Fic: If you were a piece of wood, I'd nail you to the floor (J2, NC-17)
Title: If you were a piece of wood, I’d nail you to the floor
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Disclaimer: This is fake. Don’t sue.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,000
Warnings: Cheap schmoop. Also, golfing. You must imagine your own picspam. Shameless peach, champagne, and doggy sexual metaphors.
Summary: Jared and Jensen might not be as classy as moviestars Cary Grant and Randy Scott, but they’re still in love.
Notes: Takes place over the past six months. The term “Fucksquatch” is invented by comedian Patton Oswalt. Title from a Katie Melua song. Eternal gratitude to moodswingers.
When Jared returns after dusk all sweaty and alive from running with the dogs, Jensen’s standing in the kitchen with nothing on but a towel, all worn-down and thin with frayed edges, tight and form-fitting as the oldest part of old jeans.
Jared remembers when towels were an afterthought. When he would have seen Jensen’s ass in his hallway, the bedroom, the kitchen, all the time, pale and freckled and golden like a peach.
The kitchen is dark except for the light from the fridge. Jared listens to the dogs slurp up as much water as they can get into their mouths, and he wishes he were on his knees, fucking Jensen with his tongue.
“Jesus, Jared, I just got out of the shower.” Jensen has to say it against his hair because sometime between thinking it and deciding it, Jared finds himself nuzzling Jensen’s neck, pawing at the towel with his hands.
“You used to wear less,” is all Jared manages to say. Used to was a while back, though it was never far away with them.
“I thought you didn’t care,” Jensen says with his eyes closed. Then Jared’s kneeling down, turning him around as the towel falls to the floor, spreading him out and fucking in with his tongue, letting the tip wriggle in.
Jared moves softly, trying not to grope Jensen with his hands. Just holding him there, cheeks spread apart and seated in his palms, but only just barely. Jensen wouldn’t let him hold all of his weight. Yet.
Jensen can’t touch himself, his face all closed-off and impassive, his hands and arms spreading out on the counter, his forehead resting on his forearms, his biceps, shaking off any feelings he gets with the shake of his head, but slowly wearing him down.
But Jared can find the deepest parts of him, and wear him down, and he can’t help but crave that, need that, just a little too much. Jared smiles, and Jensen has to feel it.
“I hate you,” he hears, but he practically moans it.
So Jared squeezes with his hands, urges Jensen back into them, and he does as his body begins to shudder, untouched except for that long thick tongue sliding in, seemingly pinning him in place, pulling him backwards onto it, needing more. And fucking suction -
He won’t stop, is so sure he can make him come just like this, just because he wants to, he knows that he can.
So Jensen groans, puts all his weight back onto Jared’s hands, Jared’s face, his tongue, and lets him palm and move his body, lift one thigh higher and dive deeper and hum. Digging in, and his thumb. And his tongue. And his thumb. And he doesn’t stop, this brotherly war -
Jensen gives in and just comes all over the outside of the utensil drawer. “Shit.”
Then Jared is left sitting in the kitchen, breathless, leaning against the cabinets and staring at Jensen’s come and holding a worn-out towel in his hands, wondering why, if two people can want each other so badly, can live 24-hours a day with each other, and make each other come by sheer force of will - and it was so often, so so easy - why it could sometimes get so hard.
So he takes the towel and wipes down the cabinets. Then takes it with him into the bathroom, willing himself to go straight up to the second floor. He throws the towel in the corner of the bathroom with his soaked clothes and it sits there, as proof of something he’s not supposed to be aware of so much anymore. But it’s there. It’s real.
So he makes it two minutes in the shower before he gives up, cursing himself, Jensen, and that motherfucking towel. Before he walks soaking wet down the stairs and doesn’t stop until he reaches Jensen’s room, where he’s naked, of course, and looking as pissed off as Jared feels. He doesn’t leave until they’ve thoroughly messed up Jensen’s sheets, but he’s grateful for the air mattress - the world’s most resilient bed - and he’s grateful for Saturday nights and he doesn’t leave until well into the next day.
And he’s grateful for the fact that Jensen doesn’t kick him out, even though he probably should. For two people who spend so much time together, they had really lost all sense of boundaries, if they ever had boundaries with each other to begin with. Walls, yes. But not boundaries. And without boundaries, walls were pretty damn useless.
“You’re still pissed at me?”
“Yes.”
“You still want to move out?”
“Just keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Jared takes his orders and sticks to them. He feels like one of his dogs but he doesn’t mind - dogs are more loyal than people. Unless that person is Jensen.
*
“Wait, I forgot something.” He returns with a bottle.
“J? Wine?”
“Sparkling wine.”
“Champagne?”
“Yeah, so?”
Jensen hasn’t moved out, so he plies him with champagne. After filming wraps, champagne in the kitchen, bedroom.
Just one bottle. Maybe two. One month. Maybe two.
In the last hours of the night, Jensen’s snub nose rubbing against Jared’s stomach.
“You’re world-class, you know?”
In response, Jensen looks up at him, then back down to his work. His eyelashes brushing against the lowest ridge of abs on Jared’s long torso, not yet set to fluttering.
The next day, Jared’s cock hangs between them like an inside joke.
Champagne at the wrap party (everyone brought them bottles, it was cute), champagne in the hotel room. Jensen had a mad hangover, mainlining Starbucks because they had one in the lobby.
“Hey, I’ve got a cure.”
“Don’t say hair of the dog.”
“Hair of the dog.”
“Shit, man.”
“Dude, that was just the morning panel. Now you have to take pictures with hundreds of people. And they’re going to be posted online for all posterity."
"Gimme the bottle.”
He only takes one sip before Jared’s drinking it out of his mouth. His hands brush over his hair, sending shivers down his neck and spine.
“You feel awesome. I like your Dean-hair.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts. ‘M growing it out.”
“You know, you taste like …”
“You?”
“No. I mean, yes. I was gonna say Starbucks and bubbles?”
“Poor baby. So what are you going to do, baby?”
“Have some more bubbly while you do your thing.
See you in an hour.”
“Right, well you be charming as usual and evade with long conversations about coffee cups.” Jensen gives him a peck on his giant forehead and heads to the bathroom for one last check and some mouthwash. “Don’t be late, Jared. Come save me. They’ll probably have donuts,” he says on his way out the door.
*
On the golf course the sky is blue with white fluffy clouds that make solid floating patterns on the greens when they pass across the sun.
“California, huh?”
“Yeah, California.” Jared yawns.
“It’s good to be home.” He hits it in the fairway.
“You know, there was a mini-bar in our room at the clubhouse.”
“You hate this.”
“It’s a little boring. And it takes forever.”
“Exactly! I just have to worry about hitting this ball into that hole. Nothing else. We’re outside, it’s a nice day, we don’t have to work…”
“Right. So you choose to spend your time hitting a tiny ball from one patch of lawn to another patch of lawn.”
“There’s a cooler on the back of the kart.”
“I think I love you.”
“You’re worse than Rosenbaum. Shut up and let me golf.”
*
“So, you and your smelly dogs in a car in the desert? Seriously?”
“So, you want to come with?”
A $30 hotel room off of the highway is the only one that doesn’t care about the dogs.
“This room is awful.”
“It has HBO.”
“No. That’s just the placard. It’s just for show.”
“Yeah, you’re right. We got nothing.”
Sadie knocks over a chair and one of its wooden legs becomes detached.
“Hey, we don’t even have to worry about breaking this one. Jensen’s petting the poor excuse for a bed with a loopy smile on his face.”
“I think driving in the sun’s been getting to you.”
“It’s better than letting you drive. Like a maniac.”
“Take a shower. I’m going to the store on the corner.”
“A turkey sub, beef jerky, Gatorade, Hi-Life, Marlboros, Crisco.”
“You are so weird.”
“You love it.”
“This place is already an ashtray.”
“Then I might as well take advantage of it.”
Jensen lit a cigarette.
When Jared returned, they took turns being teacher and student. Fisting with giant hands. Licking freckles to orgasm.
“These beds are so fucking small.”
“They probably weren’t expecting Fucksquatch to show up at their doorstep.”
“I miss your air mattress. I couldn’t break that thing, no matter what I did.”
“Yeah, I created a monster. Wanna bet this one holds?”
“Nope. I don’t want to go into this when you have an agenda.” Jared smiles. “You’re too hard of a worker.”
Jared fucks him from above, bouncing on the bed in long thrusts, then quicking fucking in. The bed breaks into pieces.
“It’s a noble death.” Jensen says.
*
“J, are you raiding the fridge? In the middle of the night? At my parents’ house?”
“I’m hungry. Your mom said I could have whatever I want.”
“And you want champagne and cold chicken?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“What is this, a wedding?”
They eat for a while.
“I can’t believe you’re sleeping on the couch.”
“It’s a long couch.”
“Come up to my room.”
“It’s next door to your brother’s.”
“It has a door.”
“You’re loud. We’re loud. And I’m not going to break your bed.”
“We won’t. Promise. Just make out. Bring the bottle.”
Making out isn’t enough after an hour. He knows by now.
“On the floor?”
“There’s carpet.”
“This is a thing for you, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. Down. Floor. Now.” Jensen’s pointing from his knees.
On the floor, behind Jensen, he can see his ass muscles working, clenching. He spanks him.
“If they could see how hot you look, how this feels, how much we’re in love…” If all of them could hear Jensen’s high-pitched “guhn” he thinks.
When Jensen wakes up, Jared is sprawled on top of him, his legs spread out and hanging halfway off the bed.
Back home, Jared has a white bed.
No, they share two beds. And he wakes up from dreams of this, dreaming of this. Jensen sucks him while he tongues his ass. Jensen comes moaning around his dick. Jared loves the smell like he loves dogs, and the sound of Jensen around his dick, and his bowed thighs under his hands.
Jensen stares at the ceiling. “Travel is awesome, right?”
“This has been the longest, most epic fake honeymoon ever.”
“Amen.”
*
They text each other and pass notes when they can’t talk or touch, like when guest stars are there, or anyone else who might not be loyal.
Don’t care about stupid Emmys.
Jensen is committed to smoking like crazy, really over the job, but with a whole new respect for working and earning. The job, the work.
Jared is taking it easy, committed to nothing.
Our sex tape is better than hers.
That’s not nice. We had consent. And Kim. And us.
I know. I’m thinking about it right now.
In the end, Jensen responds to Internet rumors, press articles, the insecurity and boredom and doubt, the same way he always has. And Jared believes him.
You can play that role. You can do anything. You’re great. I love you. I’m proud of you. I adore you.
They come home. They get through.
The End
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Disclaimer: This is fake. Don’t sue.
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,000
Warnings: Cheap schmoop. Also, golfing. You must imagine your own picspam. Shameless peach, champagne, and doggy sexual metaphors.
Summary: Jared and Jensen might not be as classy as moviestars Cary Grant and Randy Scott, but they’re still in love.
Notes: Takes place over the past six months. The term “Fucksquatch” is invented by comedian Patton Oswalt. Title from a Katie Melua song. Eternal gratitude to moodswingers.
When Jared returns after dusk all sweaty and alive from running with the dogs, Jensen’s standing in the kitchen with nothing on but a towel, all worn-down and thin with frayed edges, tight and form-fitting as the oldest part of old jeans.
Jared remembers when towels were an afterthought. When he would have seen Jensen’s ass in his hallway, the bedroom, the kitchen, all the time, pale and freckled and golden like a peach.
The kitchen is dark except for the light from the fridge. Jared listens to the dogs slurp up as much water as they can get into their mouths, and he wishes he were on his knees, fucking Jensen with his tongue.
“Jesus, Jared, I just got out of the shower.” Jensen has to say it against his hair because sometime between thinking it and deciding it, Jared finds himself nuzzling Jensen’s neck, pawing at the towel with his hands.
“You used to wear less,” is all Jared manages to say. Used to was a while back, though it was never far away with them.
“I thought you didn’t care,” Jensen says with his eyes closed. Then Jared’s kneeling down, turning him around as the towel falls to the floor, spreading him out and fucking in with his tongue, letting the tip wriggle in.
Jared moves softly, trying not to grope Jensen with his hands. Just holding him there, cheeks spread apart and seated in his palms, but only just barely. Jensen wouldn’t let him hold all of his weight. Yet.
Jensen can’t touch himself, his face all closed-off and impassive, his hands and arms spreading out on the counter, his forehead resting on his forearms, his biceps, shaking off any feelings he gets with the shake of his head, but slowly wearing him down.
But Jared can find the deepest parts of him, and wear him down, and he can’t help but crave that, need that, just a little too much. Jared smiles, and Jensen has to feel it.
“I hate you,” he hears, but he practically moans it.
So Jared squeezes with his hands, urges Jensen back into them, and he does as his body begins to shudder, untouched except for that long thick tongue sliding in, seemingly pinning him in place, pulling him backwards onto it, needing more. And fucking suction -
He won’t stop, is so sure he can make him come just like this, just because he wants to, he knows that he can.
So Jensen groans, puts all his weight back onto Jared’s hands, Jared’s face, his tongue, and lets him palm and move his body, lift one thigh higher and dive deeper and hum. Digging in, and his thumb. And his tongue. And his thumb. And he doesn’t stop, this brotherly war -
Jensen gives in and just comes all over the outside of the utensil drawer. “Shit.”
Then Jared is left sitting in the kitchen, breathless, leaning against the cabinets and staring at Jensen’s come and holding a worn-out towel in his hands, wondering why, if two people can want each other so badly, can live 24-hours a day with each other, and make each other come by sheer force of will - and it was so often, so so easy - why it could sometimes get so hard.
So he takes the towel and wipes down the cabinets. Then takes it with him into the bathroom, willing himself to go straight up to the second floor. He throws the towel in the corner of the bathroom with his soaked clothes and it sits there, as proof of something he’s not supposed to be aware of so much anymore. But it’s there. It’s real.
So he makes it two minutes in the shower before he gives up, cursing himself, Jensen, and that motherfucking towel. Before he walks soaking wet down the stairs and doesn’t stop until he reaches Jensen’s room, where he’s naked, of course, and looking as pissed off as Jared feels. He doesn’t leave until they’ve thoroughly messed up Jensen’s sheets, but he’s grateful for the air mattress - the world’s most resilient bed - and he’s grateful for Saturday nights and he doesn’t leave until well into the next day.
And he’s grateful for the fact that Jensen doesn’t kick him out, even though he probably should. For two people who spend so much time together, they had really lost all sense of boundaries, if they ever had boundaries with each other to begin with. Walls, yes. But not boundaries. And without boundaries, walls were pretty damn useless.
“You’re still pissed at me?”
“Yes.”
“You still want to move out?”
“Just keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Jared takes his orders and sticks to them. He feels like one of his dogs but he doesn’t mind - dogs are more loyal than people. Unless that person is Jensen.
*
“Wait, I forgot something.” He returns with a bottle.
“J? Wine?”
“Sparkling wine.”
“Champagne?”
“Yeah, so?”
Jensen hasn’t moved out, so he plies him with champagne. After filming wraps, champagne in the kitchen, bedroom.
Just one bottle. Maybe two. One month. Maybe two.
In the last hours of the night, Jensen’s snub nose rubbing against Jared’s stomach.
“You’re world-class, you know?”
In response, Jensen looks up at him, then back down to his work. His eyelashes brushing against the lowest ridge of abs on Jared’s long torso, not yet set to fluttering.
The next day, Jared’s cock hangs between them like an inside joke.
Champagne at the wrap party (everyone brought them bottles, it was cute), champagne in the hotel room. Jensen had a mad hangover, mainlining Starbucks because they had one in the lobby.
“Hey, I’ve got a cure.”
“Don’t say hair of the dog.”
“Hair of the dog.”
“Shit, man.”
“Dude, that was just the morning panel. Now you have to take pictures with hundreds of people. And they’re going to be posted online for all posterity."
"Gimme the bottle.”
He only takes one sip before Jared’s drinking it out of his mouth. His hands brush over his hair, sending shivers down his neck and spine.
“You feel awesome. I like your Dean-hair.”
“Enjoy it while it lasts. ‘M growing it out.”
“You know, you taste like …”
“You?”
“No. I mean, yes. I was gonna say Starbucks and bubbles?”
“Poor baby. So what are you going to do, baby?”
“Have some more bubbly while you do your thing.
See you in an hour.”
“Right, well you be charming as usual and evade with long conversations about coffee cups.” Jensen gives him a peck on his giant forehead and heads to the bathroom for one last check and some mouthwash. “Don’t be late, Jared. Come save me. They’ll probably have donuts,” he says on his way out the door.
*
On the golf course the sky is blue with white fluffy clouds that make solid floating patterns on the greens when they pass across the sun.
“California, huh?”
“Yeah, California.” Jared yawns.
“It’s good to be home.” He hits it in the fairway.
“You know, there was a mini-bar in our room at the clubhouse.”
“You hate this.”
“It’s a little boring. And it takes forever.”
“Exactly! I just have to worry about hitting this ball into that hole. Nothing else. We’re outside, it’s a nice day, we don’t have to work…”
“Right. So you choose to spend your time hitting a tiny ball from one patch of lawn to another patch of lawn.”
“There’s a cooler on the back of the kart.”
“I think I love you.”
“You’re worse than Rosenbaum. Shut up and let me golf.”
*
“So, you and your smelly dogs in a car in the desert? Seriously?”
“So, you want to come with?”
A $30 hotel room off of the highway is the only one that doesn’t care about the dogs.
“This room is awful.”
“It has HBO.”
“No. That’s just the placard. It’s just for show.”
“Yeah, you’re right. We got nothing.”
Sadie knocks over a chair and one of its wooden legs becomes detached.
“Hey, we don’t even have to worry about breaking this one. Jensen’s petting the poor excuse for a bed with a loopy smile on his face.”
“I think driving in the sun’s been getting to you.”
“It’s better than letting you drive. Like a maniac.”
“Take a shower. I’m going to the store on the corner.”
“A turkey sub, beef jerky, Gatorade, Hi-Life, Marlboros, Crisco.”
“You are so weird.”
“You love it.”
“This place is already an ashtray.”
“Then I might as well take advantage of it.”
Jensen lit a cigarette.
When Jared returned, they took turns being teacher and student. Fisting with giant hands. Licking freckles to orgasm.
“These beds are so fucking small.”
“They probably weren’t expecting Fucksquatch to show up at their doorstep.”
“I miss your air mattress. I couldn’t break that thing, no matter what I did.”
“Yeah, I created a monster. Wanna bet this one holds?”
“Nope. I don’t want to go into this when you have an agenda.” Jared smiles. “You’re too hard of a worker.”
Jared fucks him from above, bouncing on the bed in long thrusts, then quicking fucking in. The bed breaks into pieces.
“It’s a noble death.” Jensen says.
*
“J, are you raiding the fridge? In the middle of the night? At my parents’ house?”
“I’m hungry. Your mom said I could have whatever I want.”
“And you want champagne and cold chicken?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“What is this, a wedding?”
They eat for a while.
“I can’t believe you’re sleeping on the couch.”
“It’s a long couch.”
“Come up to my room.”
“It’s next door to your brother’s.”
“It has a door.”
“You’re loud. We’re loud. And I’m not going to break your bed.”
“We won’t. Promise. Just make out. Bring the bottle.”
Making out isn’t enough after an hour. He knows by now.
“On the floor?”
“There’s carpet.”
“This is a thing for you, isn’t it?”
“Maybe. Down. Floor. Now.” Jensen’s pointing from his knees.
On the floor, behind Jensen, he can see his ass muscles working, clenching. He spanks him.
“If they could see how hot you look, how this feels, how much we’re in love…” If all of them could hear Jensen’s high-pitched “guhn” he thinks.
When Jensen wakes up, Jared is sprawled on top of him, his legs spread out and hanging halfway off the bed.
Back home, Jared has a white bed.
No, they share two beds. And he wakes up from dreams of this, dreaming of this. Jensen sucks him while he tongues his ass. Jensen comes moaning around his dick. Jared loves the smell like he loves dogs, and the sound of Jensen around his dick, and his bowed thighs under his hands.
Jensen stares at the ceiling. “Travel is awesome, right?”
“This has been the longest, most epic fake honeymoon ever.”
“Amen.”
*
They text each other and pass notes when they can’t talk or touch, like when guest stars are there, or anyone else who might not be loyal.
Don’t care about stupid Emmys.
Jensen is committed to smoking like crazy, really over the job, but with a whole new respect for working and earning. The job, the work.
Jared is taking it easy, committed to nothing.
Our sex tape is better than hers.
That’s not nice. We had consent. And Kim. And us.
I know. I’m thinking about it right now.
In the end, Jensen responds to Internet rumors, press articles, the insecurity and boredom and doubt, the same way he always has. And Jared believes him.
You can play that role. You can do anything. You’re great. I love you. I’m proud of you. I adore you.
They come home. They get through.
The End