Worky Work, Busy Bee!
Okay, So I've been working a lot on this one, so here's a lot of stuff, again.
Wendy is holding another Sentence-a-thon with Handcuffs as the selected kink of choice, and of course most of you know that I'm all over that like white on rice. So lets get started with that.
For Wendy:
Jensen realized early on that Jared was a nut for restraint, especially given Jensen's endless pliability from years of yoga and choreographed fight sequences, so there's been wild nights of marathon sex with his legs hobbled back or his hips spread open and kept there by Jared's mammoth strength, and there's more than enough times where he's had his hands stuck in reverse prayer with absolutely elegant and breathtakingly tight rope bondage until it felt like his hands were going to fall off, but there's nothing quite as hot to Jensen as when Jared cuffs his hands with genuine police handcuffs, tight and unforgiving, holding Jensen's wrists at the center of the small of his back, throwing him over a table or bed and sinking three fingers in all at once, twisting so rough Jensen's already crying out to come, and then sinking in inch by inch until Jared's balls deep and Jensen's toes are curling, fucking in messy and pulling out slow like Jared's carving his initials mercilessly into the inside of Jensen's skin, and when Jensen comes, Jared kicks his legs apart to sink in deeper and fucking hard and even-handed until Jensen's hard and coming again, tugging at the handcuffs helplessly as Jared laughs deep and dominating in his ear, and after he comes a second time, Jared always comes right inside him, and then pulling away and just leaving him there, and Jensen thinks that Jared can bend him any way he likes, but sometimes all he needs is just a little metal around his wrists.
For wendy:
Jared's stretched taut, arms suspended above his head, cuffed around a fucking sprinkler pipe, wearing nothing but a little eyeliner and some combat boots and an erection so stiff it's almost fortified, and Jeff watches as Jensen simply walks up and manhandles Jared like he's a rag doll, ghosting teasing fingertips over jaw and throat and chest and hips and fucking thighs until Jared's sobbing he's begging for it so hard, Jensen laughs and Jared shakes at the words, "I haven't touched him in weeks, not since I knew you were coming," and Jeff comes up giving Jared the most appraising gaze Jared's ever gotten, Judged and quartered, "I guess I've rubbed off on you more than I know, Jensen," and suddenly, the sweet taste of frustration mingles with orgasm and he can't tell who's got a tongue in his mouth or who's got fingers in his ass, or whose dick is slip-sliding against his, and when it's all said and done, Jared's stretching farther than he ever has and coming harder than he ever thought he could, and the two of them don't back away until he's completely satisfied and he's not even surprised when they leave him hanging to watch as they take care of each other, after.
For Stellamira:
Sam realizes how fucked up this is, seeing as he's fucking a rich actor who makes Sam miss Dean something fierce and just so happened to tie sam to his apartment bed with the most expensive handcuffs Sam's ever seen (when Jensen had told him That he'd bought expensive handcuffs, Sam playfully asked 'what, are they made out of platinum, ivory and diamonds?' little did he know...) soft leather and tight steel with tiny little locks that look impossible to escape, absolutely exposed while Jensen teases him between sucking his cock and fingering his ass, and while the bed's a bit small for Sam alone on regular days, he's sure he's going to toss Jensen off in the next few minutes while kicking his feet as they hang off the end, but what scares them both is how the raised muscles Sam's arms (and that 'zombie!strength' Jen always jokes about) lets Sam break clear through the chain while Jensen pushes inside, and after laying still and letting Jensen make him come, Sam asks 'So how much do I owe you for the cuffs' and Jensen grins,"Seven hundred dollars,but I'll let you work off your debt if you do whatever I say," and Sam grins, too, "Great, I'm your cabana boy", Jensen rolls off of him and kisses him softly at the wrists, cuffs still locked on, "I dunno, I prefer the title 'Indentured love servant', don't you," and even as fucked up as this whole situation is, Sam knows he's falling in love.
For: Nu_breed:
"Oh how the mighty Dean Winchester has fallen," Jared giggles as Dean grumbles and finds himself laying on the floor, both hands cuffed to a bedpost and naked, big hands splayed over his thighs and ribs, "So help me god, I'm going to..." Dean starts, grumbling as he tries to find something he can use to jimmy the cuffs open but Jared's already grinning down at him, wide and happy, "You're going to do what, huh? You gonna fuck me? That it? Let's just get it over with, then," Jared takes off his robe and just sinks down right onto Dean's hard cock, so tight and slow that Dean stops thinking of ways to escape Jared's Bigfoot grip, and there are lips all over him, teeth sinking into his collarbone and that tightness clenching around him as he sinks in and slips out of it, and right before he starts to come, Jared's hands are skittering all over him like sparks on water and goddamn, Dean's laughing despite himself, convulsing and yanking at those cuffs and snapping his hips up and coming harder than any barfly girl has ever made him come, and Jared's grin is infectious, "Dean, I didn't know you were ticklish, I think I'm going to have to keep you here and wait until we tell Sam about our little secret, then," And Dean's glaring at him, but he can't help but start squirming again under Jared's huge hands and tight ass, and god, Dean hasn't laughed this hard in ages and he finds himself waiting until Sam walks back in to join in on this and give him some relief.
And for ficlets, I've finished two more.
For Ninjetti75:
Even though all Jared really has to do is stand around and look bored in front of a camera, the fashion business is a bit annoying. Sure, he’s got a pretty face, but Jared doesn’t care, because he never actually wanted to be a model. He effectively got tricked into it, brooding as private security for entourage after entourage, popped a few up and comers for peanuts, and landed ass up on his biggest job.
When people used to tell Jared being a haute fashion designer was ‘to die for’, he didn’t actually expect they meant real death. Nor did he expect the death itself to be as glamorous as the clothes, the walkways, the parties and the property.
It’d be fucking annoying if it weren’t for the fact that he’s fucking, sucking, snorting and plowing through the competition, and looking pretty when he’s not trying to make sure the words ‘ingenious’ and ‘resilient’ come up when Ackles’ name gets mentioned. When Jared pulls on the black gloves, shit goes down before they come off.
And don’t even talk about Ackles, because Jared’s pretty much ready to bend over backwards and any which way the camera needs him while wearing select pieces of the lingerie line so he can part those legs and dive right in head first. Lips to die for, thighs that you could build cities on, and ass so tight you could crack nuts and even when he’s slumming it, Jensen looks like he’s in front of a camera dusting off a five page spread. Shame’s Jensen knows, too. Jensen pretty much works it every time that Jared’s around, and when he’s not working those suckable lips or batting those ridiculous eyelashes, he’s being an outright bitch. To everybody in general, but Jared in particular.
Jensen Ackles knows everything about him: his measurements, which direction his dick naturally falls, how long Jared’s been away from home at any given time, how he looks in eyeliner and what hues compliment the undertones in Jared’s skin. For being Jared’s greatest failure, he’s pretty seriously lovin’ on Jensen most days. Jared loves him enough to protect him from all these pretty faces with knives precariously held behind their backs. It’s ruthless work, but once you adapt, it’s not as hard as it sounds.
“Ease up,” Jensen ushers on, making a last minute adjustment to the shirt Jared’s shrugging on. “It’s just a dry run. For a few investors. They’ve seen a million models, Jared. You’re not going to be the best or the worst.”
Jared genuinely doesn’t care about if he’s a supermodel. No, really.
It’s hard to actually pay attention to that, though. Jensen’s wearing his glasses and biting his lip and trying to patch up the bottom hem. Jared nods, pulls up the low-waist pants he’s wearing. There’s the clacking of heels on the tile in the loft, and Jensen’s groaning. “Fuck.”
Jared goes on high alert, he knows that groan too well. He fumbles with a few buttons on the left side of the shirt, and makes sure that the deep groove of his hips are just visible in the pants. Jensen’s helping shrug the jacket over one of his arms, suede strips hair-pinned into place.
“What, are you designing for the international male catalogue?” Jared looks up into the mirror and sees fucking Posh Spice in the reflection. He looks down, and the rail of coke is still there, so he knows he isn’t just seeing shit. Jensen looks like he needs a weekend long bender, at this rate.
“Who told you about this?” Jensen scowls, turning around. He pulls his glasses off his face and puts his hand up to his nose, massaging the bridge.
“Aw, Jenny. Not happy to see me?” she asks, hands on stick-thin hips, tapping one foot in front of him. “How many animals did you have to skin to make that travesty of a pant-coat?”
“Do you have to mock me?” Jensen asks.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Victoria says. She looks directly into Jared’s face like he’s some kind of mannequin, a moving hanger. She then points to his crotch. “His makeup is horrendous. I hope you didn’t try hard on that. And this cut, here? Hookers wouldn’t even wear this.”
“Hookers won’t be wearing it,” Jensen says, and tries to re-adjust one of the pins in the back of the jacket, fixing it a little more again.
“I’m sure you’ve heard what’s been said about your little Jared, here,” She snips. Jared’s not above smacking her if she calls him a ho. When he was working with Alexis, his legs were fucking closed, fuck you very much. “It’s not like he can get the job done. You might as well give over your sketches to me. I’ll find someone who’ll protect them instead of getting distracted over your pretty face.”
Jared glares daggers at her, as he knows that he’s probably high up on the list of people that probably should get offed but won’t, but says nothing. He may have the reputation of a whore, but it doesn’t matter as long as he’s working for Jen.
“I’ve went and told your Investor friends to go home, mind you,” She says, face lighting up. “This is obviously, as I expected, a work in progress.”
“I’m sure they absolutely respected you and took your advice, Victoria,” Jensen says, lips fixed into a tight smile as he places his glasses back onto his face, “But if you want me to design you another one of those little black dresses you seem to like because they give you the illusion of good taste, you certainly aren’t going to get it by acting like a sadist.”
“I’m not even sure I’d ever want you to design anything for me, at this rate,” She snaps. “And besides, I’m sure he can get anything he wants by acting like a sadist. So Why can’t I?”
“There might be that little part about having a dick,” Jensen says.
“And I look good in front of a camera, actually,” Jared says aloud, although he thinks he’s saying it to Jen more than to her. She glares at him.
“You, shut it. And You, Jensen, need to find a model with a backbone. Two more months and you’ll both be dead, at this rate, and I don’t think any of your investors will be coming back after I tell half of Milan about this little ensemble,” Victoria hisses, storming off. “And I still want that black dress you promised me.”
“I’m sure as hell not going to design it, now,” Jensen snaps. “I’m going to go and see if she actually did tell the investors anything. Give me a sec.”
Jared waits, lets Alona finish up the sparse makeup and cleaning him up, and tries hard not to look hopeful when Jensen comes back and it’s just him.
“She actually sent them away. What gives her the…”
“Jen,” Jared stops him, looking at Jensen’s black slacks and silken shirt. This was supposed to have been a good day. He sighs, shrugging out of his jacket, and picking up the rolled up hundred dollar bill from the vanity, offering it to Jensen. They split a rail and fuck on the pedestal in the room where Jared was supposed to get up and show the concept to the investors, and when it’s done, Jensen looks up at him, touching his face and kissing bitter lips, looking a bit like a kicked puppy.
Later, after a small dinner, Jensen pushes the black gloves across the table to Jared.
Jared sighs. Jensen’s voice sounds raw and vulnerable, and Jared wonders what Victoria was like before Jared came around. He slips his fingers over the pile of dark leather, and moves to walk away from the table when Jensen holds his eyes captive and says, “Jared, don’t be cordial with this one.”
Jared smiles sweetly, wryly. “I never am.”
And for iamsab:
Ever since he’s gotten the breasts and the curves and the freaking cunt, Ianto’s suspicions have heightened as well. Call it female intuition, or just call it a healthy dose of paranoia since his life has been turned upside down and he can’t even use the proper pronoun for himself, nowadays.
And don’t get him started on clothes. He’s alright with the lingerie, the frilly underthings that he’s well aware Jack will probably tear right off of him the minute he steps into a room in nothing but busteau, g-string and garters, it’s the whole professional thing he’s been having a hard time with. Gwen and Toshiko both seem to have it down, but in two different ways whenever Ianto asks them and he eventually finds himself becoming the Frankenstein of their personal tastes. Boyish haircut, loud colors, impossible fits, and goddamn, how do they do this?
“Bloody fuck,” he says, shrugging out of his converse and launching his feet into Jack’s lap, leaning backwards and silently thanking god he wasn’t wearing kitten heels. “It’s been quite a day.”
“You saved the day, as always. You sure I can’t give you anything more than a foot massage?” Jack wiggles eyebrows and it makes Ianto furious the way he can’t help but giggle at it, sugary sweet and so unlike him in his old body. Jack’s libido hasn’t turned a blind eye on this new canvas, like he’s used to these kinds of things happening.
“I’m tired, Jack, I just want you to rub my feet and then I’ll go home,” Ianto sighs. His hair is growing out, not fast but enough that it’s hanging a bit from his head, and he takes a few locks into a finger.
“I was thinking,” Jack leads.
“Can never be good,” Ianto jumps in, crude smile on his face. Jack’s thumbs mash into the bottom of his heel hard, like he’s trying to tell Ianto to stuff it and let him finish. “Ooh, do that. Do it hard like that, Jack.”
“I bet you say that to all the boys, with those vowels of yours,” Jack says, grinning. “Anyway, I was thinking, when did the case for the hand break?”
“Three weeks ago,” Ianto murmurs. “Just before this happened.”
“Yeah, Just before, right?” Jack asks. “Did you get any of the liquid in the chamber on you?”
Ianto tries to think back to it. “Which liquid, the dark or the light blue one?”
“The dark blue?” There’s a thumb right under the arch of Ianto’s left foot, and he’s pretty sure he’s just creamed his Agent Provacateur. Charming, he thinks, and sighs as he realizes that he’ll probably spend the rest of the night hand-washing the ejaculatory fluids out of his own panties. Ah, the life of a real lady.
“Yes, Some of it got under the gloves I was wearing, sir,” Ianto nods.
“Well, then, I figured it out.”
“What?” Ianto asks.
“The reason why you changed into a girl. That blue stuff was a DNA randomizer. It’s the only genuine way I can keep the hand alive, really. The tank keeps killing off old cells, re-arranging their DNA, and re-building the cellular structure of the hand. It rearranged your DNA.”
Ianto looks at him, mouth undoubtably hanging open. “You have to be kidding.”
“Um,” Jack makes a sheepish face that Ianto’s never seen before, and he’d like to think that he had enough experience in handling Jack that he could publish a galactic best-selling handbook about it. “No.”
“Fuck, Jack,” Ianto says, and covers his eyes with his hand. “You mean I turned into this because I came into contact with your freakish hand tank? I’m sure I’m just a liability, here, but you have to realize how fucked up that sounds on my end.”
“I do, and I’m sorry,” Jack says, rubbing deeper like he’s trying to make sure that Ianto knows how sorry he is. Through his feet. That’s even more charming than the thought of going home to wash his delicates.
“You’re not doing a very good job of showing it,” Ianto says. “I guess it was coming to me, though. Torchwood can’t help but fuck my life up.”
“Don’t say that,” Jack says, silk over steel, and Ianto’s hand drops from his eyes and hits the couch again. “Owen and I are trying to figure out how to reverse it, and if that doesn’t work, there’s always the galactic grey market and…”
“Jack!” Ianto says. “I’m a fucking girl! Owen hit on me today! I’m confused about everything, I have to learn how to put on makeup, and god knows this whole ‘fertility’ thing is definitely not a backburner issue. I’d say I’ve pretty much gone from ‘warped yet placid’ to ‘downright hysterical’ in the past month. How dare you act so casual about it?”
“I…,” Jack sighs. “That was a stupid move, I admit. But we’re going to figure out how to get you back to your old, suit wearing self. And it’s not like it’s all been so bad. It’s not like you’re the most awkward member of the team, and I see how you’ve been looking at Tosh and…”
“Oi!” Ianto barks. “Jack Harkness, I’m going home. As resolutely as you seem to do so, you will not be turning my life into a gender-bending episode of Footballer’s Wives.”
Ianto figures he can’t be bothered to lace up his converse tight as he slides his feet into them and surges up. Jack looks at him, simply, and gets up along with him.
“Let me make it up to you,” Jack sighs. “Please, Ianto?”
Ianto looks at him, and snorts, “Always want me in your bed?”
“Always,” Jack nods.
“I’m going home, Jack.” Ianto says, “But you can make it up to me, anyway.”
“How?” Jack asks.
Ianto bends over a little, slides a hand up his skirt, and reaches for his panties. It takes a second to resist just sinking those fingers into himself, or rubbing them into his clit, but no, there’s a point to this, however dysfunctional it is. He hooks his finger into the skimpy material, and pulls it down his legs. He looks up, and sees Jack’s eyes widen. He pulls the underwear all the way down and balls them up, handing them to Jack.
“I want those hand washed by morning,” Ianto says. “I hope you don’t let the tank in on the fun. And maybe, if you do it right, I’ll let you put them back on me then. Preferably with your teeth. Now, goodnight, sir.”
Jack smiles, amused. “Have a good night, Ianto.”
There was a reason Ianto never trusted that hand, he thinks in a huff, and tries not to laugh hard when he gets out of Jack’s earshot.
Okay, so that's all I've got for now, but tomorrow I plan on finishing the letterboys graduation AU for JM, the torchwood/Nsync crossover some of ya'll wanted to see, and trying to find a way to incorporate This into the porn!J2. because, COME ON, you cannot deny the high powered twinkage in that picture. I'm SORRY.
Also, I've decided that I obviously have to write the bad sex!Virginia blue law prompt, the jive club AU that I've been tossing about, and that dean/martha that I've been screaming about, and don't even ask me when my Emo!sync is due because I JUST DON'T KNOW ANYMORE. Oh GOD.
Now, for a icon purge and to re-write my friends only statement.
P.S.: Spankathon entries, Ten/Martha, Owen/Ianto, and First time J2 here.
Wendy is holding another Sentence-a-thon with Handcuffs as the selected kink of choice, and of course most of you know that I'm all over that like white on rice. So lets get started with that.
For Wendy:
Jensen realized early on that Jared was a nut for restraint, especially given Jensen's endless pliability from years of yoga and choreographed fight sequences, so there's been wild nights of marathon sex with his legs hobbled back or his hips spread open and kept there by Jared's mammoth strength, and there's more than enough times where he's had his hands stuck in reverse prayer with absolutely elegant and breathtakingly tight rope bondage until it felt like his hands were going to fall off, but there's nothing quite as hot to Jensen as when Jared cuffs his hands with genuine police handcuffs, tight and unforgiving, holding Jensen's wrists at the center of the small of his back, throwing him over a table or bed and sinking three fingers in all at once, twisting so rough Jensen's already crying out to come, and then sinking in inch by inch until Jared's balls deep and Jensen's toes are curling, fucking in messy and pulling out slow like Jared's carving his initials mercilessly into the inside of Jensen's skin, and when Jensen comes, Jared kicks his legs apart to sink in deeper and fucking hard and even-handed until Jensen's hard and coming again, tugging at the handcuffs helplessly as Jared laughs deep and dominating in his ear, and after he comes a second time, Jared always comes right inside him, and then pulling away and just leaving him there, and Jensen thinks that Jared can bend him any way he likes, but sometimes all he needs is just a little metal around his wrists.
For wendy:
Jared's stretched taut, arms suspended above his head, cuffed around a fucking sprinkler pipe, wearing nothing but a little eyeliner and some combat boots and an erection so stiff it's almost fortified, and Jeff watches as Jensen simply walks up and manhandles Jared like he's a rag doll, ghosting teasing fingertips over jaw and throat and chest and hips and fucking thighs until Jared's sobbing he's begging for it so hard, Jensen laughs and Jared shakes at the words, "I haven't touched him in weeks, not since I knew you were coming," and Jeff comes up giving Jared the most appraising gaze Jared's ever gotten, Judged and quartered, "I guess I've rubbed off on you more than I know, Jensen," and suddenly, the sweet taste of frustration mingles with orgasm and he can't tell who's got a tongue in his mouth or who's got fingers in his ass, or whose dick is slip-sliding against his, and when it's all said and done, Jared's stretching farther than he ever has and coming harder than he ever thought he could, and the two of them don't back away until he's completely satisfied and he's not even surprised when they leave him hanging to watch as they take care of each other, after.
For Stellamira:
Sam realizes how fucked up this is, seeing as he's fucking a rich actor who makes Sam miss Dean something fierce and just so happened to tie sam to his apartment bed with the most expensive handcuffs Sam's ever seen (when Jensen had told him That he'd bought expensive handcuffs, Sam playfully asked 'what, are they made out of platinum, ivory and diamonds?' little did he know...) soft leather and tight steel with tiny little locks that look impossible to escape, absolutely exposed while Jensen teases him between sucking his cock and fingering his ass, and while the bed's a bit small for Sam alone on regular days, he's sure he's going to toss Jensen off in the next few minutes while kicking his feet as they hang off the end, but what scares them both is how the raised muscles Sam's arms (and that 'zombie!strength' Jen always jokes about) lets Sam break clear through the chain while Jensen pushes inside, and after laying still and letting Jensen make him come, Sam asks 'So how much do I owe you for the cuffs' and Jensen grins,"Seven hundred dollars,but I'll let you work off your debt if you do whatever I say," and Sam grins, too, "Great, I'm your cabana boy", Jensen rolls off of him and kisses him softly at the wrists, cuffs still locked on, "I dunno, I prefer the title 'Indentured love servant', don't you," and even as fucked up as this whole situation is, Sam knows he's falling in love.
For: Nu_breed:
"Oh how the mighty Dean Winchester has fallen," Jared giggles as Dean grumbles and finds himself laying on the floor, both hands cuffed to a bedpost and naked, big hands splayed over his thighs and ribs, "So help me god, I'm going to..." Dean starts, grumbling as he tries to find something he can use to jimmy the cuffs open but Jared's already grinning down at him, wide and happy, "You're going to do what, huh? You gonna fuck me? That it? Let's just get it over with, then," Jared takes off his robe and just sinks down right onto Dean's hard cock, so tight and slow that Dean stops thinking of ways to escape Jared's Bigfoot grip, and there are lips all over him, teeth sinking into his collarbone and that tightness clenching around him as he sinks in and slips out of it, and right before he starts to come, Jared's hands are skittering all over him like sparks on water and goddamn, Dean's laughing despite himself, convulsing and yanking at those cuffs and snapping his hips up and coming harder than any barfly girl has ever made him come, and Jared's grin is infectious, "Dean, I didn't know you were ticklish, I think I'm going to have to keep you here and wait until we tell Sam about our little secret, then," And Dean's glaring at him, but he can't help but start squirming again under Jared's huge hands and tight ass, and god, Dean hasn't laughed this hard in ages and he finds himself waiting until Sam walks back in to join in on this and give him some relief.
And for ficlets, I've finished two more.
For Ninjetti75:
Even though all Jared really has to do is stand around and look bored in front of a camera, the fashion business is a bit annoying. Sure, he’s got a pretty face, but Jared doesn’t care, because he never actually wanted to be a model. He effectively got tricked into it, brooding as private security for entourage after entourage, popped a few up and comers for peanuts, and landed ass up on his biggest job.
When people used to tell Jared being a haute fashion designer was ‘to die for’, he didn’t actually expect they meant real death. Nor did he expect the death itself to be as glamorous as the clothes, the walkways, the parties and the property.
It’d be fucking annoying if it weren’t for the fact that he’s fucking, sucking, snorting and plowing through the competition, and looking pretty when he’s not trying to make sure the words ‘ingenious’ and ‘resilient’ come up when Ackles’ name gets mentioned. When Jared pulls on the black gloves, shit goes down before they come off.
And don’t even talk about Ackles, because Jared’s pretty much ready to bend over backwards and any which way the camera needs him while wearing select pieces of the lingerie line so he can part those legs and dive right in head first. Lips to die for, thighs that you could build cities on, and ass so tight you could crack nuts and even when he’s slumming it, Jensen looks like he’s in front of a camera dusting off a five page spread. Shame’s Jensen knows, too. Jensen pretty much works it every time that Jared’s around, and when he’s not working those suckable lips or batting those ridiculous eyelashes, he’s being an outright bitch. To everybody in general, but Jared in particular.
Jensen Ackles knows everything about him: his measurements, which direction his dick naturally falls, how long Jared’s been away from home at any given time, how he looks in eyeliner and what hues compliment the undertones in Jared’s skin. For being Jared’s greatest failure, he’s pretty seriously lovin’ on Jensen most days. Jared loves him enough to protect him from all these pretty faces with knives precariously held behind their backs. It’s ruthless work, but once you adapt, it’s not as hard as it sounds.
“Ease up,” Jensen ushers on, making a last minute adjustment to the shirt Jared’s shrugging on. “It’s just a dry run. For a few investors. They’ve seen a million models, Jared. You’re not going to be the best or the worst.”
Jared genuinely doesn’t care about if he’s a supermodel. No, really.
It’s hard to actually pay attention to that, though. Jensen’s wearing his glasses and biting his lip and trying to patch up the bottom hem. Jared nods, pulls up the low-waist pants he’s wearing. There’s the clacking of heels on the tile in the loft, and Jensen’s groaning. “Fuck.”
Jared goes on high alert, he knows that groan too well. He fumbles with a few buttons on the left side of the shirt, and makes sure that the deep groove of his hips are just visible in the pants. Jensen’s helping shrug the jacket over one of his arms, suede strips hair-pinned into place.
“What, are you designing for the international male catalogue?” Jared looks up into the mirror and sees fucking Posh Spice in the reflection. He looks down, and the rail of coke is still there, so he knows he isn’t just seeing shit. Jensen looks like he needs a weekend long bender, at this rate.
“Who told you about this?” Jensen scowls, turning around. He pulls his glasses off his face and puts his hand up to his nose, massaging the bridge.
“Aw, Jenny. Not happy to see me?” she asks, hands on stick-thin hips, tapping one foot in front of him. “How many animals did you have to skin to make that travesty of a pant-coat?”
“Do you have to mock me?” Jensen asks.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Victoria says. She looks directly into Jared’s face like he’s some kind of mannequin, a moving hanger. She then points to his crotch. “His makeup is horrendous. I hope you didn’t try hard on that. And this cut, here? Hookers wouldn’t even wear this.”
“Hookers won’t be wearing it,” Jensen says, and tries to re-adjust one of the pins in the back of the jacket, fixing it a little more again.
“I’m sure you’ve heard what’s been said about your little Jared, here,” She snips. Jared’s not above smacking her if she calls him a ho. When he was working with Alexis, his legs were fucking closed, fuck you very much. “It’s not like he can get the job done. You might as well give over your sketches to me. I’ll find someone who’ll protect them instead of getting distracted over your pretty face.”
Jared glares daggers at her, as he knows that he’s probably high up on the list of people that probably should get offed but won’t, but says nothing. He may have the reputation of a whore, but it doesn’t matter as long as he’s working for Jen.
“I’ve went and told your Investor friends to go home, mind you,” She says, face lighting up. “This is obviously, as I expected, a work in progress.”
“I’m sure they absolutely respected you and took your advice, Victoria,” Jensen says, lips fixed into a tight smile as he places his glasses back onto his face, “But if you want me to design you another one of those little black dresses you seem to like because they give you the illusion of good taste, you certainly aren’t going to get it by acting like a sadist.”
“I’m not even sure I’d ever want you to design anything for me, at this rate,” She snaps. “And besides, I’m sure he can get anything he wants by acting like a sadist. So Why can’t I?”
“There might be that little part about having a dick,” Jensen says.
“And I look good in front of a camera, actually,” Jared says aloud, although he thinks he’s saying it to Jen more than to her. She glares at him.
“You, shut it. And You, Jensen, need to find a model with a backbone. Two more months and you’ll both be dead, at this rate, and I don’t think any of your investors will be coming back after I tell half of Milan about this little ensemble,” Victoria hisses, storming off. “And I still want that black dress you promised me.”
“I’m sure as hell not going to design it, now,” Jensen snaps. “I’m going to go and see if she actually did tell the investors anything. Give me a sec.”
Jared waits, lets Alona finish up the sparse makeup and cleaning him up, and tries hard not to look hopeful when Jensen comes back and it’s just him.
“She actually sent them away. What gives her the…”
“Jen,” Jared stops him, looking at Jensen’s black slacks and silken shirt. This was supposed to have been a good day. He sighs, shrugging out of his jacket, and picking up the rolled up hundred dollar bill from the vanity, offering it to Jensen. They split a rail and fuck on the pedestal in the room where Jared was supposed to get up and show the concept to the investors, and when it’s done, Jensen looks up at him, touching his face and kissing bitter lips, looking a bit like a kicked puppy.
Later, after a small dinner, Jensen pushes the black gloves across the table to Jared.
Jared sighs. Jensen’s voice sounds raw and vulnerable, and Jared wonders what Victoria was like before Jared came around. He slips his fingers over the pile of dark leather, and moves to walk away from the table when Jensen holds his eyes captive and says, “Jared, don’t be cordial with this one.”
Jared smiles sweetly, wryly. “I never am.”
And for iamsab:
Ever since he’s gotten the breasts and the curves and the freaking cunt, Ianto’s suspicions have heightened as well. Call it female intuition, or just call it a healthy dose of paranoia since his life has been turned upside down and he can’t even use the proper pronoun for himself, nowadays.
And don’t get him started on clothes. He’s alright with the lingerie, the frilly underthings that he’s well aware Jack will probably tear right off of him the minute he steps into a room in nothing but busteau, g-string and garters, it’s the whole professional thing he’s been having a hard time with. Gwen and Toshiko both seem to have it down, but in two different ways whenever Ianto asks them and he eventually finds himself becoming the Frankenstein of their personal tastes. Boyish haircut, loud colors, impossible fits, and goddamn, how do they do this?
“Bloody fuck,” he says, shrugging out of his converse and launching his feet into Jack’s lap, leaning backwards and silently thanking god he wasn’t wearing kitten heels. “It’s been quite a day.”
“You saved the day, as always. You sure I can’t give you anything more than a foot massage?” Jack wiggles eyebrows and it makes Ianto furious the way he can’t help but giggle at it, sugary sweet and so unlike him in his old body. Jack’s libido hasn’t turned a blind eye on this new canvas, like he’s used to these kinds of things happening.
“I’m tired, Jack, I just want you to rub my feet and then I’ll go home,” Ianto sighs. His hair is growing out, not fast but enough that it’s hanging a bit from his head, and he takes a few locks into a finger.
“I was thinking,” Jack leads.
“Can never be good,” Ianto jumps in, crude smile on his face. Jack’s thumbs mash into the bottom of his heel hard, like he’s trying to tell Ianto to stuff it and let him finish. “Ooh, do that. Do it hard like that, Jack.”
“I bet you say that to all the boys, with those vowels of yours,” Jack says, grinning. “Anyway, I was thinking, when did the case for the hand break?”
“Three weeks ago,” Ianto murmurs. “Just before this happened.”
“Yeah, Just before, right?” Jack asks. “Did you get any of the liquid in the chamber on you?”
Ianto tries to think back to it. “Which liquid, the dark or the light blue one?”
“The dark blue?” There’s a thumb right under the arch of Ianto’s left foot, and he’s pretty sure he’s just creamed his Agent Provacateur. Charming, he thinks, and sighs as he realizes that he’ll probably spend the rest of the night hand-washing the ejaculatory fluids out of his own panties. Ah, the life of a real lady.
“Yes, Some of it got under the gloves I was wearing, sir,” Ianto nods.
“Well, then, I figured it out.”
“What?” Ianto asks.
“The reason why you changed into a girl. That blue stuff was a DNA randomizer. It’s the only genuine way I can keep the hand alive, really. The tank keeps killing off old cells, re-arranging their DNA, and re-building the cellular structure of the hand. It rearranged your DNA.”
Ianto looks at him, mouth undoubtably hanging open. “You have to be kidding.”
“Um,” Jack makes a sheepish face that Ianto’s never seen before, and he’d like to think that he had enough experience in handling Jack that he could publish a galactic best-selling handbook about it. “No.”
“Fuck, Jack,” Ianto says, and covers his eyes with his hand. “You mean I turned into this because I came into contact with your freakish hand tank? I’m sure I’m just a liability, here, but you have to realize how fucked up that sounds on my end.”
“I do, and I’m sorry,” Jack says, rubbing deeper like he’s trying to make sure that Ianto knows how sorry he is. Through his feet. That’s even more charming than the thought of going home to wash his delicates.
“You’re not doing a very good job of showing it,” Ianto says. “I guess it was coming to me, though. Torchwood can’t help but fuck my life up.”
“Don’t say that,” Jack says, silk over steel, and Ianto’s hand drops from his eyes and hits the couch again. “Owen and I are trying to figure out how to reverse it, and if that doesn’t work, there’s always the galactic grey market and…”
“Jack!” Ianto says. “I’m a fucking girl! Owen hit on me today! I’m confused about everything, I have to learn how to put on makeup, and god knows this whole ‘fertility’ thing is definitely not a backburner issue. I’d say I’ve pretty much gone from ‘warped yet placid’ to ‘downright hysterical’ in the past month. How dare you act so casual about it?”
“I…,” Jack sighs. “That was a stupid move, I admit. But we’re going to figure out how to get you back to your old, suit wearing self. And it’s not like it’s all been so bad. It’s not like you’re the most awkward member of the team, and I see how you’ve been looking at Tosh and…”
“Oi!” Ianto barks. “Jack Harkness, I’m going home. As resolutely as you seem to do so, you will not be turning my life into a gender-bending episode of Footballer’s Wives.”
Ianto figures he can’t be bothered to lace up his converse tight as he slides his feet into them and surges up. Jack looks at him, simply, and gets up along with him.
“Let me make it up to you,” Jack sighs. “Please, Ianto?”
Ianto looks at him, and snorts, “Always want me in your bed?”
“Always,” Jack nods.
“I’m going home, Jack.” Ianto says, “But you can make it up to me, anyway.”
“How?” Jack asks.
Ianto bends over a little, slides a hand up his skirt, and reaches for his panties. It takes a second to resist just sinking those fingers into himself, or rubbing them into his clit, but no, there’s a point to this, however dysfunctional it is. He hooks his finger into the skimpy material, and pulls it down his legs. He looks up, and sees Jack’s eyes widen. He pulls the underwear all the way down and balls them up, handing them to Jack.
“I want those hand washed by morning,” Ianto says. “I hope you don’t let the tank in on the fun. And maybe, if you do it right, I’ll let you put them back on me then. Preferably with your teeth. Now, goodnight, sir.”
Jack smiles, amused. “Have a good night, Ianto.”
There was a reason Ianto never trusted that hand, he thinks in a huff, and tries not to laugh hard when he gets out of Jack’s earshot.
Okay, so that's all I've got for now, but tomorrow I plan on finishing the letterboys graduation AU for JM, the torchwood/Nsync crossover some of ya'll wanted to see, and trying to find a way to incorporate This into the porn!J2. because, COME ON, you cannot deny the high powered twinkage in that picture. I'm SORRY.
Also, I've decided that I obviously have to write the bad sex!Virginia blue law prompt, the jive club AU that I've been tossing about, and that dean/martha that I've been screaming about, and don't even ask me when my Emo!sync is due because I JUST DON'T KNOW ANYMORE. Oh GOD.
Now, for a icon purge and to re-write my friends only statement.
P.S.: Spankathon entries, Ten/Martha, Owen/Ianto, and First time J2 here.