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Entry tags:
weekend plan
Weekend Plan
CWrpf
Pairing: JA/JDM
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Don't know anyone or anything; it's all just a pretty pretty story.
Also on AOOO, here.
Jeff's been around for a while, long enough to know when he should walk the other way, but Jensen has this knack of getting past every damn bit of good sense Jeff possesses. And it doesn't even have anything to do with what Jensen can do with that incredibly talented mouth and Jeff's dick. Well, okay, that does play into it, but getting his dick sucked well isn't all that hard, especially not these days.
It started off fast and hot, both of them blowing off steam, blasting through the adrenaline rush of too many intense scenes so they could get some sleep and start it all over again the next day. But then, well, Jeff's always had tendencies better suited to a Jewish grandmother than a single, childless guy, and it was pretty much all she wrote the first time he laid his hand on the back of Jensen's neck, nothing sexual, nothing more than a touch, and felt every muscle under the warm skin relaxing under his fingers.
He knows what most of his friends think, but are too polite to say, with mid-life crisis being the mildest of the unspoken opinions. Jensen knows it, too; knows it and has entirely too much fun with it, which should be the first tip-off to everyone that they're wrong. But hell, it's not like Jeff hasn't thought it himself on particularly bad mornings, when they're on opposite sides of the world and missing Jen hits him hard and low. It'd be simpler if it was only that, but then, mid-life crises don't generally come with snarky attitudes and wet towels left scattered across the bathroom, no matter how fucking gorgeous they look lounging in the passenger seat of a convertible.
Jensen's wrapped too tight most of the time, but... Jeff's okay with that. He doesn't go into things wanting to change people, make them be something they're not. He's not gonna lie and say he doesn't wish Jensen could go a little easier on himself, but that's for Jen to work out in his own time. Not that Jeff won't take matters into his own hands occasionally, when he thinks Jensen's stretched too thin, when he reaches his own--admittedly not high--threshold of aggravation.
It works the other way around, too. Jensen will only let Jeff slide for so long before he's poking and prodding and getting him all cranked up. Jared claims it's better than a soap opera and has threatened more than once to come over with chips and beer to watch the fun. He grins big when he says it--Jeff's almost sure he's kidding.
When Jeff decides Jensen needs to calm the fuck down--and it doesn't happen as often as it might, mostly because they're not together all that much and when they are, they're both making a big effort for things to be good--the first thing he does is stuff Jen's cell phone deep into his suitcase. That way, he can be sure there won't be any interruptions while he takes his time, lays Jensen out on the big bed and fucks him slow and deep, not stopping until Jen comes apart under him, shaking and gasping. If he's done it right, Jensen won't even stay awake long enough for Jeff to drag the comforter up over them both.
The first few times he did it, Jeff kept the room dark so Jensen would sleep long into the morning, but that had turned out to be exactly wrong. Now he makes sure the curtains are pulled back and the blinds wide open so the morning light wakes them. Jensen's still tired enough not to be a completely stubborn prick about not having his phone; still tired enough that Jeff can manhandle him into the shower with only minor threats. And the truth is they're both whores for making out under the spray, especially with a virtually endless supply of hot water.
That takes care of another layer of stress, and then Jeff can pull out the big guns. Or gun, singular, though still more effective than any ten relaxation techniques. Jensen's stubborn, but he's no match for Bisou. All Jeff has to do is get the top down on the car and load them in, handing off a travel mug full of just enough coffee to stop Jensen from getting caffeine withdrawal, and head north on PCH. They only need a little bit of space, so as soon as Jensen's leg starts jittering, Jeff pulls into the next open spot he sees and lets his girl take it from there.
Jeff takes a lot of peace from the driving, but this, the sand and the dog and enough room to roam, is more Jensen's style. It's an easy rhythm to fall into, throw and fetch, throw and fetch, tackle and roll. Jeff doesn't need to be involved after the first few minutes, and that's become his favorite part of days like this--sitting back with a thermos of coffee and extra bottles of water for later, just watching. Bisou doesn't give Jensen time to think of anything but the next throw, and she can keep going for hours. Jeff watches until his stomach's growling and he can't decided who's more winded, Jensen or the dog, and if Bisou's happier, Jensen's finally punched through the wall he lets build up until he doesn't know how to get around it.
"Food?" Jen asks as he drops down next to Jeff, stretching out long and lean and too fucking gorgeous. All Jeff really wants to do is get his mouth on the smooth, solid curve of neck into shoulder, but he's starving, too, and it's not even noon--there's plenty of time for everything else.
"No arguments here," Jeff says, pouring water into his palm and letting Bisou slurp it out. "Anything in particular?"
"Whatever," Jensen answers as he drops onto his back, eyes closed to let the sun beat down on his face,
"You sure about that?" Jeff asks, grinning. "That's it? No lectures on my evil metabolism and how you can't believe I've made it to this old eating the crap that I do, or..." Jensen flips him off without opening his eyes and Jeff lets the smile slide into a soft laugh.
"That's what this is all about, right?" Jensen gestures vaguely to the waves washing up on the shore, and Bisou abandons Jeff to nose at the waving hand. "Don't let me blow this caretaking thing you've got going, man. Really. It's very sweet," he drawls.
It's the first time Jensen's ever said anything about days like this, and he's not exactly smiling but he isn't bitching either, so Jeff figures he'll keep right on doing what works and quit worrying about trying to be subtle. He does stop at the tackiest burger stand he can find, though, just to get a little of his own back for the "sweet" crack.
They eat in the car, Bisou never letting the burgers out of her sight for an instant, until Jeff pulls one off the bun and breaks it up into little pieces for her. Jensen smirks but doesn't actually say anything, only pushes the passenger seat as far back as it'll go and props his feet on the dashboard, and Jeff has one of those moments where he wonders how the hell he caught this whole turn of the karma wheel so perfectly.
They'd really only made it out a little past Zuma, and traffic isn't bad, so it's not long before they're back home, Bisou flopping onto the comforter she's dragged off the bed in the guest room, yawning and snuffling, Jensen leaving a trail of damp and sandy clothes from the front door to the glassed-in shower in the master bath.
He shifts over when Jeff eases in behind him, lets the hot water pound down on Jeff before he leans back, wet and sleek and demanding. It's not something Jeff's gotten used to--and it's been long enough that he's starting to think maybe he never will. Pushing Jensen up against the wall, hissing a little when Jen's teeth close over his collarbone--it's so damn hot, Jeff's half-convinced he'll always be like this, always get that little stutter-shock of yesfuckNOW.
Jensen growls against his skin, fingers digging hard into Jeff's ribs, his hips, and that's another thing Jeff might never get used to: Jensen wanting him, just as hard, for more than a couple of quick fucks to break the tension.
"C'mon," Jensen whispers into Jeff's ear, quick sharp bite on the lobe and his hand curving around Jeff's dick, jacking him rough and nasty. "Jeff, c'mon."
"God," Jeff mutters, his hips moving helplessly for a few seconds, before he catches Jensen's hands in his own. "Not here, want you, want to take my time with you."
Jeff has to tighten his hands hard around Jensen's wrists to make him stop, but then he's stepping back, pulling Jensen along with him, snagging a towel as they stumble and half-fall out of the shower. He can't resist leaning in to kiss the lopsided grin sneaking across Jensen's face. It doesn't taste any different than a regular kiss, but it always seems like it should, like it should be sweeter somehow, and that's so incredibly sappy, Jeff has to bite down on Jensen's bottom lip, hear him swear, low and dirty, and get things back under control.
Jensen lets Jeff steer him across the room, but doesn't make it easy, won't stop touching Jeff, won't stop kissing and licking and biting. Jeff lets him---he'd be a hell of a lot stupider than he is to say no to Jensen Ackles working him over--but when they get to the bed, when Jensen's sprawled out, six-plus feet of hard muscle and golden skin on white white sheets, then it's Jeff's turn.
Jensen watches him, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth already red and swollen, and Jeff digs his hands into his own thighs to keep from pushing him flat and just fucking that mouth. Not yet, not right now, he reminds himself, and traces a long, slow path over Jensen's skin.
"Want you out of your head, Jen," he says, not bothering to keep the need out of his voice. He wants Jensen to know how much he wants this, wants him to know how far Jeff will push him. "Want you begging to come, shaking and whining, not thinking about anything but how much you want my dick down your throat, up your ass."
Jensen's breath is coming in fast, shallow pants and Jeff can feel his heart jack-hammering under the tips of his fingers as Jeff skims lightly over skin still damp and warm from the shower. He touches lightly at first, nothing more than a quick brush of skin on skin, but it's not long before he has to have more, before he needs to make his mark, so anybody looking at Jensen will know he's taken, so Jensen knows every time he looks in the mirror, mouth swollen and red, bruises faint and blue under the skin of his hips, the shape of Jeff's mouth sucked and bitten into his collarbone, around his nipples, high on the curve of his thigh.
It's been a lazy, quiet morning; Jeff always expects the sex to be the same but it never is, not on days like this. Jensen's demanding, impatient, and Jeff thinks he never truly knew what greed was, not until he had Jensen in his bed, spread out and desperate, Jeff's name like a curse, hoarse and filthy and growling--had all that and wanted more. Wanted more, and more fiercely than he can remember ever wanting anything.
Jeff drags his thumb up the length of Jensen's cock, rubs sharp and quick across the head. "Son of a bitch," Jensen gasps, bucking up into Jeff's hands. "Do it, Jeff, fuck, quit teasing me."
Jeff bends down and traces his tongue along the same path, laughing softly as Jensen hisses at him, control freak and prick and cocktease.
"Not even close to being done yet," Jeff promises. It's not exactly a lie; he doesn't want to be close, no matter how his dick is aching to be fucking into Jensen's ass. He settles for sucking the head of Jensen's cock into his mouth, shallow and soft, and then slow licks lower, same light suction on his balls and slow, indulgent tastes of the smooth skin behind them.
Maybe it's not simple greed, maybe it's an addiction--to the noises Jensen makes, to the way he shudders under Jeff's hands as Jeff keeps going, sucking and licking and biting, fucking Jensen open with his tongue, his fingers. Addiction explains it so much better, Jeff decides, growling as Jensen falls apart around him, nothing left but Jeff's name and please, Christ, please until Jeff can't stand to wait another second.
By some miracle, he manages to get the condom open on the first try. With the way Jensen's spread out on the bed, his hand moving, lazy and taunting, on his own dick, Jeff's not sure how his brain isn't shorting out, but then Jensen gets a leg up and over his shoulder and Jeff's pushing hard into him, harder than he'd planned, and the rest of his control starts breaking into jagged splinters as Jensen shudders and gasps under him.
He pushes Jensen's hands over his head, pins them to the bed and stops trying to do anything but feel and hear and see. The room's bright with clear, sharp sunlight and Jensen's eyes are locked on Jeff's, green and open and knowing. Jensen's voice breaks on Jeff's name, a low, ragged keen that makes Jeff want things he'd forced himself to stop thinking about a decade ago.
Jeff's too far gone to slow down, too far into the feel of Jensen beneath him, around him to gentle his thrusts, but Jensen moves with him, takes everything Jeff gives him and lets Jeff see how much more he wants, until there's nothing in Jeff's mind but Jensen, his eyes and his voice and the way his wrists strain against Jeff's grip, the way his heel digs into Jeff's back, pulling Jeff closer and deeper.
After everything, that's what finally pushes Jeff over the edge--not the mouth that's been known to slide into Jeff's dreams, not the long sweep of skin and muscle under him, the tight heat around his dick. All of that would make sense, but it's the simple way that Jensen wants more of him that has Jeff coming, fast and hot and crazy.
"Yeah," Jensen growls, twisting and arching up into Jeff. "So fucking hot, seeing you, feeling you, God, Jeff--"
Jeff catches Jensen's mouth in a messy, shaking kiss, licking and biting and sucking before he pulls back long enough to smile at Jensen's frustrated whine. "You ready, baby?" he asks, swallowing Jensen's answering groan as he tightens his hand around Jensen's wrists, slides his free hand down, curls it loosely around Jensen's cock.
"I thought I was going to blow you," Jeff says, biting under the curve of Jensen's jaw, stroking Jensen slowly. "Thought I'd swallow you down, suck you hard, but now I want to watch you, watch that pretty face while I jack you, see you when you can't take it anymore…"
He keeps his fist loose and open, only enough contact to tease, not nearly enough to get Jensen off, especially not with the careful rhythm he's set.
"Look at you, baby," he breathes. "Love you like this, so fucking gorgeous when you're strung out, want to hear you beg me for it, watch you come apart." He tightens his hand, keeps the same slow pace and laughs softly when Jensen's hips twist up helplessly. "Yeah, that's it, show me how much you want it; I'll give it to you, baby, you know I will."
Jensen opens his eyes, looks straight at Jeff, panting quick and shallow, pupils blown dark
"Let it go," Jeff growls, but then his voice softens when Jensen shudders under him. "Tell me what you need," he whispers.
"Please," Jen gasps, voice hoarse and ragged.
"Tell me." Jeff stops his hand, leans hard on Jensen to keep him still.
"You," Jensen moans. "Need you, want you, whatever you want..."
It's not what Jeff expected to hear, not ever, really, and he's moving before he can think, rough, fast strokes and Jensen's mouth under his own, not stopping until Jensen's arched up hard against him, taut, smooth arch of muscle and need, slick wet heat on his hand, and low, helpless moans against his mouth.
*
Jeff's grandmother had lived to be 98, sharp-witted to the end, beating the pants off a collection of her children and grandchildren and the occasional great-grandchild in her nightly pinochle game, right up until the night she climbed into bed and didn't wake up the next morning.
She had no patience with anything that wasted time or money--hers was the only reaction Jeff was braced for when he woke up one morning and realized he was staying in LA and riding the whole acting thing for as long as he could. He'd expected to get an earful the next time he saw her, but she'd looked at him over the turkey and said, "Boy, did you ever stop to think God might be telling you something? You should try listening sometime," and that was that.
Repeating that's become a family joke, whenever the proverbial light bulb goes off, and when Jeff wakes up to the pitch-dark night and Jensen draped heavy and still across his back, he kinda thinks the stadium lights have just been flipped on.
The clock next to the bed tells him it's almost midnight. He works out the math slowly, in deference to his sleep-clogged brain, and is mildly triumphant when he determines that they've been out for nine hours already and Jensen isn't showing any sign of moving. Which means Jeff's little food-sex-sleep plan has once again achieved some level of success, and if Jeff doesn't look too closely at exactly who it was helping, well, it's late and he's been working his ass off lately.
Cautiously, he slides out from under Jensen and finds a pair of sweatpants. Bisou greets him at the back door, her tail wagging so hard her entire body's moving with it, and Jeff crouches down to tell her how pretty she is, how smart and clever, before he lets her out. He watches her through the window over the sink while he grinds coffee beans and sets the timer on the cheap coffee maker he refuses to throw out.
Bisou dances back into the house and follows along behind him while he fiddles with thermostats and turns off lights and generally gets the house ready for the night. She settles herself on the couch in the great room, with a look that clearly says she knows she's not supposed to be there, but if he's going to let someone else sleep on her side of the bed, she gets to blow off a few rules, too.
Then again, Jeff could just be delirious from all the bouncing around the world he's been doing.
Jensen's sprawled out across the bed, sheets and blankets kicked to the floor and pillows shoved to one side. Jeff sets the alarm for four and sets about fitting himself into the tiny amount of space that's left.
*
Even with thirteen hours of sleep, four o'clock in the morning is still four o'clock in the fucking morning and there isn't enough caffeine in the world to make it anything else. But thirteen hours is probably three times what Jensen's been getting lately, so he's less of a pain in the ass about hitting the shower than he normally is. Jeff's moving on automatic, even after he gets the better part of a mug of coffee in him, but it doesn't take a hell of a lot of brainpower to throw bacon in a frying pan and crack a half-dozen eggs in after, and then he can lean on a counter and pretend he's not figuring out how soon he can work a couple of days in Vancouver into his schedule.
"One of these mornings, you're gonna burn the place down around you," Jensen says as he walks by on a mission for the coffee. "Entertainment Tonight'll run a banner obit--'Grey's Anatomy favorite, dead in tragic kitchen accident; women nationwide mourn.'" His mouth quirks up into a full-on smirk. "They'll have great footage of Katie and Mary-Louise breaking down for the cameras. Tastefully, of course. With any luck, the fire department won't even mention the stash of ... toys," he coughs lightly, "in the bedroom."
Jeff slides the eggs onto a plate and keeps a straight face. "I'll be sure to mention in my will that they should go to you." Jensen breaks and laughs and opens the cupboard next to the stove. "Living dangerously there, Jen?" Jeff says, eyeing the Tabasco Jensen's covering his eggs with. "I thought you were in mortal fear of that trainer of yours."
"I figure I'm blaming it all on you anyway." Jensen shrugs, piling his Tabascoed eggs and bacon on top of the toast and folding it over to make a drippy mess of a sandwich. "Haven't run in a couple of days, no weight room, crap for food..." He stops to stuff half of what he's holding into his mouth. "She loves Denny, though," he says, once he can talk again, and Jeff adds another egg to his plate. "Had fucking tears in her eyes when he kicked, and trust me, that woman gets off on making grown men cry, not the other way around. You'd put out to save my ass, right?"
"Just out of the goodness of my heart?" There's a smear of red along Jensen's lower lip that Jeff can't resist catching with his thumb. "Sweeten the deal and I'll see what I can do," he says, pressing his thumb into Jensen's mouth.
"Kinky bastard," Jensen breathes, biting down, and there's a long second when Jeff doesn't care that fucking on the kitchen floor will leave him with knees that won't work right for a week, he just wants, and there's an answering need in Jensen's eyes. But then the cab pulls up and it's back to being not quite 5 a.m. on a Monday morning. Jensen needs to be on-set in Vancouver by noon and Jeff has two interviews and a meeting with his agent.
"Week after next," Jeff hears himself saying, as Jensen picks up his duffel. "I have a couple of days free, back-to-back." It's not what they do, but fuck it, he's not playing it that way anymore. Jen's tied to Vancouver through the end of the season and Jeff's not in the mood to wait for another two months to see him again, even if he could guarantee that he'd be in LA himself then.
"Yeah," Jensen answers, smiling. "I won't be worth shit, not with the schedule we're on through the rest of the season, but yeah. Whenever works with your calendar."
Jeff might be imagining that the smile isn't your normal, everyday grin, but he doesn't think so, not when it's combined with a filthy, wicked kiss that's as much teeth as lips and tongue.
The door closes quietly and the cab pulls away and the kitchen's quiet and suddenly empty. Bisou trots in, pushing her head into Jeff's hand. "C'mon, darlin'," he says after a few minutes. "Let's go for a run."
Continued in Losers' Weekend...
Many thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
without_me for fixing my lazy grammar--I changed a few things after she did her magic, and undoubtedly committed new sins, but those aren't her fault. More thanks to wendy, hurricanemegan, learn_me, and cardamom_23 for attempting to solve the title dilemma. Again, all mine, so it's not their fault.
CWrpf
Pairing: JA/JDM
Rating: Adult
Disclaimer: Don't know anyone or anything; it's all just a pretty pretty story.
Also on AOOO, here.
Jeff's been around for a while, long enough to know when he should walk the other way, but Jensen has this knack of getting past every damn bit of good sense Jeff possesses. And it doesn't even have anything to do with what Jensen can do with that incredibly talented mouth and Jeff's dick. Well, okay, that does play into it, but getting his dick sucked well isn't all that hard, especially not these days.
It started off fast and hot, both of them blowing off steam, blasting through the adrenaline rush of too many intense scenes so they could get some sleep and start it all over again the next day. But then, well, Jeff's always had tendencies better suited to a Jewish grandmother than a single, childless guy, and it was pretty much all she wrote the first time he laid his hand on the back of Jensen's neck, nothing sexual, nothing more than a touch, and felt every muscle under the warm skin relaxing under his fingers.
He knows what most of his friends think, but are too polite to say, with mid-life crisis being the mildest of the unspoken opinions. Jensen knows it, too; knows it and has entirely too much fun with it, which should be the first tip-off to everyone that they're wrong. But hell, it's not like Jeff hasn't thought it himself on particularly bad mornings, when they're on opposite sides of the world and missing Jen hits him hard and low. It'd be simpler if it was only that, but then, mid-life crises don't generally come with snarky attitudes and wet towels left scattered across the bathroom, no matter how fucking gorgeous they look lounging in the passenger seat of a convertible.
Jensen's wrapped too tight most of the time, but... Jeff's okay with that. He doesn't go into things wanting to change people, make them be something they're not. He's not gonna lie and say he doesn't wish Jensen could go a little easier on himself, but that's for Jen to work out in his own time. Not that Jeff won't take matters into his own hands occasionally, when he thinks Jensen's stretched too thin, when he reaches his own--admittedly not high--threshold of aggravation.
It works the other way around, too. Jensen will only let Jeff slide for so long before he's poking and prodding and getting him all cranked up. Jared claims it's better than a soap opera and has threatened more than once to come over with chips and beer to watch the fun. He grins big when he says it--Jeff's almost sure he's kidding.
When Jeff decides Jensen needs to calm the fuck down--and it doesn't happen as often as it might, mostly because they're not together all that much and when they are, they're both making a big effort for things to be good--the first thing he does is stuff Jen's cell phone deep into his suitcase. That way, he can be sure there won't be any interruptions while he takes his time, lays Jensen out on the big bed and fucks him slow and deep, not stopping until Jen comes apart under him, shaking and gasping. If he's done it right, Jensen won't even stay awake long enough for Jeff to drag the comforter up over them both.
The first few times he did it, Jeff kept the room dark so Jensen would sleep long into the morning, but that had turned out to be exactly wrong. Now he makes sure the curtains are pulled back and the blinds wide open so the morning light wakes them. Jensen's still tired enough not to be a completely stubborn prick about not having his phone; still tired enough that Jeff can manhandle him into the shower with only minor threats. And the truth is they're both whores for making out under the spray, especially with a virtually endless supply of hot water.
That takes care of another layer of stress, and then Jeff can pull out the big guns. Or gun, singular, though still more effective than any ten relaxation techniques. Jensen's stubborn, but he's no match for Bisou. All Jeff has to do is get the top down on the car and load them in, handing off a travel mug full of just enough coffee to stop Jensen from getting caffeine withdrawal, and head north on PCH. They only need a little bit of space, so as soon as Jensen's leg starts jittering, Jeff pulls into the next open spot he sees and lets his girl take it from there.
Jeff takes a lot of peace from the driving, but this, the sand and the dog and enough room to roam, is more Jensen's style. It's an easy rhythm to fall into, throw and fetch, throw and fetch, tackle and roll. Jeff doesn't need to be involved after the first few minutes, and that's become his favorite part of days like this--sitting back with a thermos of coffee and extra bottles of water for later, just watching. Bisou doesn't give Jensen time to think of anything but the next throw, and she can keep going for hours. Jeff watches until his stomach's growling and he can't decided who's more winded, Jensen or the dog, and if Bisou's happier, Jensen's finally punched through the wall he lets build up until he doesn't know how to get around it.
"Food?" Jen asks as he drops down next to Jeff, stretching out long and lean and too fucking gorgeous. All Jeff really wants to do is get his mouth on the smooth, solid curve of neck into shoulder, but he's starving, too, and it's not even noon--there's plenty of time for everything else.
"No arguments here," Jeff says, pouring water into his palm and letting Bisou slurp it out. "Anything in particular?"
"Whatever," Jensen answers as he drops onto his back, eyes closed to let the sun beat down on his face,
"You sure about that?" Jeff asks, grinning. "That's it? No lectures on my evil metabolism and how you can't believe I've made it to this old eating the crap that I do, or..." Jensen flips him off without opening his eyes and Jeff lets the smile slide into a soft laugh.
"That's what this is all about, right?" Jensen gestures vaguely to the waves washing up on the shore, and Bisou abandons Jeff to nose at the waving hand. "Don't let me blow this caretaking thing you've got going, man. Really. It's very sweet," he drawls.
It's the first time Jensen's ever said anything about days like this, and he's not exactly smiling but he isn't bitching either, so Jeff figures he'll keep right on doing what works and quit worrying about trying to be subtle. He does stop at the tackiest burger stand he can find, though, just to get a little of his own back for the "sweet" crack.
They eat in the car, Bisou never letting the burgers out of her sight for an instant, until Jeff pulls one off the bun and breaks it up into little pieces for her. Jensen smirks but doesn't actually say anything, only pushes the passenger seat as far back as it'll go and props his feet on the dashboard, and Jeff has one of those moments where he wonders how the hell he caught this whole turn of the karma wheel so perfectly.
They'd really only made it out a little past Zuma, and traffic isn't bad, so it's not long before they're back home, Bisou flopping onto the comforter she's dragged off the bed in the guest room, yawning and snuffling, Jensen leaving a trail of damp and sandy clothes from the front door to the glassed-in shower in the master bath.
He shifts over when Jeff eases in behind him, lets the hot water pound down on Jeff before he leans back, wet and sleek and demanding. It's not something Jeff's gotten used to--and it's been long enough that he's starting to think maybe he never will. Pushing Jensen up against the wall, hissing a little when Jen's teeth close over his collarbone--it's so damn hot, Jeff's half-convinced he'll always be like this, always get that little stutter-shock of yesfuckNOW.
Jensen growls against his skin, fingers digging hard into Jeff's ribs, his hips, and that's another thing Jeff might never get used to: Jensen wanting him, just as hard, for more than a couple of quick fucks to break the tension.
"C'mon," Jensen whispers into Jeff's ear, quick sharp bite on the lobe and his hand curving around Jeff's dick, jacking him rough and nasty. "Jeff, c'mon."
"God," Jeff mutters, his hips moving helplessly for a few seconds, before he catches Jensen's hands in his own. "Not here, want you, want to take my time with you."
Jeff has to tighten his hands hard around Jensen's wrists to make him stop, but then he's stepping back, pulling Jensen along with him, snagging a towel as they stumble and half-fall out of the shower. He can't resist leaning in to kiss the lopsided grin sneaking across Jensen's face. It doesn't taste any different than a regular kiss, but it always seems like it should, like it should be sweeter somehow, and that's so incredibly sappy, Jeff has to bite down on Jensen's bottom lip, hear him swear, low and dirty, and get things back under control.
Jensen lets Jeff steer him across the room, but doesn't make it easy, won't stop touching Jeff, won't stop kissing and licking and biting. Jeff lets him---he'd be a hell of a lot stupider than he is to say no to Jensen Ackles working him over--but when they get to the bed, when Jensen's sprawled out, six-plus feet of hard muscle and golden skin on white white sheets, then it's Jeff's turn.
Jensen watches him, eyes heavy-lidded, mouth already red and swollen, and Jeff digs his hands into his own thighs to keep from pushing him flat and just fucking that mouth. Not yet, not right now, he reminds himself, and traces a long, slow path over Jensen's skin.
"Want you out of your head, Jen," he says, not bothering to keep the need out of his voice. He wants Jensen to know how much he wants this, wants him to know how far Jeff will push him. "Want you begging to come, shaking and whining, not thinking about anything but how much you want my dick down your throat, up your ass."
Jensen's breath is coming in fast, shallow pants and Jeff can feel his heart jack-hammering under the tips of his fingers as Jeff skims lightly over skin still damp and warm from the shower. He touches lightly at first, nothing more than a quick brush of skin on skin, but it's not long before he has to have more, before he needs to make his mark, so anybody looking at Jensen will know he's taken, so Jensen knows every time he looks in the mirror, mouth swollen and red, bruises faint and blue under the skin of his hips, the shape of Jeff's mouth sucked and bitten into his collarbone, around his nipples, high on the curve of his thigh.
It's been a lazy, quiet morning; Jeff always expects the sex to be the same but it never is, not on days like this. Jensen's demanding, impatient, and Jeff thinks he never truly knew what greed was, not until he had Jensen in his bed, spread out and desperate, Jeff's name like a curse, hoarse and filthy and growling--had all that and wanted more. Wanted more, and more fiercely than he can remember ever wanting anything.
Jeff drags his thumb up the length of Jensen's cock, rubs sharp and quick across the head. "Son of a bitch," Jensen gasps, bucking up into Jeff's hands. "Do it, Jeff, fuck, quit teasing me."
Jeff bends down and traces his tongue along the same path, laughing softly as Jensen hisses at him, control freak and prick and cocktease.
"Not even close to being done yet," Jeff promises. It's not exactly a lie; he doesn't want to be close, no matter how his dick is aching to be fucking into Jensen's ass. He settles for sucking the head of Jensen's cock into his mouth, shallow and soft, and then slow licks lower, same light suction on his balls and slow, indulgent tastes of the smooth skin behind them.
Maybe it's not simple greed, maybe it's an addiction--to the noises Jensen makes, to the way he shudders under Jeff's hands as Jeff keeps going, sucking and licking and biting, fucking Jensen open with his tongue, his fingers. Addiction explains it so much better, Jeff decides, growling as Jensen falls apart around him, nothing left but Jeff's name and please, Christ, please until Jeff can't stand to wait another second.
By some miracle, he manages to get the condom open on the first try. With the way Jensen's spread out on the bed, his hand moving, lazy and taunting, on his own dick, Jeff's not sure how his brain isn't shorting out, but then Jensen gets a leg up and over his shoulder and Jeff's pushing hard into him, harder than he'd planned, and the rest of his control starts breaking into jagged splinters as Jensen shudders and gasps under him.
He pushes Jensen's hands over his head, pins them to the bed and stops trying to do anything but feel and hear and see. The room's bright with clear, sharp sunlight and Jensen's eyes are locked on Jeff's, green and open and knowing. Jensen's voice breaks on Jeff's name, a low, ragged keen that makes Jeff want things he'd forced himself to stop thinking about a decade ago.
Jeff's too far gone to slow down, too far into the feel of Jensen beneath him, around him to gentle his thrusts, but Jensen moves with him, takes everything Jeff gives him and lets Jeff see how much more he wants, until there's nothing in Jeff's mind but Jensen, his eyes and his voice and the way his wrists strain against Jeff's grip, the way his heel digs into Jeff's back, pulling Jeff closer and deeper.
After everything, that's what finally pushes Jeff over the edge--not the mouth that's been known to slide into Jeff's dreams, not the long sweep of skin and muscle under him, the tight heat around his dick. All of that would make sense, but it's the simple way that Jensen wants more of him that has Jeff coming, fast and hot and crazy.
"Yeah," Jensen growls, twisting and arching up into Jeff. "So fucking hot, seeing you, feeling you, God, Jeff--"
Jeff catches Jensen's mouth in a messy, shaking kiss, licking and biting and sucking before he pulls back long enough to smile at Jensen's frustrated whine. "You ready, baby?" he asks, swallowing Jensen's answering groan as he tightens his hand around Jensen's wrists, slides his free hand down, curls it loosely around Jensen's cock.
"I thought I was going to blow you," Jeff says, biting under the curve of Jensen's jaw, stroking Jensen slowly. "Thought I'd swallow you down, suck you hard, but now I want to watch you, watch that pretty face while I jack you, see you when you can't take it anymore…"
He keeps his fist loose and open, only enough contact to tease, not nearly enough to get Jensen off, especially not with the careful rhythm he's set.
"Look at you, baby," he breathes. "Love you like this, so fucking gorgeous when you're strung out, want to hear you beg me for it, watch you come apart." He tightens his hand, keeps the same slow pace and laughs softly when Jensen's hips twist up helplessly. "Yeah, that's it, show me how much you want it; I'll give it to you, baby, you know I will."
Jensen opens his eyes, looks straight at Jeff, panting quick and shallow, pupils blown dark
"Let it go," Jeff growls, but then his voice softens when Jensen shudders under him. "Tell me what you need," he whispers.
"Please," Jen gasps, voice hoarse and ragged.
"Tell me." Jeff stops his hand, leans hard on Jensen to keep him still.
"You," Jensen moans. "Need you, want you, whatever you want..."
It's not what Jeff expected to hear, not ever, really, and he's moving before he can think, rough, fast strokes and Jensen's mouth under his own, not stopping until Jensen's arched up hard against him, taut, smooth arch of muscle and need, slick wet heat on his hand, and low, helpless moans against his mouth.
*
Jeff's grandmother had lived to be 98, sharp-witted to the end, beating the pants off a collection of her children and grandchildren and the occasional great-grandchild in her nightly pinochle game, right up until the night she climbed into bed and didn't wake up the next morning.
She had no patience with anything that wasted time or money--hers was the only reaction Jeff was braced for when he woke up one morning and realized he was staying in LA and riding the whole acting thing for as long as he could. He'd expected to get an earful the next time he saw her, but she'd looked at him over the turkey and said, "Boy, did you ever stop to think God might be telling you something? You should try listening sometime," and that was that.
Repeating that's become a family joke, whenever the proverbial light bulb goes off, and when Jeff wakes up to the pitch-dark night and Jensen draped heavy and still across his back, he kinda thinks the stadium lights have just been flipped on.
The clock next to the bed tells him it's almost midnight. He works out the math slowly, in deference to his sleep-clogged brain, and is mildly triumphant when he determines that they've been out for nine hours already and Jensen isn't showing any sign of moving. Which means Jeff's little food-sex-sleep plan has once again achieved some level of success, and if Jeff doesn't look too closely at exactly who it was helping, well, it's late and he's been working his ass off lately.
Cautiously, he slides out from under Jensen and finds a pair of sweatpants. Bisou greets him at the back door, her tail wagging so hard her entire body's moving with it, and Jeff crouches down to tell her how pretty she is, how smart and clever, before he lets her out. He watches her through the window over the sink while he grinds coffee beans and sets the timer on the cheap coffee maker he refuses to throw out.
Bisou dances back into the house and follows along behind him while he fiddles with thermostats and turns off lights and generally gets the house ready for the night. She settles herself on the couch in the great room, with a look that clearly says she knows she's not supposed to be there, but if he's going to let someone else sleep on her side of the bed, she gets to blow off a few rules, too.
Then again, Jeff could just be delirious from all the bouncing around the world he's been doing.
Jensen's sprawled out across the bed, sheets and blankets kicked to the floor and pillows shoved to one side. Jeff sets the alarm for four and sets about fitting himself into the tiny amount of space that's left.
*
Even with thirteen hours of sleep, four o'clock in the morning is still four o'clock in the fucking morning and there isn't enough caffeine in the world to make it anything else. But thirteen hours is probably three times what Jensen's been getting lately, so he's less of a pain in the ass about hitting the shower than he normally is. Jeff's moving on automatic, even after he gets the better part of a mug of coffee in him, but it doesn't take a hell of a lot of brainpower to throw bacon in a frying pan and crack a half-dozen eggs in after, and then he can lean on a counter and pretend he's not figuring out how soon he can work a couple of days in Vancouver into his schedule.
"One of these mornings, you're gonna burn the place down around you," Jensen says as he walks by on a mission for the coffee. "Entertainment Tonight'll run a banner obit--'Grey's Anatomy favorite, dead in tragic kitchen accident; women nationwide mourn.'" His mouth quirks up into a full-on smirk. "They'll have great footage of Katie and Mary-Louise breaking down for the cameras. Tastefully, of course. With any luck, the fire department won't even mention the stash of ... toys," he coughs lightly, "in the bedroom."
Jeff slides the eggs onto a plate and keeps a straight face. "I'll be sure to mention in my will that they should go to you." Jensen breaks and laughs and opens the cupboard next to the stove. "Living dangerously there, Jen?" Jeff says, eyeing the Tabasco Jensen's covering his eggs with. "I thought you were in mortal fear of that trainer of yours."
"I figure I'm blaming it all on you anyway." Jensen shrugs, piling his Tabascoed eggs and bacon on top of the toast and folding it over to make a drippy mess of a sandwich. "Haven't run in a couple of days, no weight room, crap for food..." He stops to stuff half of what he's holding into his mouth. "She loves Denny, though," he says, once he can talk again, and Jeff adds another egg to his plate. "Had fucking tears in her eyes when he kicked, and trust me, that woman gets off on making grown men cry, not the other way around. You'd put out to save my ass, right?"
"Just out of the goodness of my heart?" There's a smear of red along Jensen's lower lip that Jeff can't resist catching with his thumb. "Sweeten the deal and I'll see what I can do," he says, pressing his thumb into Jensen's mouth.
"Kinky bastard," Jensen breathes, biting down, and there's a long second when Jeff doesn't care that fucking on the kitchen floor will leave him with knees that won't work right for a week, he just wants, and there's an answering need in Jensen's eyes. But then the cab pulls up and it's back to being not quite 5 a.m. on a Monday morning. Jensen needs to be on-set in Vancouver by noon and Jeff has two interviews and a meeting with his agent.
"Week after next," Jeff hears himself saying, as Jensen picks up his duffel. "I have a couple of days free, back-to-back." It's not what they do, but fuck it, he's not playing it that way anymore. Jen's tied to Vancouver through the end of the season and Jeff's not in the mood to wait for another two months to see him again, even if he could guarantee that he'd be in LA himself then.
"Yeah," Jensen answers, smiling. "I won't be worth shit, not with the schedule we're on through the rest of the season, but yeah. Whenever works with your calendar."
Jeff might be imagining that the smile isn't your normal, everyday grin, but he doesn't think so, not when it's combined with a filthy, wicked kiss that's as much teeth as lips and tongue.
The door closes quietly and the cab pulls away and the kitchen's quiet and suddenly empty. Bisou trots in, pushing her head into Jeff's hand. "C'mon, darlin'," he says after a few minutes. "Let's go for a run."
Continued in Losers' Weekend...
Many thanks to
without_me for fixing my lazy grammar--I changed a few things after she did her magic, and undoubtedly committed new sins, but those aren't her fault. More thanks to wendy, hurricanemegan, learn_me, and cardamom_23 for attempting to solve the title dilemma. Again, all mine, so it's not their fault.![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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