this time [Jeff/Jensen]
Ummm, I have no idea where this came from. After a year of forcing out fragments of one fic after another like pulling teeth (and letting them die on my hard drive unfinished), this just kind of popped into existence. wtf.
Totally written as a stand-alone, but I have a sneaking suspicion it’s the origin story of this Jeff and Jensen. *squints and tilts head* that makes sense to me somehow. heart in your teeth got recced a few weeks back and I think I must have had it on my mind. But really, they’re separate.
Title: this time.
Author: Mel (thatotherperv)
Pairing: Jeff/Jensen
Rating: R?
Length: 1,650 words
Summary: in which Jensen makes a habit of getting high and molesting Jeff. Sort of.
Warnings: casual drug use. angst. not nearly enough porn, but that’s all Jensen’s fault. he should learn the virtue of moderation.
Jeff tastes like pot, rare steak, and amber beer. Jensen’s only a fan of the first two, but it doesn’t really matter. Underneath the intoxicated haze of warmth, his stomach still flutters nervously. It only calms a little at the stabilizing hand that cups his neck. Then Jeff’s thumb sweeps along his pulse and he feels a whole-body shudder that comes from nowhere.
Jeff’s kitchen is dark except for the dim yellow bulb lit up above the sink, and the house is dead quiet. In the living room, he hears dog tags jingle, but it makes him wonder when all their friends left. They were here just a minute ago, Jensen’s sure. Chris was mumbling and it made Jared laugh and Jensen wondered what that was all about but didn’t care enough to ask. Didn’t care about much beyond the warm fingers tripping up and down his back and his own lack of panicky fear.
Then Jeff kissed him and Jensen kissed back and now it’s dark and quiet like Jensen skipped a beat in time.
His hands feel heavy. It’s not til Jeff’s eyes blink open that he realizes they’re resting against Jeff’s shoulders.
Oh.
He slides one down, consciously, over the cotton of Jeff’s shoulder blade to rest where thin padding protects Jeff’s kidney. He’s fascinated by the sight of his other hand against Jeff’s pec. It’s been there before, with pressure like get away, but now it’s just curved there lightly, over Jeff’s heart.
“I’m really high,” he observes staring, and Jeff makes a pained little sound that vibrates under Jensen’s palm.
His eyelids are still heavy when Jensen looks up, but he’s a little pinched at the corners.
“Jen.”
He can feel Jeff start to withdraw before he even moves.
“No,” Jensen clarifies, “I just…don’t think I can feel my dick.”
Jeff’s face goes through a kaleidoscope of uncomfortable expressions and Jensen starts to laugh, with a dim knowledge that the pot was most definitely talking. Likely conversing with his last three beers. It’s nice to be with Jeff and feel unembarrassed, to touch him and actually relax. When he finally stops laughing, light-headed, he can feel the smile on his own face, and Jeff’s teeth are showing. Nice.
His eyes are still a little…something, like he’s not as high as Jensen. Like he’s thinking way too much.
“Don’t worry,” Jensen orders. His nose slots underneath Jeff’s jaw, where there’s stubble and grill smoke. Jeff shudders and Jensen wonders if his face is cold from being outside. Jeff’s vocal cords vibrate under his mouth but he’s too lost in the scent to pay attention to what Jeff said. “Don’t worry,” he says. It seems like good advice.
It’s quiet in the house. Where’d everybody go? “Where’d they all go?”
Jeff’s hand tightens on the back of Jensen’s neck when his teeth nip in. Jeff tastes like he smells. “Home,” Jensen hears. “…’spect to hear about this tomorrow.”
“Mmm.” Jeff is warm underneath his shirt. Jensen’s hands must be cold, because they make his skin jump and ripple. Jensen sways on his feet, tilting forward to press Jeff into the counter. “How come we’re standing up?”
Jeff’s laugh is choked and funny-sounding. Jensen runs his nails down Jeff’s side and he swears. “Dunno, sweetheart, just are.”
“Sweetheart,” he repeats to himself. It sparks that warm burn in his gut, but he doesn’t think he’s blushing. That’s nice. “You should fix that.”
Jeff’s hands come to both cup his face and pull Jensen’s nose from the charcoal-y smell of his collar. He looks kind of soft and happy, even if his eyebrows disagree with the rest of his face. Fond. He looks fond.
“You like me,” Jensen states. It’s kinda funny how his face smiles when he says it, so he lets out a little laugh.
Jeff laughs back, eyes bright. “Sharp as a tack, kid.”
Jensen falls forward for another kiss but Jeff won’t let it connect. “Don’t worry,” Jensen tries, because that worked well before.
“Somebody upstairs hates me,” Jeff mutters, but Jeff’s house is only one floor. Jensen says so, and Jeff cracks up, which is progress towards his goal. Not enough progress, because when Jensen leans in, Jeff diverts his lips to the tip of Jensen’s nose. “Guest room,” he says with finality, and Jensen sneaks his way back under Jeff’s chin, making a sound of definite disagreement.
“Your room.” He goes in for the kill, mouth open and wet against Jeff’s throat, not just because Jeff tastes like Texas in the springtime. He’s being persuasive. Jeff tries to pull him back but he’s not trying hard, and Jensen twists up to nose at his ear.
Jeff swears again, and Jensen chuckles.
“You’re the devil,” Jeff says, but he’s smiling, Jensen can tell. Jensen sucks on the soft patch under Jeff’s earlobe and Jeff sighs, will collapsing. His hand is warm through Jensen’s t-shirt when it smooths up and down his spine. He gives a little squeeze at the nape of Jensen’s neck. A squeeze can’t be sad, but this one is.
Jensen props his forehead against Jeff’s collarbone. “It’s ok. I mean it. Really. Please.”
He sounds like a little boy to his own ears, one more show before bedtime. He thinks Jeff hears that too, though his voice is rough, smoked-out. They’ve been here before. He cringes, expecting to be turned towards the spare room but Jeff takes him to the master, hand warm in his.
It’s darker than the kitchen. Jeff doesn’t flip on the light. He pushes Jensen on the bed fully-clothed, and settles down on top of him.
Jensen exhales and it sounds like a moan. He still can’t feel his dick, but Jeff’s weight is great. Just awesome. Jeff tenses up like he’s pulling away and Jensen cranes up and kisses him.
“D’worry,” he says. The new mantra. There’s a beat before Jeff lets himself sink against him.
He kisses like he’s distracted, like Jensen’s gonna shove him off. He won’t let him take off any of their clothing.
Jensen wants skin, but he gives up eventually. After a while, Jeff goes loose and kisses like he means it. They make out forever, his lips sore, his tongue exhausted. It gets harder and harder to open his eyes when he wants to.
He falls asleep at some point, maybe just a second. Could be an hour, though. Weed’s like that. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he and Jeff are twisted together sideways and there’s warm breath against his face. He’s not sure how, but he knows that Jeff’s awake.
“Like you, too, you know,” he mumbles, but only half the syllables really come out. “’m’sorry. Can’t feel my dick.”
There’s a rush of air against his face and the bed jiggles underneath him. He’s warm and it’s dark, and Jeff smells nice.
Jensen wakes up knowing that he fell asleep more high than drunk. It’s his very first thought. Because the light coming in the window doesn’t hurt very much and his stomach’s fine but his mouth is dry. His head feels cottony cuz the pot always lingers.
He’s dressed.
The sheets don’t smell like him.
This isn’t his house.
Jeff.
Jensen rolls onto his back and blinks at the ceiling, waiting for the jerk of panic that should accompany that thought, but nothing comes. He brushes his fingers over his lips. They feel puffy from suction.
But mostly he’s ok.
Jeff’s not here, though.
He sits up and presses at the inside corner of both eyes, blinking to make his contacts rotate where they belong, and his eyes stop itching. He wants to rub but if one pops out, he can’t drive himself home.
Bisou greets him at the door of the bedroom with a friendly nose to his crotch, blunt like her daddy never can be. He tries to rub behind her ears and she tries to eat his fingers, close on his heels all the way to the kitchen, where there’s bacon cooking. She squeezes past him when he pauses in the doorway, leaning against the jamb.
Jeff must have heard him come in but he doesn’t turn away from the stove. His ear is red, and his shoulders are stiff. It hurts to see how little Jeff can trust him, but it’s not undeserved. They’ve never made it to a morning after. Jeff’s probably braced for the worst.
“Hi,” he tries eventually.
Jeff turns his head but his eyes don’t connect. “Hey, I made breakfast.” Overbright, like it’s one long word.
Jensen chews his lip. Jeff smiles skittishly when he stops at his elbow, which is just so wrong. Jeff shouldn’t look like that. Jensen moves the pan to the back burner and slips between Jeff and the stove.
“Hi,” he tries again.
He kisses Jeff with his mouth closed, because he probably tastes gross. And finally gets looked in the eye.
Jeff’s eyes warm up and his mouth quirks, but he doesn’t say a word.
“What?” Jensen asks.
“Mm.” Jeff looks at his mouth and then back at his eyes. “Just. Waiting to see if I get slapped in the face.”
He’s joking, but only mostly. He’s never been bitch-slapped, but a couple times, close enough. Jensen makes himself smile. Tilts his head and looks over his shoulder like he’s listening to something.
“What?” Jeff takes the bait.
“Waiting to see if I feel like slapping you.”
Jeff snickers, and cuffs him at the base of his skull. It turns into a tug that turns into a kiss, good and sober. Jeff studies his face when he pulls away, but he doesn’t look wary.
“Took you long enough.” It’s so quiet, Jensen could pretend not to hear it.
“Hey, Jeff?” he asks at a normal volume. Jeff’s brows bunch together. “I can feel my dick.”
Jeff throws back his head and laughs.
Totally written as a stand-alone, but I have a sneaking suspicion it’s the origin story of this Jeff and Jensen. *squints and tilts head* that makes sense to me somehow. heart in your teeth got recced a few weeks back and I think I must have had it on my mind. But really, they’re separate.
Title: this time.
Author: Mel (thatotherperv)
Pairing: Jeff/Jensen
Rating: R?
Length: 1,650 words
Summary: in which Jensen makes a habit of getting high and molesting Jeff. Sort of.
Warnings: casual drug use. angst. not nearly enough porn, but that’s all Jensen’s fault. he should learn the virtue of moderation.
Jeff tastes like pot, rare steak, and amber beer. Jensen’s only a fan of the first two, but it doesn’t really matter. Underneath the intoxicated haze of warmth, his stomach still flutters nervously. It only calms a little at the stabilizing hand that cups his neck. Then Jeff’s thumb sweeps along his pulse and he feels a whole-body shudder that comes from nowhere.
Jeff’s kitchen is dark except for the dim yellow bulb lit up above the sink, and the house is dead quiet. In the living room, he hears dog tags jingle, but it makes him wonder when all their friends left. They were here just a minute ago, Jensen’s sure. Chris was mumbling and it made Jared laugh and Jensen wondered what that was all about but didn’t care enough to ask. Didn’t care about much beyond the warm fingers tripping up and down his back and his own lack of panicky fear.
Then Jeff kissed him and Jensen kissed back and now it’s dark and quiet like Jensen skipped a beat in time.
His hands feel heavy. It’s not til Jeff’s eyes blink open that he realizes they’re resting against Jeff’s shoulders.
Oh.
He slides one down, consciously, over the cotton of Jeff’s shoulder blade to rest where thin padding protects Jeff’s kidney. He’s fascinated by the sight of his other hand against Jeff’s pec. It’s been there before, with pressure like get away, but now it’s just curved there lightly, over Jeff’s heart.
“I’m really high,” he observes staring, and Jeff makes a pained little sound that vibrates under Jensen’s palm.
His eyelids are still heavy when Jensen looks up, but he’s a little pinched at the corners.
“Jen.”
He can feel Jeff start to withdraw before he even moves.
“No,” Jensen clarifies, “I just…don’t think I can feel my dick.”
Jeff’s face goes through a kaleidoscope of uncomfortable expressions and Jensen starts to laugh, with a dim knowledge that the pot was most definitely talking. Likely conversing with his last three beers. It’s nice to be with Jeff and feel unembarrassed, to touch him and actually relax. When he finally stops laughing, light-headed, he can feel the smile on his own face, and Jeff’s teeth are showing. Nice.
His eyes are still a little…something, like he’s not as high as Jensen. Like he’s thinking way too much.
“Don’t worry,” Jensen orders. His nose slots underneath Jeff’s jaw, where there’s stubble and grill smoke. Jeff shudders and Jensen wonders if his face is cold from being outside. Jeff’s vocal cords vibrate under his mouth but he’s too lost in the scent to pay attention to what Jeff said. “Don’t worry,” he says. It seems like good advice.
It’s quiet in the house. Where’d everybody go? “Where’d they all go?”
Jeff’s hand tightens on the back of Jensen’s neck when his teeth nip in. Jeff tastes like he smells. “Home,” Jensen hears. “…’spect to hear about this tomorrow.”
“Mmm.” Jeff is warm underneath his shirt. Jensen’s hands must be cold, because they make his skin jump and ripple. Jensen sways on his feet, tilting forward to press Jeff into the counter. “How come we’re standing up?”
Jeff’s laugh is choked and funny-sounding. Jensen runs his nails down Jeff’s side and he swears. “Dunno, sweetheart, just are.”
“Sweetheart,” he repeats to himself. It sparks that warm burn in his gut, but he doesn’t think he’s blushing. That’s nice. “You should fix that.”
Jeff’s hands come to both cup his face and pull Jensen’s nose from the charcoal-y smell of his collar. He looks kind of soft and happy, even if his eyebrows disagree with the rest of his face. Fond. He looks fond.
“You like me,” Jensen states. It’s kinda funny how his face smiles when he says it, so he lets out a little laugh.
Jeff laughs back, eyes bright. “Sharp as a tack, kid.”
Jensen falls forward for another kiss but Jeff won’t let it connect. “Don’t worry,” Jensen tries, because that worked well before.
“Somebody upstairs hates me,” Jeff mutters, but Jeff’s house is only one floor. Jensen says so, and Jeff cracks up, which is progress towards his goal. Not enough progress, because when Jensen leans in, Jeff diverts his lips to the tip of Jensen’s nose. “Guest room,” he says with finality, and Jensen sneaks his way back under Jeff’s chin, making a sound of definite disagreement.
“Your room.” He goes in for the kill, mouth open and wet against Jeff’s throat, not just because Jeff tastes like Texas in the springtime. He’s being persuasive. Jeff tries to pull him back but he’s not trying hard, and Jensen twists up to nose at his ear.
Jeff swears again, and Jensen chuckles.
“You’re the devil,” Jeff says, but he’s smiling, Jensen can tell. Jensen sucks on the soft patch under Jeff’s earlobe and Jeff sighs, will collapsing. His hand is warm through Jensen’s t-shirt when it smooths up and down his spine. He gives a little squeeze at the nape of Jensen’s neck. A squeeze can’t be sad, but this one is.
Jensen props his forehead against Jeff’s collarbone. “It’s ok. I mean it. Really. Please.”
He sounds like a little boy to his own ears, one more show before bedtime. He thinks Jeff hears that too, though his voice is rough, smoked-out. They’ve been here before. He cringes, expecting to be turned towards the spare room but Jeff takes him to the master, hand warm in his.
It’s darker than the kitchen. Jeff doesn’t flip on the light. He pushes Jensen on the bed fully-clothed, and settles down on top of him.
Jensen exhales and it sounds like a moan. He still can’t feel his dick, but Jeff’s weight is great. Just awesome. Jeff tenses up like he’s pulling away and Jensen cranes up and kisses him.
“D’worry,” he says. The new mantra. There’s a beat before Jeff lets himself sink against him.
He kisses like he’s distracted, like Jensen’s gonna shove him off. He won’t let him take off any of their clothing.
Jensen wants skin, but he gives up eventually. After a while, Jeff goes loose and kisses like he means it. They make out forever, his lips sore, his tongue exhausted. It gets harder and harder to open his eyes when he wants to.
He falls asleep at some point, maybe just a second. Could be an hour, though. Weed’s like that. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he and Jeff are twisted together sideways and there’s warm breath against his face. He’s not sure how, but he knows that Jeff’s awake.
“Like you, too, you know,” he mumbles, but only half the syllables really come out. “’m’sorry. Can’t feel my dick.”
There’s a rush of air against his face and the bed jiggles underneath him. He’s warm and it’s dark, and Jeff smells nice.
Jensen wakes up knowing that he fell asleep more high than drunk. It’s his very first thought. Because the light coming in the window doesn’t hurt very much and his stomach’s fine but his mouth is dry. His head feels cottony cuz the pot always lingers.
He’s dressed.
The sheets don’t smell like him.
This isn’t his house.
Jeff.
Jensen rolls onto his back and blinks at the ceiling, waiting for the jerk of panic that should accompany that thought, but nothing comes. He brushes his fingers over his lips. They feel puffy from suction.
But mostly he’s ok.
Jeff’s not here, though.
He sits up and presses at the inside corner of both eyes, blinking to make his contacts rotate where they belong, and his eyes stop itching. He wants to rub but if one pops out, he can’t drive himself home.
Bisou greets him at the door of the bedroom with a friendly nose to his crotch, blunt like her daddy never can be. He tries to rub behind her ears and she tries to eat his fingers, close on his heels all the way to the kitchen, where there’s bacon cooking. She squeezes past him when he pauses in the doorway, leaning against the jamb.
Jeff must have heard him come in but he doesn’t turn away from the stove. His ear is red, and his shoulders are stiff. It hurts to see how little Jeff can trust him, but it’s not undeserved. They’ve never made it to a morning after. Jeff’s probably braced for the worst.
“Hi,” he tries eventually.
Jeff turns his head but his eyes don’t connect. “Hey, I made breakfast.” Overbright, like it’s one long word.
Jensen chews his lip. Jeff smiles skittishly when he stops at his elbow, which is just so wrong. Jeff shouldn’t look like that. Jensen moves the pan to the back burner and slips between Jeff and the stove.
“Hi,” he tries again.
He kisses Jeff with his mouth closed, because he probably tastes gross. And finally gets looked in the eye.
Jeff’s eyes warm up and his mouth quirks, but he doesn’t say a word.
“What?” Jensen asks.
“Mm.” Jeff looks at his mouth and then back at his eyes. “Just. Waiting to see if I get slapped in the face.”
He’s joking, but only mostly. He’s never been bitch-slapped, but a couple times, close enough. Jensen makes himself smile. Tilts his head and looks over his shoulder like he’s listening to something.
“What?” Jeff takes the bait.
“Waiting to see if I feel like slapping you.”
Jeff snickers, and cuffs him at the base of his skull. It turns into a tug that turns into a kiss, good and sober. Jeff studies his face when he pulls away, but he doesn’t look wary.
“Took you long enough.” It’s so quiet, Jensen could pretend not to hear it.
“Hey, Jeff?” he asks at a normal volume. Jeff’s brows bunch together. “I can feel my dick.”
Jeff throws back his head and laughs.