his feet, and he steps out of it, and into the shower stall, under the water with me. I take in all of him in one long glance, running the length of his body, head to toe, pausing slightly at the dark, coarse hair between his legs that surrounds a cock that’s impressive in size even flaccid. The scars are there, slightly more visible underwater, but they don’t detract from his attractiveness. He’s beautiful. It hurts me to know that he doesn’t think of himself that way. “Jare… I just…”
“We’re just showering together.” He says, bringing a finger to my lips, then pressing his chest to mine and letting his lips replace his finger.
Just showering. Right. My cock certainly doesn’t think so-it’s already taking more than just idle interest in the proceedings as I part my lips beneath Jared’s, allowing him to deepen our kiss.
Warm water seeps into our mouths, runs down our bodies, and I give in to the want/desire/need to touch him, taking the soap and running it over his shoulders, down the muscled span of his back, pausing just slightly at his hips before letting my hands skim down further, to cup his ass. He murmurs something that sounds like encouragement into my mouth, and his hands move from my hips to my thighs, tentatively moving between my legs.
He cups my balls in one hand, brings his other hand quickly up to silence me when I open my mouth. “Shhh… shhh, Jenny… I want to do this…” He whispers, dipping his head to lick at a trail of water along my collarbone, gently nipping and sucking at the pulse point in my neck when his lips find the throbbing vein.
“I… wasn’t… going to stop you…” I breathe, unable to stop my hips from pressing into Jared’s thighs.
He pushes me back, just enough to make me moan at the loss of warmth from his thighs against my dick. His hand slides around my cock, works up and down along the base, fingers brushing my balls and rustling my pubic hair.
“Tell me what you like, Jensen…” He whispers into my ear, and just his voice alone, that close to my ear, is enough to make me thrust into his hand-anything to keep that friction, that warmth, that pressure. Feels so good.
He chuckles, low and rumbling. I can feel his body tremble from it, and I press closer to him, tilting my neck, seeking his mouth with mine. He twists his wrist suddenly, a small jerk, a swirling motion with his palm over my throbbing erection. I suck in a breath, arching against him, and his teeth dig into my exposed neck, almost painfully, but I’m too lost in sensations to really be able to discern pleasure from pain anymore.
He slides one arm around me, keeping me against him. “I got you, Jen…” He whispers when my legs turn to Jello and threaten to give out on me. My hands are still cupped around the firm muscles of his butt, and I dig my fingers into them experimentally, pulling up, then releasing to let my hands slide up his back, and slowly down again. He murmurs my name, slides a finger between my balls as his palm strokes against the base of my dick.
He turns me around then, so my back presses to his chest, and I can feel his hard length at the small of my back as my head comes back to rest against his neck/shoulder. One thing about being smaller than Jared, I think… my head will always be able to rest just like this on his shoulder. It’s a nice coherent thought, but it’s erased quickly, as is the rest of any coherent thought I might have had, when he fists around my dick and starts jacking me off in earnest.
His breath is hot in my ear, the water is still warm against my skin, relaxing and soothing. There’s still soap dribbling in small bubbles along ridges of muscle-both his and mine, and as one of his legs wraps around mine, I can feel his cock press hot and hard and slick against my skin. “Jare…” I choke out.
“Does that feel good, Jen…” He whispers, sending shivers up and down my spine.
I don’t know if I can answer him. I know it’s just (just?) his hand, but it feels so good… and the way we fit together… Jared pressing behind me, our sweat washed away by the shower… I’m far from making any sense. I can’t think clearly, but I do know that this… with Jared… is worth it. Worth all the panic attacks, all the nights spent worrying, wondering, thinking too much and too hard about what other people might think. I know that this… This is what I was looking for.
“Tell me what feels good, Jen… tell me what you want me to do…” He slides his hand, slick with soap somehow-when did he soap up his hand?-up my length, lets his thumb flicker over the leaking tip.
“Oh… Jare…” I stumble over words. “Jare… please…” I just want to come. I slide one of my own hands down to help things along, and get a singing swat to the back of my hand as a reward. Swats hurt more when your skin is wet. I’m convinced of this.
“No.” He whispers harshly. “No.” He bats my hand away. “You don’t get to touch yourself, Jenny…”
I moan, a pitiful sound, turn my face into his neck to kiss his collarbone as a way of saying sorry, please don’t stop jerking me off, please let me come.
“Does that feel good, Jen…” He whispers, and his hand is moving again, sliding slowly-painstakingly so-up and down the length of my dick. I don’t think I can take much more of this. I’m surrounded by sensations, bombarded, and I can’t focus on just one of them. “Tell me… do you like it when I do this to you?” His thumb again trails almost painfully over the sensitive tip of me, mixing my pre-come with the still-warm water.
“Jare…” My tongue is thick in my mouth. “Jare… feels so good…”
He nudges my head up from his shoulder, dips his own head to nibble at the skin stretched tight over the bone and muscle of my shoulder. “What do you want, Jen… tell me how you want me to touch you… how you want me to make you come…”
He’s talking while he’s jacking my cock, and it’s such a turn-on. I’ve had Luanne talk me through a hand-job before, but never like this. Jared’s voice is deep, sends jolts of electricity through me like I’ve never felt before. His hand is huge, has calluses and wraps around me easily-pleasantly different from any girl’s dainty soft hand. Even the hard pressure of his cock against the upper curve of my ass, the heat of his body and the hardness of it-no breasts, no soft gentle curves, just roughened planes of muscle and sharp edges of bone-against mine… it all serves to arouse me further.
His hand moves to cup my balls, and he rolls them in his long fingers, slowly, gently. “Feel good, Jen…”
And there’s no teasing in his voice, and that tugs at my heart, because those words should be teasing, and perhaps from anyone else they would be, but not from Jared. I’m sure he knows it feels good, but he’s asking like he really needs to know, and it grates at me inside, that he’s so insecure… A flicker of doubt that it was just the attack that made him this way passes quickly… but it’s not the first time I’ve wondered. I’ll try to remember and ask him, but with what he’s doing to me, I doubt I’ll remember anything other than this…
“So good, Jare… just… yeah…” His fingers slide lower, curving around my balls and between my legs, sliding along the flesh between my dick and my asshole until his palm rests wide and warm against my balls. “Jare!” I thrust against him, arch my neck, press my skull into his shoulder. His middle finger presses against the rim of my hole but doesn’t penetrate, and his palm exerts gentle pressure against my balls. “Just… just like that… oh God, Jare…”
“The Lords name in vain… must be doing something right…” He chuckles, low in my ear. I’m too far gone to care. He moves his hand back up, encircling my cock, and he’s not teasing anymore, just moving in sure, strong strokes, still slow, but smooth and rhythmic, up and down, up and down.
I thrust into his hand, trying for that last piece of the puzzle, the last thing I need to come, but Jared stills me again, fingers holding bone. His hips suddenly draw back, and he pushes forward, and I can feel his length slip-slide against me, slick and smooth from the soap and water, hot and throbbing, stretched skin against skin.
“Jared!” I cry, as he bites down against my collarbone and pumps my cock faster.
“Come for me, Jenny…” He whispers in my ear, and he sounds almost broken for some reason, and I don’t know why. “Come for me…” He repeats, and the soft plea in his words sends me over the edge, and my hips jerk involuntarily, I buck into his hand, and I send strands of white-cream come all over me, the tile wall of the shower, and his hand.
I slump against him, too far gone for it to really register that he’s still rigidly hard, and hasn’t come. He’s holding me up, supporting me with one hand, while his other-the one he’d used to bring me to climax-fishes for the soap and washes me gently, skimming over the painfully sensitive flesh of my spent cock, pressing harder against the skin of my hips and thighs. “Shhh…” He murmurs in my ear when I breathe hard, whimper his name.
When I get my legs back, I turn to face him, kiss him deeply, cupping his face in my hands. “Jare…” I whisper into his mouth.
His hands move fast up water-soaked skin, fingers tweak my nipples. “You’re beautiful, Jen…” He smiles. “Beautiful when you come…”
I blush. I’ve heard that I’m hot, I’ve heard that I’m gorgeous, and even once or twice that I was ‘pretty’. No one has ever told me that I was beautiful before, and least of all not beautiful when I come.
“You didn’t…” I whisper.
He bites his lower lip. “It’s okay… we should go… before we’re late.”
My brow furrows at the twinge of nervousness in him, the way he stiffens and chews at the corner of his lip. “Jare…” I slide my hand slowly down his chest, raising my eyes to his, and my other hand to his head, to move through soaked locks of hair. His hair hangs heavy and sodden in his eyes, water running down silken strands along the curves of his cheeks, jaw, down his neck to the defined muscles of his abs. I let my hand trace the furrows of his belly, the cut muscle, and he tenses under my touch as my fingers glance over his scar.
He draws back. “Jare…” I whisper. “Jare… please… let me…”
He shakes his head ‘no’, even as my hand glides lower and lower. He doesn’t turn away from me until my fingers brush into his pubic hair. “Jen, no…” It’s a strangled, painful sound.
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