Fic: It's All About Intention (adult)

[unamaga]

I'm in a mood, so you all know the drill. Porn to be found at the bottom of this post, written for vileseagulls because I loff. But first! I have a question for all of you.

Frances and I were talking; she said, "And you say I write dirty. Dude, LOOK at yourself." I was sort of amused, but mostly embarassed, because, see, I don't find the stuff that I write arousing. I know I'm kind of a kinky bitch - proud, even! - but when I read through my stuff, I twitch and suddenly want to change things all over the place.

So I was wondering, how many other authors out there don't get off on their own stuff? Is this normal? Am I weird? Don't answer that last one.

Anyway, I won't keep you. On to the porn! And first three prompts will get ficlets.

---

It's All About Intention [Adult] ~400
Jared/Jensen - prompt "glass doors"

as soon as the bell hop bows himself out and the door clicks closed behind him, jared's on jensen, pushing him up against the nearest wall and bending to nip and suck at those tempting, full lips.

jared, jensen manages through a moan, jared, what are you doing? cut it out, we gotta be downstairs in ten minutes. he plants his hands in the middle of jared's chest and pushes, but jared is made almost entirely of muscle and won't be moved.

he runs his tongue along the crease of jensen's mouth and says, we have a balcony, jen. did you see it? i wanna fuck you up against those big, spotless glass doors. wanna make a mess of ‘em.

jensen doesn’t really have an defenses against that kind of talk, so before he knows it, jared’s manhandling him across the room to the doors, pulling down his jeans and kicking his bare legs apart. there isn’t even any kind of warning, just the barely-there rustle of clothing as jared digs into his pocket, and then there are two slick fingers pressing relentlessly into jensen, stinging as they spread him open.

does it hurt? jared asks, a little too gleefully. does it? tell me it hurts, tell me you want more.

jensen claws at the glass in front of him, trying to find something to hold on to, something to keep his attention so he doesn’t just come. his fingernails slide uselessly over the smooth surface.

c’mon, jared says, c’mon, baby, talk to me. his fingers twist sharply, sending a bolt of – of something jensen doesn’t want to name straight to his cock. jared’s fingers mimic that same move again, but slower, with less force – like a tease – and that’s enough to get jensen talking.

fuck me, please, i want it to hurt. want your cock in me. he moans, rocking back when jared rewards with him with another, crueler thrust in. do it now, jared. please.

jared makes a sound like he’s considering it and tucks a third finger in with the first two, not giving jensen time to adjust before he curls them all and rakes them mercilessly over jensen’s prostate.

that’s all jensen can take, no matter how much he wants jared to fuck him. he barely manages a sobbed warning and then he’s coming hard across the clear window, cock jerking with the force, his knees giving out from under him.

when his senses come back to him, jared’s strong arm is around his waist, holding him up, and jared is whispering in his ear, so good, you’re so good. look at what you did, jen – gorgeous.

jensen pries his eyes open long enough to glance at the door, see it painted with white ropes of his come. his breath catches and jared's thumb rubs across his hip. we'd better get to that interview, he says.

Comments

[poisontaster]

No, I don't particularly get off on my own fic. There are a couple things of my own that kink my BRAIN more than others, but I can't even lose the awareness that I wrote it, that it's my story and yes, I see all the things I could have or should have done different.

Mmm. Toppy Jared makes me VERY happy.

Prompt: Jensen/Jeff, Jared directing the action or Jared/Jensen with Jeff directing.

[scarlett-o.livejournal.com]

How about these lyrics, "And you bleed just to know you're alive."

Also skewedview is always bitching that her smoking hot fic is merely lukewarm, so I don't think you're alone. It may just be that you're too close to the fic to have the same reaction as a reader.

[annella.livejournal.com]

Uh, I'm just gonna be over here, by myself with my vibrator...

I never get off on my own stuff. NEVER. Cause I've spent so long thinking it through, tweaking each line, there's no immediacy (sp?) and it doesn't hit the spot at all.

HMMM PROMPT... roses and a stained glass window.

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

WHY DO YOU ALWAYS MAKE ME BRING THE CRACK, LADY? WINGS AND NOW THIS? OVER ONE THOUSAND WORDS OF SHEER CRACK. IT IS TOO BIG FOR ONE COMMENT.



Dean looks down at himself, noting the dark brown fur and long, lethal-looking claws calmly. He's not really all that surprised that he's suddenly been transformed into a fairy tale beast by the old hag he turned down for a fuck. Day in the life.

:::

When Dean comes into the hotel room two hours later, having been unable to get the key into the Impala's door without scratching her paint job, Sam doesn't even look up. He's reading through the complete works of Edgar Allen Poe again, for, like, the fiftieth time.

"Dude," Dean says, sort of annoyed. "I got turned into a hairy beast."

At that, Sam looks up, sliding his glasses down on his nose. He rakes his eyes up and down Dean's (much expanded) form. "Ah," he says.

"Dude," Dean says again. "I got turned into a hairy beast, isn't that alarming? I dunno, maybe?"

"Not really," Sam says, rolling his eyes and going back to his book. Dean apparently has awesome eyesight now, so he can see that Sam's only up to "Fall of the House of Usher". Damn it all, he won't get any attention for at least three more days.

Defeated, he trudges into the bathroom to brush his fangs. His mouth tastes like – like dead evil wolf or something. Not that he would know.

:::

Sam is of absolutely no help for the rest of the evening. He sits on his bed with a pencil and his Poe book, and does nothing but read and quietly make notes. Dean even threatens to "put you in a freaking yellow dress and rape you up the ass, Sam. Don't make me do it!" but Sam is unmoved, the giant freak.

Dean sits with the laptop at the shoddy little motel table that can't even cover his furry knees and tries not to break the keys as he types. He doesn't even bother trying to use the touch pad.

He only manages to get through five or six sites, and by that time he's so helplessly enraged he thinks he might actually carry through on his threat to Sam - minus the yellow dress, because they just don't keep one of those handy.

"Why don't we keep a yellow dress handy?" Dean growls, padding over to Sam's bed and looming over him.

Sam looks up at him, arching an eyebrow. "Because neither one of us has girlish hips."

A primal sound bubbles up in Dean's chest, a roar more powerful than human vocal chords could possibly produce. That certainly seems to get Sam's full attention, and five minutes later they're both stationed on the edge of the bed while Sam taps away at the laptop.

Dean notices with not a little satisfaction that Edgar is on the floor, spine bent and pages askew. The frilly bookmark looks very dejected.

Sam makes a noise and elbows Dean in the side, pointing the website pulled up on the browser in front of them. They both try to read for a minute, put off the by the strange Disney-inspired stain glass background. Sam turns to Dean. "How'd you piss off the witch anyway? It's apparently, like, important, so be honest."

"She bought me a drink and I turned her down flat. No way I was fucking her ugly face," Dean says. "What? I'm being 'honest'."

Point blank, Sam tells him, “You’re a pig. I can’t believe we’re related. The spell will wear off by tomorrow night.”

“Awesome!” Dean stretches his massive arms above his head. “Hey, I bet I am hung,” he muses. “Do you think I could bag a girl like this? Some go for the really hairy type.”

Sam’s already reaching down for Edgar and smoothing his pages back into place. “I dare you to try. I’d love to see the panic on your face when you realized that a canine penis – probably the kind that you are now in possession of – has this tendency to engorge after an orgasm, leaving—”

“Shut up, Sam.”

:::

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

The next day sort of starts out sucktastically.

Dean wakes up to the sickening sound of birds chirping outside and his sheets all torn through with claw marks. His mouth has feathers in it from the pillow his fangs had gotten stuck in, and Sam lectures him about property.

For lunch, Sam goes out to the diner next door and brings back three full styrofoam containers of food. None of them are what Dean asked for, and Dean refuses to eat the gross caesar salad Sam offers him, so Sam lectures him about starving third world countries.

By the time the sun is dipping down below the horizon, Dean is about ready to shred Edgar’s stupid little face to bits, and his claws are itching for Sam to give him a reason.

Can claws itch, like, really? Whatever, his definitely are.

Or, oh, wait; maybe it’s not Edgar that’s making him itch, but the fact that the claws are pulling back into his knuckles, his teeth are shortening, and all his hair is falling out. When everything’s back the way it was before, he’s standing naked in the middle of the motel room, a huge circle of fur around his feet.

Sam comes back in from the bathroom. “Done then?” he asks.

Dean cracks his neck and curls his fingers into his palms now that he can. His lips are sore from where the fangs bit into them. He runs his tongue over them, curiously. “Huh,” he says, and startles when his voice is two octaves higher than he’d expected it to be.

Sam glances down at the mess Dean’s made of the floor. Dean grins hopefully, and Sam starts lecturing him about poor housekeeping workers who get so little money but have to put up with so much, couldn’t you be just a little bit more respectful, Dean? Honestly.

“What, you expected me to put some towels down? Maybe a tarp?”

Sam throws Edgar at him, but his aim sucks and it thumps harmlessly against the television. Or, maybe not so harmlessly, because the TV starts to flicker and moan like a banshee.

Looking affronted, Sam says, “Look what you did.”

Day in the fucking life, man.

[vileseagulls.livejournal.com]

HAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAH WIN.

[annella.livejournal.com]

OH MY GOD, I HAVE A REALLY BAD HEADACHE AND I JUST LAUGHED FOR, LIKE, 10 MINUTES. *clutches head*

SOOOOOO worth it! :D x infinity!

[castiel.livejournal.com]

Holy Jesus. LSKJDFOW Your smut kills me, babeh.

I have yet to write anything of the pr0n variety, so I don't think I'll be able to answer this correctly, but I have a feeling that I'll be too busy thinking there's something wrong or seeing something that should have been done differently to even begin thinking it's hot... whenever I get around to actually writing anything smutty.

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

YOU SHOULD WRITE SMUTTY. I'm surprised you haven't already, seeing as this entire fandom is like POOORRRN!!! *CHOIR OF ANGELS!!!*

[nu-breed.livejournal.com]

Firstly? This is unbelievably hot. Frances teased me with a bit of this at work and there was seat!squirming.

Secondly, it's very rare for me to find my own porn hot. *shrug*

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

Maybe it's the whole semantics thing? You're like, HEY WHERE DID HIS LIMB GO?, so you can't really pay attention to the hot?

[http://users.livejournal.com/__3amconfession/]

Darn, I missed the prompage. Oh well, I couldn't think of a prompt anyway. By the way? *dies of the hot* You are still MY queen of porn.

And for the questions? No, I don't get off to my own stuff (when I do manage to write porn). In fact, I despise most of my work. I think it's in you as an author to be always looking on how to make your work better. No one is ever really satisfied with their work on less their ego's are bigger than themselves. I always see something that isn't right or could be written better - that is why betas exist and why they are love. =D

You are (relatively) normal. And you are not THAT weird. You aren't in the nutty house yet, are you?

[http://users.livejournal.com/__3amconfession/]

on less

yeah, i totally mean UNLESS.

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

AREN'T I IN THE NUTTY HOUSE, THOUGH? AREN'T I?!!

[pushingyouaway.livejournal.com]

....


a;slkfjasflkaj;flsajf;l

*clears throat, tries for more coherency*

...a;sldkfja;lsfj

*headdesk*

can't brain. dead from smut. love you. porn yay!

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

*gives you a cool cloth for your head*

hee, honey, you are sweet.

[talilov.livejournal.com]

Nope. My stuff does nothing for me other than cause a lot of angst. And not the fun kind of the angst, either. It's always the bad angst.

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

WHY DOES YOUR STUFF CAUSE YOU BAD ANGST? *hugs your stuff*

[noa-luna.livejournal.com]

GUH!

This is the third time you've blown me away with one of your posts. I've come to the conclusion that you are made of awesome. I'll be forced to friend you now.

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

Oh noz a forced friending! :O

I will friend you back, OF COURSE, hahah. Have I seen you around before?

[polyspaston.livejournal.com]

I'm not sure I could get off on my own stuff, not that I write porn much because I blush and it puts me off :0P But I'd find getting off to my own written porn sort of akin to fancying my own father, I think. Don't ask me why, I just would.

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

Hahahaha that's a perfect analogy, actually. Plus the whole "dude, where did his arm go? did I put it somewhere? what's going on?" thing. Oooh, yes.

[inderpal.livejournal.com]

\o/ You win at teh porn!!!
and now I'll be over there in my bunk

[unamaga.livejournal.com]

MWAHAH BUNK-AGE! *follows you*

[dullemarulle.livejournal.com]

First I was laughing real hard because I was imagining Jensen trying to push Jared The Giant away. He would have some damn trouble even if Jared wasn't in the middle of kissing him.
Jared like this is effing hot, I love it!