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Fic: Somethin' in the Water (R)
Title: Somethin' in the Water
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: hard R
Wordcount: 2,051
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kashmir1's birthday - LATE. I'm so sorry, honey! I hope this sort of makes up for my lameness, even though it is not an epic. Also, huge smooches to immoralilly, who is awesome, and schneestern, who made me get to the boytouching and actually wrote, like, three paragraphs in the middle somewhere. If you come across a part that sounds better than the rest? Hers. ♥
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: hard R
Wordcount: 2,051
Notes: For
kashmir1's birthday - LATE. I'm so sorry, honey! I hope this sort of makes up for my lameness, even though it is not an epic. Also, huge smooches to immoralilly, who is awesome, and schneestern, who made me get to the boytouching and actually wrote, like, three paragraphs in the middle somewhere. If you come across a part that sounds better than the rest? Hers. ♥Jensen comes back from hiatus a changed man. His skin is two shades darker than before, his hair short and styled into a fishtail, and his eyes – man, they’re like twin pools of…grass, or something. Jared isn’t really good at metaphors.
The point is: Jensen is not the same. He even carries himself differently than he used to. His shoulders are thrown back instead of slouched forward, bowed legs even more pronounced by the confident jut of his hips, and is anyone else noticing the lethal-sharp cut of his jaw every time he turns his head?-
“Stop it,” Jared says.
Jensen slowly arches an eyebrow.
“I’m serious, Jen. Stop it, it’s not funny,” Jared says.
Jensen presses his lips together, eyeing Jared like he’s insane. “I’m not doing anything, Jay. I haven’t been doing anything for, like, two hours.”
“Yes, you have,” Jared insists, because Jensen’s not being fair about this. He’s been watching his co-star fiddle with that pen cap for half an hour, and it is driving him insane. “Stop it.”
“Saying ‘stop it’ over and over isn’t going to change the fact that I’m not doing anything. Have you gotten into the sugar sticks again? Because, dude, didn’t that last time teach you anything? I don’t think your couch will ever be the same.”
Jared reaches over and plucks the pen cap out of Jensen’s fidgeting hands, holding it up in front of Jensen’s face. “You are so not getting this back.”
Making a face, Jensen says, “That’s what this was all about. I wasn’t even making any noise.”
“It doesn’t matter! You were all – touching it!” Jared bursts out, and immediately regrets it. Jensen’s eyes are wider than Jared has ever seen them, and his eyebrows are inching towards his hairline. His mouth looks stupidly kissable, all surprised softness.
“I. I have to go, uh, over there. Yes,” Jared mumbles.-
As Jared tells Sandy over the phone two hours later, it’s not that he likes Jensen that way, it’s just that, okay, he kind of maybe likes Jensen that way. Sandy, who is the most perfect ex-girlfriend ever in Jared’s opinion, makes sympathetic noises every time Jared pauses for breath.
Then, when he’s done, he has to seriously reconsider her most perfect status, because she says, “You should blow him.”
Jared spits out his diet coke. “What?”
“You should blow him,” Sandy repeats, slowly like he’s stupid. “You know. Dick in mouth, usually a tongue is involved somewhere – ring a bell?”
“I know what you meant.” Jared sullenly dabs at the line of soda on his good pink-striped shirt. He really liked that shirt.
Sandy makes an impatient sound on the other side of the line. “Jared. You think he’s hot like burning – no, shut up, you do – and if there is even the slightest chance he’d be willing, you have got to tap that.”
“But what about –”
“Jared,” Sandy says, and she’s got that tone to her voice that usually means that he is being a miserable bastard. “Jensen is hot and you want his body, just like half of the world’s population, suck it up. It’s not like it’s a big shock. You’re with him, like, eighteen hours a day.”
Sourly, Jared mumbles, “Sixteen.” He can feel Sandy narrowing her eyes even through the phone.
“Whatever. You can still shove him into a closet and force him down on his knees,” Sandy tells him. “He has really pretty lips, doesn’t he, Jared? I bet you’d love those wrapped around your dick.”
It’s hot in Jared’s apartment. He should open a window, or maybe all the windows. “I –”
Sandy cuts him off again. “Or maybe you’d rather be fucking his mouth with your tongue while he jerked you – rough, how you like it.”
That’s pretty much all Jared can take, right there, because he hasn’t thought about that, except he totally has, and Sandy’s high, sweet voice describing every dirty fantasy he’s tried so hard not to linger on is. He just can’t.
For the second time that day, Jared stutters out, “I have to go.” He can hear Sandy laughing at him as he fumbles with the ‘end call’ button on his cell.-
Watching Jensen nail a scene usually doesn’t make Jared’s breath catch in his chest, but when Dean leans up against the bar, a shot glass in one hand and a redhead’s shoulder in the other, it does. Which doesn’t make sense, because Dean isn’t even doing anything particularly provocative, but there’s something about the slow roll and shift of his spine as he changes stance that sparks heat in Jared’s belly.
Jensen doesn’t miss a single line or a cue, so the scene is over quickly enough, and then he’s sauntering towards Jared – fucking sauntering like he’s still got Dean’s confidence and smarmy charm. He stops in front of Jared’s chair, waving a hand to get Jared’s attention.
“Earth to Jared,” he says.
“You’re an ass,” Jared tells him, slapping his hand away.
Like he was waiting for it, Jensen turns around and does a little bend and shimmy that has his hips wiggling and his ass right in Jared’s line of sight. It’s really round and tight, and, damn, Jared thinks his hands would fit perfectly, one on each cheek, kneading and –
Jared crosses his legs as discreetly as he can, folding his arms over his thighs. This is getting a little ridiculous.-
“Admit it,” Tommy says over drinks that night. “You have the hots for him, don’t you?”
Jared wonders when he became so transparent, because Tom is seriously as thick as a concrete block and if he’s figuring it out, Jensen won’t be far behind. He tries denial. It’s always worked for him in the past.
“Who?” Jared asks with as much clueless drunkenness as he can muster, which is apparently quite a lot.
Tommy doesn’t even pretend to believe him. “Jensen, dude. You know, the guy you were just waxing poetic about?”
“Did you just say ‘waxing poetic’?” Jared asks.
“Fuck you,” Tom says amiably. “No, wait. You’re saving your ass for Jensen, am I right? I am. I’m always right. I’m Superman.”
“Are not,” Jared says. Sullenly. He’s beginning to feel like Sam.-
The next day, Jared’s calm and confident. This is just a thing. A thing that he can get over very easily if he just stops talking to his friends forever and focuses on the fact that Sandy’s boobs are awesome. They're all soft and he remembers how they used to fit in his palms perfectly, like they were made to -
"You with us, Sam? You know your motivation?" Kim asks, bending over in his seat to see through the Impala's window. Jared smiles, a little guiltily, and waves with two fingers. "Good. Ready to roll."
Jensen looks over at him from the driver's seat, absently gnawing on his thumb. His lips are pursed obscenely, wet and shiny with spit, plump bottom lip bruised from his teeth constantly biting down on it.
"Nnghf," Jared manages.
"What's wrong?" Jensen asks, like he doesn't know. Jared wants to kick him, and then maybe kiss him until he moans and kisses back.
It's not fair. They start rolling film less than a minute later, and Jared has no time to reign himself in. Suddenly, Jensen's got Dean's face on, the square of his jaw becoming more pronounced, his teeth glinting a little sharper in the harsh set lights. And, Goddamnit, that's hot too.
As soon as they cut, Jared slaps Jensen on the thigh hard enough that his palm stings and says, "Lunch in my trailer?"
Jensen slants him a doe-eyed, confused look and nods. Jared contemplates ruining his career and leaning across the seat to suck Jensen off right there.-
Jensen plops down on Jared's couch ten minutes after lunch is called, carrying two Styrofoam containers and a can of soda. He throws his feet up on the table in front of him, looking for all the world like he doesn't have a care. Maybe he should, Jared thinks, sort of desperately. Maybe he should have a care about me molesting him.
"So, what's up, big J?" Jensen asks, wiggling his feet around and sinking down in the couch until the tips of his boots are hanging over the edge of the table. Those already-illegal jeans are suddenly much tighter around his crotch, cupping the heft of his cock and outlining it in a way that makes Jared feel faint.
"Uh," Jared contributes intelligently. God, his mouth is watering. Jensen has to be doing that on purpose. It's...he has to be. "Uh, I mean. Yeah. Jensen, we need to talk."
Jensen smiles at him, sliding his legs from the table and firmly planting his feet on the floor. "Well, then talk Jared. What is it?"
But see, the problem is Jared's incapable of talking, because there it is, Jensen's most obscene sprawl. Legs spread wide, crotch right there and before Jared can even think, his hand is on Jensen's thigh, fingers brushing over the inseam.
Puzzled, he looks at his hand on Jensen's jeans and the way his palm is almost touching Jensen's cock.
"Jared, what...what are you doing?"
Jared swallows down the fear suddenly clogging his throat up and manages a really stupid, "Talking."
When Jensen doesn't automatically sock him in the teeth, Jared lets his fingers press in a little firmer, until he can feel the imprint of denim all along each pad. He drags up towards the curve of Jensen's crotch and Jensen still isn't stopping him. Why isn't Jen stopping him? And then - then Jared knows why. Above him, Jensen's trying to catch his breath, his fingers curling into the upholstery of the couch, and the heel of Jared's palm is pressing in hard against Jensen's erection.
"You like this," Jared whispers, like a revelation. He rubs a slow circle against the bulge of Jensen's cock through the jeans, listens to Jensen moan with something approaching awe. "You've been playing me."
Jensen doesn't even have the grace to look embarrassed. He's smirking down at Jared as soon as Jared gets the words out, licking his teeth with wicked intent. "Yep. It's so fun to watch you squirm, Jay."
"I'm gonna kill you," Jared growls, leaning up to catch those curved lips, licking his way into Jensen's mouth with hard, deliberate sweeps. Jensen makes another breathy noise, and his pulls his hands off the couch to balance himself on Jared's broad shoulders. His nails dig in, even through the soft cotton of Sam's shirt. Jared likes it.
Before Jared knows what's happening, he's got Jensen under him and both of their shirts are on the floor next to the couch. He can't tell whose fingers are scratching at his stomach and trying to get the button of his jeans open. Jensen's throat tastes of salt and plastic, set make-up mixed with sweat; the hollow between his collarbones is tangier, more natural.
"Jared, man," Jensen moans, pushing at Jared's chest. "C'mon, we can't right now. We gotta be on set in ten."
Jared doesn't give a flying fuck. No, really. Screw Kim and screw Eric. Dude seems like he needs it, anyway.
"Too bad, I'm gonna suck you off. So shut up," he says firmly, using the sudden space between their torsos to slip his hand down and flick the top button of Jensen's pants open. Jensen shuts up, except for, y'know, the urgent little sounds he's making at every nip of Jared's teeth along his chest. Those sounds are ok, though – Jared approves of those.
Jensen doesn’t last long once Jared’s mouth is around him, which makes Jared feel very pleased with himself. He only feels the blunt head of Jensen’s cock hit the back of his throat for a second, just a short brush that leaves him swallowing hard and wanting more, then Jensen’s spilling over Jared’s tongue and slamming his closed fist against the side of the couch.
-
Kim doesn’t even ask why they show up thirty minutes late, rumpled and grinning from ear to ear. They settle back into the Impala, Jared stretching his legs out as far as he can and cracking his knuckles. Film rolls.
“Dean, dude, your fly is open,” Sam says gleefully.
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