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Fic: Evening on the Ground (Blame Me)
Title: Evening on the Ground (Blame Me)
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jensen/OMC
Wordcount: 814
Notes: Okay, first, a special thank you to my fantastic, fabulous, lovely beta,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
scarlett_o, who bravely read and corrected this even though she said it made her squirm uncomfortably. You are the bee's knees, baby. Also, a special NO thank you to chickypooh, who made me write this for her when she uploaded Devour for me. She's evil, guys, blame her. ♥
As far as warnings go, this fic has a few of them. For one, Jensen is underage--he's 16 here, even though it's not explicitly mentioned in the story itself, and also there is a sort of dubious consent thing going on. Jensen kind of gets taken advantage of a little bit, and even though he likes it, if that's not okay with you, please don't read. I don't want to squick anyone.
When the football coach corners him against the shower room wall, Jensen doesn’t even have time to panic, let alone grab a towel and wrap it around his waist. He’s naked and wet and the press of the other man’s clothed chest against his is making him a little lightheaded.
“So pretty,” the coach whispers in against his temple. His voice is husky, rough just like the stubble on his jaw. “Been watching you out there, boy. I’ve seen you shake that tight little ass of yours.”
Jensen shivers despite himself, toes curling against the cold, tile floor. He wants to say something or push out against coach’s chest, but he’s frozen, arms locked at his sides.
“You know my name, don’t you? Now, don’t be shy, it’s just us here.”
One of those calloused hands comes up and cups Jensen’s jaw, tilting his head back. He swallows convulsively, fingers clenching. “C-coach Jim,” he stutters. Jim looks pleased, the corner of his mouth tilting up.
“Very good, Jenny. I can call you that, can’t I?” he asks. His hand slips down, fingers brushing lightly over Jensen’s throat and shoulders, stopping when the pad of his thumb rests right on Jensen’s nipple.
“Of course I can,” Jim murmurs, leaning in to nip at Jensen’s ear when Jensen moans. “You’ll let me call you whatever I want, son; you’ll let me do whatever I want. Won’t you?” And, as if to prove it, he pinches Jensen’s nipple between his thumb and pointer, twisting just enough to have Jensen crying out and trying to sway away from him.
Jensen is red-faced and sweaty by the time Jim finishes playing with his chest and lets his fingers slip down Jensen’s stomach, but when Jim’s rough palm finally reaches his cock, it’s hard and steadily pearling at the tip. Jim chuckles all dark and low in his throat, making something in the pit of Jensen’s stomach flutter.
“I knew it,” he says smugly. He braces his forearm against Jensen’s chest, holding him against the wall, and closes his fist around Jensen’s dick. “You ever had anyone touch you like this before, Jenny?”
Jensen manages to shake his head, but he’s too focused on just not coming to notice when the coach starts undoing his pants with his free hand. He does notice, though, when Jim takes his hand and pushes it down his pants.
“Feel that? That’s my cock, boy, all wet and hard for you,” he says, rocking his hips forward. He puffs out an unsteady breath. “See what you do to me? I can’t stand up and call a time out during play when I’ve been watching you across the field, so fucking pretty like a girl.”
“I can’t—“ Jensen tries, licking his lips. “I can’t.”
Jim’s eyes narrow. “Yes, you can, and you will. Right now,” he says. He tugs harder on Jensen’s cock, twisting his wrist wickedly at the end, and Jensen’s coming across Jim’s knuckles and his own stomach. He can’t even tell if he’s moaning or screaming or reciting the periodic table of elements, but when he comes back to himself, coach has let him sink to the floor and his back is stinging from scraping against the wall on the way down.
He looks up and the coach is very carefully pulling himself out of his pants, stroking slow and tight. “On your knees,” Jim says, and he doesn’t sound nearly as warm as before.
Jensen complies hesitantly, wincing when his kneecaps shift to keep him upright on the uneven grout. Jim’s free hand comes around the back of Jensen’s head, fingers threading through his short hair and gripping tight to keep him in place. And then his cock is hard and thick and there, rubbing against Jensen’s lips in little shaky circles.
“Fuck,” Jim moans. “Yeah, don’t move, stay still—God, that mouth.”
He puts one hand near the tip of his cock, keeping it pressed against Jensen’s lips, and starts up a fast pace with the other. Jensen can hear the wet noises of slick skin on skin, and even though he has his eyes closed, he can tell when Jim’s hand strokes up, closer to his face.
That doesn’t help warn him, though, when the coach pulls back and comes hot and sticky all across his face with a stifled groan.
“Shit, boy,” Jim pants when he’s recovered, tucking himself in and zipping up his pants. For a minute, Jensen thinks that’s it, Coach Jim is just going to leave him there on the floor, not even a goodbye. Then, Jim reaches down and runs his messy fingers through Jensen’s hair.
“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he says, and he sounds perversely tender. “I’ll see you around.”
He turns and disappears around the corner, leaving Jensen with bruised knees and sticky come drying on his face and stomach.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jensen/OMC
Wordcount: 814
Notes: Okay, first, a special thank you to my fantastic, fabulous, lovely beta,
scarlett_o, who bravely read and corrected this even though she said it made her squirm uncomfortably. You are the bee's knees, baby. Also, a special NO thank you to chickypooh, who made me write this for her when she uploaded Devour for me. She's evil, guys, blame her. ♥As far as warnings go, this fic has a few of them. For one, Jensen is underage--he's 16 here, even though it's not explicitly mentioned in the story itself, and also there is a sort of dubious consent thing going on. Jensen kind of gets taken advantage of a little bit, and even though he likes it, if that's not okay with you, please don't read. I don't want to squick anyone.
When the football coach corners him against the shower room wall, Jensen doesn’t even have time to panic, let alone grab a towel and wrap it around his waist. He’s naked and wet and the press of the other man’s clothed chest against his is making him a little lightheaded.
“So pretty,” the coach whispers in against his temple. His voice is husky, rough just like the stubble on his jaw. “Been watching you out there, boy. I’ve seen you shake that tight little ass of yours.”
Jensen shivers despite himself, toes curling against the cold, tile floor. He wants to say something or push out against coach’s chest, but he’s frozen, arms locked at his sides.
“You know my name, don’t you? Now, don’t be shy, it’s just us here.”
One of those calloused hands comes up and cups Jensen’s jaw, tilting his head back. He swallows convulsively, fingers clenching. “C-coach Jim,” he stutters. Jim looks pleased, the corner of his mouth tilting up.
“Very good, Jenny. I can call you that, can’t I?” he asks. His hand slips down, fingers brushing lightly over Jensen’s throat and shoulders, stopping when the pad of his thumb rests right on Jensen’s nipple.
“Of course I can,” Jim murmurs, leaning in to nip at Jensen’s ear when Jensen moans. “You’ll let me call you whatever I want, son; you’ll let me do whatever I want. Won’t you?” And, as if to prove it, he pinches Jensen’s nipple between his thumb and pointer, twisting just enough to have Jensen crying out and trying to sway away from him.
Jensen is red-faced and sweaty by the time Jim finishes playing with his chest and lets his fingers slip down Jensen’s stomach, but when Jim’s rough palm finally reaches his cock, it’s hard and steadily pearling at the tip. Jim chuckles all dark and low in his throat, making something in the pit of Jensen’s stomach flutter.
“I knew it,” he says smugly. He braces his forearm against Jensen’s chest, holding him against the wall, and closes his fist around Jensen’s dick. “You ever had anyone touch you like this before, Jenny?”
Jensen manages to shake his head, but he’s too focused on just not coming to notice when the coach starts undoing his pants with his free hand. He does notice, though, when Jim takes his hand and pushes it down his pants.
“Feel that? That’s my cock, boy, all wet and hard for you,” he says, rocking his hips forward. He puffs out an unsteady breath. “See what you do to me? I can’t stand up and call a time out during play when I’ve been watching you across the field, so fucking pretty like a girl.”
“I can’t—“ Jensen tries, licking his lips. “I can’t.”
Jim’s eyes narrow. “Yes, you can, and you will. Right now,” he says. He tugs harder on Jensen’s cock, twisting his wrist wickedly at the end, and Jensen’s coming across Jim’s knuckles and his own stomach. He can’t even tell if he’s moaning or screaming or reciting the periodic table of elements, but when he comes back to himself, coach has let him sink to the floor and his back is stinging from scraping against the wall on the way down.
He looks up and the coach is very carefully pulling himself out of his pants, stroking slow and tight. “On your knees,” Jim says, and he doesn’t sound nearly as warm as before.
Jensen complies hesitantly, wincing when his kneecaps shift to keep him upright on the uneven grout. Jim’s free hand comes around the back of Jensen’s head, fingers threading through his short hair and gripping tight to keep him in place. And then his cock is hard and thick and there, rubbing against Jensen’s lips in little shaky circles.
“Fuck,” Jim moans. “Yeah, don’t move, stay still—God, that mouth.”
He puts one hand near the tip of his cock, keeping it pressed against Jensen’s lips, and starts up a fast pace with the other. Jensen can hear the wet noises of slick skin on skin, and even though he has his eyes closed, he can tell when Jim’s hand strokes up, closer to his face.
That doesn’t help warn him, though, when the coach pulls back and comes hot and sticky all across his face with a stifled groan.
“Shit, boy,” Jim pants when he’s recovered, tucking himself in and zipping up his pants. For a minute, Jensen thinks that’s it, Coach Jim is just going to leave him there on the floor, not even a goodbye. Then, Jim reaches down and runs his messy fingers through Jensen’s hair.
“Don’t tell anyone about this,” he says, and he sounds perversely tender. “I’ll see you around.”
He turns and disappears around the corner, leaving Jensen with bruised knees and sticky come drying on his face and stomach.