Bad Men (2/2)
It feels a little like he's drowning. Jensen's lungs burn, his cheeks flush, he can't breathe properly - not out his nose, still a little stuffy with snot, not out his mouth where Mr Padalecki's tongue has taken up residence, not that he needs to breathe now that Mr Padalecki, Mr Padalecki, is kissing him so desperately Jensen can hear the squelch of spit and wet lips, can feel strings of saliva stretching between them each time Mr Padalecki draws back only to descend again, a huge hand cupping one side of Jensen's face, his other hand wrapped around both of Jensen's wrist, pulling his arms tight over his head, holding him still so Mr Padalecki can plunder him effortlessly, dip his tongue into Jensen again and again.
He's drowning - he has to be, battered by the waves of heat rolling Mr Padalecki's body, clinging by his lips and his teeth to Mr Padalecki's tongue in an effort to keep himself afloat.
Jensen's tasted many mouths - guarded by chapped lips, or thin lips, or thick, wet lips, like sausages. He's tasted the insides of countless mouths, felt the grooves of teeth, ran his tongue softly over the sensitive palate, but it's never been anything like this. Mr Padalecki still tastes like caramel popcorn, and when Jensen lets himself flick his tongue into Mr Padalecki's mouth, shy, hardly daring to believe he can, he dislodges a little chunk of popcorn that's gotten itself lodged between Mr Padalecki's teeth and swallows it right down.
Then there's Mr Padalecki's chest, which keeps rubbing against his own - their nipples catching on each other's, Jensen's feeling so plush and soft and swollen, like Mr Padalecki's nipples, hard like the rest of him, could sink into them, slide right into the puffy tips, right into Jensen.
Mr Padalecki is sweating on him, all over him, that giant hand cradling Jensen's cheek, manhandling Jensen's face to tilt him left and right, up and down so Mr Padalecki can slide his tongue around Jensen's mouth from every angle physically possible, Mr Padalecki's upper lip beading sweat - salty little droplets Jensen keeps wanting to catch, moaning and moaning and kissing them up with lips and teeth and whispers of please, please, please, don't stop.
When Mr Padalecki slides his thumb over Jensen's cheekbone, pulling his mouth away while Jensen tries to cling on, lips trembling, teeth refusing to give Mr Padalecki's wet, thick tongue up, when Mr Padalecki draws back and just stares at Jensen with soft eyes, rests his big, hot body on top of Jensen so that his nipples press right into Jensen's, everything is so perfect - so wildly, crazily perfect - that Jensen can't help his body from jerking, toes curling, lips parting, scream building in his throat and ripping right out of him while he comes in his pants.
He's trembling when he stops filling his shorts with come, stops getting his own seed all over his thighs and balls, and Mr Padalecki is lifting him up carefully, pulling the both of them up so that he's slouching back heavily on the couch with Jensen spilled out all over his lap, their chests heaving and pressing together through sweaty shirts, lips still swollen and aching to swell even more, Jensen's thighs parting a little to stop them from sticking together with his sweat and come.
"Unnn," Jensen manages, a little out of it, letting his head roll back so he can look up into Mr Padalecki's face - his hair wild, eyes wandering all over Jensen's face - and Mr Padalecki leans down a plants the softest, sweetest kiss on Jensen's sweaty forehead. Jensen's lips still feel fat, heavy, and when he touches at them gingerly, they're so plush - Mr Padaleckidid this to them, kissed them till they swelled - and achey Jensen just wants Mr Padalecki to soothe them with his fingers and lips some more.
"Shitttt," Mr Padalecki sighs instead, and tilts his head back on the couch. "I should not have done that. Shouldn't have done that at all. God, nope, nope, shouldn't have done that. Would you believe me in the slightest if I told you I tripped and fell on your... your mouth?"
He stutters somewhere near the end of the sentence, eyes glued to Jensen's lips. Jensen tilts his head closer to Mr Padalecki's and licks his lips, licks Mr Padalecki's drying spit off them, and Mr Padalecki's hips jerk a little under Jensen, his hands clenching into white-knuckled fists at his side, veins rippling.
"Okay," Mr Padalecki is saying now. "Okay, hold on, let's just hold on for a while, buddy. Okay, Jensen? Let's just... talk about it. Firstly, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... taken advantage of you - I mean, okay, let's think about this. Jensen, you're young and you're good-looking. Crazy good-looking. Like, so good-looking it hurts, and I'm rambling - am I rambling? What was I saying? Stop it, stop licking your lips just for a while, I can't think with that... that tongue, fuck."
Jensen balances himself on his knees in Mr Padalecki's lap, loops a possessive arm around Mr Padalecki's neck and presses their faces close together. Mr Padalecki goes a little cross-eyed, adorable, with how he's helplessly trying to keep his eyes on Jensen's face. Jensen presses even closer, lets their noses touch, lets his eyelashes flutter against Mr Padalecki's.
He's always measured his attractiveness by the effect he has on men - how long would it take them to spill their seed all over themselves when he rubbed up against them, how many minutes did it take before they caved and slid their hands all over him, can he drive the breath out of a man's lungs just by smiling at him (he can).
"Do you think I'm pretty, Mr Padalecki?" he asks, even though he knows the answer now.
"Well, yeah," Mr Padalecki shrugs, a little awkward, a little like duh, "I'm old, not blind, Jen. I'm sure everyone tells you you're..."
"I don't care what anyone else says. I've always just wanted to hear it from you," Jensen confides in a whisper and lets his lips press tiny kisses along the side of Mr Padalecki's face, up and down that strong jaw, the jut of his cheekbone, that wide forehead. "Do you love me back?"
Mr Padalecki's body kinda tries to stiffen and slump at the same time, so Jensen soothes his shoulders with gentle hands, lets his fingers run up and down the slope of them, like Mr Padalecki's a spooked horse - which is kinda true, he's so broad and strong and graceful, so beautiful. If Jensen has to break him in, feed him cubes of sugar from his palm and sweet words from his lips, feed Mr Padalecki the soft, dizzyingly hot insides his mouth, his tongue and red lips, before he can saddle Mr Padalecki up and ride him - ride his lap, or strong thigh, or that cock he's been fantasising about for as long as he's been able to masturbate - he'll do it.
"You know how old I am right, buddy? I'm 38, not 28. That's over 20 years between us-"
"I know," Jensen interrupts a little sulkily, "I can do Maths. I'm fifteen, not five."
Mr Padalecki's laughter makes his chest rumble from where it's pressed against Jensen. All Jensen can think of is tasting that laugh in his mouth, gulping it down.
"So I take it you feel better, seeing how you're getting your sass back."
"I feel amazing," Jensen tells him happily, shifting a little to feel his thighs stick together. "I'm all sticky because of you, Mr Padalecki. Please, could I kiss you again? Don't you want my lips again, Mr Padalecki? They're yours, all yours - I can suck you so good, your tongue, your... your cock, I can make you so happy, let you come right inside my mouth and swallow all of you down. Please, may I? May I taste you some more?"
"Fuckkkkk," Mr Padalecki groans, slamming the back of his head down on the top of the couch again. "Jesus fuck. Stop with the slutty Oliver Twist, please. Jen, okay, buddy, look at me. No, not my lips, up here - here, Jen, focus, it's kinda hard for me to talk with your tongue there, and we really have to talk."
It's frustrating how just a few minutes ago, if Mr Padalecki had spoken, his words would have spilled off his tongue right onto Jensen's, that Jensen could have slid their tongues together and molded his replies right back, and now Mr Padalecki has the back of his head pressed into the back of the couch as far as he can go.
It's frustrating how Jensen is sitting there in his dirty shorts and Mr Padalecki is sitting there with the heavy bulge of his erection spoiling the line of his trousers, and he keeps talking about it's wrong, buddy, you're too young, maybe you're confused, huh, because we hang out all the time, yeah, that's it! and I know you're a teen, and it's normal for you to be confused, to be trying to figure yourself out, maybe you should look for someone else, someone younger?
"If you don't want me, just tell me, Mr Padalecki," Jensen says bravely, only he has on his liquid eyes, that little, put-off pout to his mouth that he knows will get him what he wants.
Now that Mr Padalecki's built Jensen's shattered confidence in his own attractiveness back up with every swipe of his tongue, Jensen will get what he wants even if he has to grind his ass against Mr Padalecki's cock until he's teetering on the brink of orgasm, then raise himself right back up and deny Mr Padalecki the chance to spill his seed, do that again and again all night long, until Mr Padalecki is begging for Jensen to let him come, please please please.
"It's not that I don't want you - it's that I... can't? Jen..." Mr Padalecki is saying, sounding mostly unconvinced, while Jensen lets his fingers trail down to Mr Padalecki's chest. God, he can't believe he's touching those firm pecs through Mr Padalecki's shirt, can't believe Mr Padalecki's letting him circle his fingers around those nipples, wow, he's gonna come in his pants again just from the pleasure of being able to press his palm to Mr Padalecki's chest and feel his heart thumping away loudly, quickly, just for Jensen.
"I think you can," Jensen purrs, letting his hand drop to run his knuckles over Mr Padalecki's erection. Mr Padalecki's hips rock up, once, twice, then still. He's sweating horribly now - reduced to a wet, salty mess Jensen just wants to suck into his mouth - so Jensen licks the sweat from his brow and his upper lip, sips all those sweaty droplets down.
"So if you can, is it something to do with me? Is it my ass? Should I work on it?" Jensen asks, peeling Mr Padalecki's hands away from where they're held stiffly to his side, and spreading those warm palms out over his ass, generously lets them cup a cheek each, presses Mr Padalecki's thumbs into his crease.
"No! It's perfect! I mean, it's a nice ass... a good ass. For... walking and things. Oh and putting in jeans. You know, jeans? Definitely not... those shorts, oh god, stop pulling them up, Jen, please," Mr Padalecki is stammering, but his thumbs keep parting Jensen's ass cheeks a little, keep trying to stop from wandering closer and closer to that tightly-puckered hole where Jensen's the hottest.
"I put them in these shorts for you, Mr Padalecki," Jensen tells him, disappointed, looking up from where he's been sliding his shorts up over his sticky thighs. "Just for you."
"...Thank you. Just slap on "Jensen Ackle's ass was the death of him. P.S. Burn those shorts." on my headstone," Mr Padalecki mutters while Jensen mouths his way around his face. "You're just too young, Jensen. By the time you're out of college, I'll be well on my way to 50."
"And I'll still love you. I'll suck every single one of your fingers even if they're all wrinkly, lick any sunspots you get, I'll even let you lay back if you have weak heart, I'll do all the work. I'll ride you and suck you, bounce on your cock for you,"
"Oh god, my son's best friend is a porn star," Mr Padalecki groans.
"I can be your porn star," Jensen offers, eagerly, ridiculously.
"Don't worry, Mr Padalecki, don't be scared. I'll still love you, I've loved you for ten years, even before you got all those wrinkles around your mouth - (thanks, Mr Padalecki mutters) no! I love them, I really do. And I love you, I've loved you for so long. So just touch me, let me touch you, let me show you how good it can be, Mr Padalecki. I can make you like it, make you love it, and want it. I want it, and I know you've been lonely. You used to go out every second Friday of each month before me and Chris turned 13. And you'd get back late in the morning, with your hair all messy, your mouth all smudged, and I'd find lipstick stains on your dress shirts in the laundry basket when I came over - but you've been working so hard the past 2 years, I haven't seen you out since."
"It's kind of flattering that you've been stalking me, but also really creepy, Jen. You're lucky you're gorgeous," Mr Padalecki says, while Jensen very helpfully helps the man squeeze those giant paws of his around each ass cheek.
"It's because I love you," Jensen tells him mournfully, and Mr Padalecki just sighs and gestures for him to go on.
"So I know how much you need it, need someone to love you - and you have me. I'll make you feel so good, Mr Padalecki. If you let me, I'll try so hard, make you come your brains out. I'm fifteen, and you've always been the one to tell me I'm an old soul, that I'm mature for my age, that you can trust to tell me your problems and have me listen and know just what to say. And I've thought about this, about you, for years, Mr Padalecki. Spent every single waking minute thinking of you. And when I'm not awake thinking about your hair and your laugh and the way you suck at Wii Bowling, I'm asleep busy dreaming of you anyway. I've had so much time to think and sort myself out, work out any confusion - there's no excuse, Mr Padalecki. I've thought of you in the shower, I've put my fingers in me and I've come screaming your name. Put my fingers right up me," Jensen whispers, guiding those one of Mr Padalecki's thumb up, hiking the leg of his shorts a little higher to let that thumb press against the tightly-furled pucker of his hole which clenches a little under the pressure.
"Right here, right up my hole, slid them as far up as they could go and pretended they were yours, so don't tell me I have to think things through when I've done nothing but think about it, dream about it, fantasise about it for ten years."
Jensen loves how nice Mr Padalecki is, how he's never selfish, and always thinks of others first - mostly makes pancakes for breakfast when Jensen's over even though Jensen knows Mr Padalecki likes waffles best, but this game of to fuck or not to fuck has gone on way too long.
His lost confidence, built up over the years by lingering eyes, wrinkled fingers smoothing over his thighs and face, stubble brushing against his lips and nipples and cheeks, and momentarily faltering at the thought that Mr Padalecki might find him unattractive, unappealing, slides right back into place like a key, winding Jensen right back up like a horny clockwork doll with limbs flexible enough to hump up against Mr Padalecki with.
Because everything he needs to know is Mr Padalecki thinks he's pretty, Mr Padalecki kissed him, Mr Padalecki loves him, and would probably kiss him again if it weren't for something as stupid as age - just twenty odd years, hmph, like Jensen would let those two decades get between the both of them.
So Jensen slides his way out of Mr Padalecki's lap, hits the carpeted floor hard on his knees and reaches up to unzip Mr Padalecki's pants.
Mr Padalecki is flailing around a bit, mumbling no and oh, god, I'm going to hell, demons are going to crack my nuts open and feast on them, oh my god, reaching out to try to tug Jensen's head away from where he's breathing onto Mr Padalecki's groin.
Jensen slaps one of those hands away gently, looking up to glare. "Behave, Mr Padalecki. You're almost 38, I'm sure you can sit still and behave yourself."
Mr Padalecki whimpers.
Jensen draws Mr Padalecki's cock out of his open fly gently, tenderly, cradling it in trembling palms like it's the most precious treasure ever - and it might as well be with how fervently he's been dreaming of it, chasing after it.
Jensen's dedicated a lot of time to sketching Mr Padalecki's cock out in his imagination, sometimes drooling in the middle of class a little, eyes going a little hazy at the thought of how it's probably as big as the rest of Mr Padalecki. He's wondered about how heavily Mr Padalecki's balls will hang, fantasised about how Mr Padalecki's cock would look curled up against his thighs when he's soft.
He's never actually seen another man's cock up close before, always insisted men keep theirs tucked away under layers of fabric, or he'd walk away, leave them with their balls all twisted up in desire, leaking come all over their stomachs. If every man's cock looks like Mr Padalecki, Jensen's been missing out.
It's much, much bigger than Jensen's and so heavy and thick in his palms, so fat all the way around. The head of it is beautiful - an angry red, curved - and rising up from a mess of wiry hair where the musky smell of Mr Padalecki is the strongest.
Jensen lets his nose skim through all that hair, breathes in deeply and feels a little dizzy with how good it feels. Precome is beading lethargically from the tip of Mr Padalecki's cock, one huge drop trying to fight its way to the slit slow as molasses, so thick and so delicious Jensen wants to lap it up and roll it over his tongue like cream.
Jensen can see the veins winding their way under the skin of Mr Padalecki's cock, ridged, wants to thumb the heaviest vein at the underside of that cock and flick his tongue up and down it again and again, wants to fuck his mouth on that cock and feel the veins rub against the inside of his throat.
Mr Padalecki moans when Jensen runs his cheek over that cock, drags his burning face from base to tip, nuzzles it and noses at it, drags that messy, drooling tip all over hs face so the precome leaves a slick, glossy trail, like melted silver, all over his nose and chin and cheeks.
Jensen lets his tongue poke out a bit, lets the very tip of it dip into the leaking slit at the head of Mr Padalecki's cock. Mr Padalecki's whole body jerks before he collapses back against the couch, boneless, with an expulsion of air that sounds like it's been punched out of him, legs splayed wide open so Jensen can wiggle his way more comfortably right between them, pull those thighs close around him.
It tastes salty, strange - Jensen doesn't know if he actually likes it, maybe he should taste more, sip at the head and suck all that come out.
So Jensen tugs Mr Padalecki's jeans halfway down those heavily-muscled thighs, wraps one hand around the base of that cock, fingers winding their way through the scratchy hair, and kisses the top of Mr Padalecki's cock, finally puts those cock-sucking lips of his to actual use.
That coaxes another dollop of precome out of Mr Padalecki, another ragged moan, makes Mr Padalecki stroke the curve of Jensen's bottom lip with a thumb, press against it. Jensen kisses that thumb, then turns his head away, lets his lips part wider, lets his mouth slide down the length of that cock, a quarter of a way down, sucks hard enough for his cheeks to hollow and the insides of them to rub against the sides of Mr Padalecki's cock.
It's a little different from all the popsicles Jensen's practised on - for one, it's so hot, almost scorching, and it's so wide and fat in his mouth that his lips feel like they'll unravel around Mr Padalecki's cock, so heavy on his tongue, and salty. And it moves - twitches a little, rocks a little back and forth, in and out, with how Mr Padalecki's hips are trying their hardest not to move but failing.
Jensen pulls off it and stares it down, stares it right in its winking eye where its tearing precome, sees his saliva coating it and dribbling down the sides, strings of spit starting to nestle in the hair at the base. He licks the sides of it with broad sweeps of the flat of his tongue, kisses his way up and down it, then parts his lips to let Mr Padalecki's cock right back in.
Jensen's always been a quick learner, but Mr Padalecki's an even quicker study, reactions and expressions so unguarded Jensen feels like his heart is right out there on display. When Jensen does something Mr Padalecki likes, he knows - like how he now knows Mr Padalecki goes a little wild when Jensen looks up at him with his big, green eyes, tearing a little from how hard he's struggling to cram Mr Padalecki's cock into his mouth; how Mr Padalecki loves to see him lap at the tip of his cock like a kitten, making pleased, cooing noises; knows Mr Padalecki's thighs twitch when Jensen tongues that fat, sensitive head.
Jensen threads his fingers through Mr Padalecki's, guides his hands down to hold his head still, makes wanton, pleading noises when Mr Padalecki finally starts lifting his hips up to fuck up into Jensen's mouth, into Jensen's throat, hips moving faster and faster each time Jensen lets his moans vibrate around his mouthful of cock, each time Jensen's throat constricts when he gags a little as Mr Padalecki's cock burrows its way down his throat.
When Jensen wrestles Mr Padalecki's hips down and slides his mouth off, the both of them are a mess. Jensen has tears spilling down his cheek from how hard Mr Padalecki's fucked his throat, how hard and deep he choked Jensen, helpless to stop even as his mouth begged I'm so sorry, Jen, oh god, shit, I gotta stop, oh my god, why aren't my hips listening to me, I think you broke me, fuck, and there are thick globs of spit all over Mr Padalecki's cock, smeared all around Jensen's mouth.
Jensen nurses the head of Mr Padalecki's cock, lets it rest in his mouth shallowly, milking it with pursing motions of his lips, letting his tongue skim lazily over it. It's probably his favourite part of Mr Padalecki's cock - head like a helmet, the fattest, shapeliest part of him with a perfect slit that keeps letting precome bubble out like it knows Jensen wants more, and more, and more.
Jensen tugs Mr Padalecki's cock out of his mouth again to a disappointed moan, so he pats the sides soothingly, lovingly, holds it flat against his cheek for him to nuzzle and coo at, so pretty, nnn, just want to eat you up, suck all the juice out of you.
"Don't worry, Mr Padalecki. I'll suck all the come out of you another day," Jensen says comfortingly, sliding back up onto Mr Padalecki's lap and feeling that heavy cock knock against his thighs. He runs his hands through Mr Padalecki's hair, pushing a few strands back from where they're plastered to his forehead with sweat and desperation.
Mr Padalecki is holding himself so still, body taut, eyes hooded like Jensen's never seen before. When Jensen kneels up on the couch and tugs his shorts down, over his ass, over his legs, kicks it carelessly off and lets Mr Padalecki get an eyeful of his own blushing cock, sweetly pink, balls already tight, Mr Padalecki's eyes slam shut and he groans like he's dying.
Jensen lines their cocks up, tells Mr Padalecki to look at us, to look at their cocks pressed against each other, Mr Padalecki's cock so much fatter, its head so much more swollen - so perfect, so much prettier than Jensen's own. He drags the head of Mr Padalecki's cock all over his, gets himself slicked up with Mr Padalecki's pre-come, wraps both his palms around both their cocks, rubbing up and down.
"Want to fuck me, Mr Padalecki? Come inside me? Cus I want you to, want to ride you into the couch, hold you inside me and squeeze you till you come," Jensen says, letting one hand leave their cocks so he can suck on his fingers, so he can lead that slick digits behind him, press them against his hole and coax it open.
"Oh my god," Mr Padalecki replies, eyes wide, gathering Jensen close to him so he can rest his chin on Jensen's shoulder and look down to see Jensen's fingers moving between his ass cheeks, fighting to cram their way up that tiny hole.
Jensen usually fucks himself on his fingers with copious amounts of a cocktail of lube and spit. He likes to take his time, slide one finger after another inside him, spread all that lube around dreamily, likes to feel all of it dribble and drip down his fingers and wrist. He loves to hear the wet noises, the squelching, all the greedy sounds his hole makes as it sucks wet and greedy at his fingers when they withdraw only to burrow their way right back in.
It's a tighter fit right now with just drying spit and precome on his fingers. Jensen can't help the tiny, pained stutters as his fingers burn inside him, rub raw against his walls, but Mr Padalecki's eyes are so dark, so hot, Jensen will die if he doesn't get that thick cock he's been rolling around in his mouth just before this work its way into him. He has to have it, has to have it now.
He reaches out to grip Mr Padalecki's cock one-handed, his other hand still working frantically between his legs, desperate to open himself up enough to slide his way down Mr Padalecki's cock.
Jensen kneels right over that straining cock, pushes its fat head up against the rim of his hole, a little sloppy but still feeling frighteningly small, just the slightest bit looser - enough to fit a couple of fingers, but perhaps not a cock. But then Jensen's a little beyond caring, keeps rocking his hips down, scrabbling to pull his hole open with two slick fingers, to let Mr Padalecki's cock slide inside him.
It's a little stubborn today, his hole, a little shy, winking open and shut coyly, desperately rippling around the tip of Mr Padalecki's cock like it's trying to wring the come out of it - but never enough to let it pierce him properly.
Jensen whimpers, fingers scissoring inside him, trying to get himself wide open for Mr Padalecki, wanting so badly to fit that cock in him and ride it till he passes out. The muscles in his arm are straining with every twist of his finger, and he leans his forehead against Mr Padalecki's collar bone, panting, grunting, and almost sobbing, begging his body to open, open up, I want to feel that cock in me, please.
"Hey, calm down, buddy," Mr Padalecki says, and his fingers are suddenly there, tracing the swollen rim around Jensen's jerking fingers.
"I want it so bad, please, Mr Padalecki, need it. Why won't it fit? It won't fit, and I want it to, please," Jensen almost sobs, and guides one of Mr Padalecki's fingers inside him, twines it in two of his own and fucks himself on all three of them. The angle's awkward, and the rough skin on the pad of Mr Padalecki's finger feels different - amazing, like he's sanding Jensen down gently from the inside.
Jensen lets Mr Padalecki replace Jensen's fingers with his own, lets him pull the hole open with his thumbs, and rub the rim till it softens, till Jensen feels like he's melting open. Mr Padalecki's thumbs sink into him and stretch him. He slicks his fingers up with precome - or the spit Jensen licks right onto them, Jensen's tongue trying to pull those prodding fingers deeper and deeper until he gags a little on the tips - and keeps pressing fingers into Jensen, thrusting them shallowly, then a little deeper, working him open with crooked fingers so Jensen can feel the knuckles scrape against his walls.
He's never had anything up this deep, and these are just Mr Padalecki's sweetly-working fingers, not yet his cock, his beautiful, fat cock. Just thinking about it makes Jensen's own twitch against his tummy.
When Mr Padalecki's knuckled him and scissored him, grazed that spot inside him that makes Jensen shout and his cock spurt pre-come a little, violent, he finally, finally slides his fingers out. Finally places both their hands on his cock - so dark with blood Jensen feels a little ashamed by how selfish his hole was, how long it took to stretch it open, how many touches it begged for before it was finally ready - and Jensen backs up to sit on it, on that pillowy head.
This time, his hole does let Mr Padalecki in, lets Mr Padalecki's cock push through its tender pucker, and Jensen trembles, in an awkward half-squat, poised with just the head of Mr Padalecki's cock in him. Mr Padalecki is rubbing his sides now with gentle hands, telling him good boy, easy does it, Jensen, easy.
Jensen rocks himself down a little, swallowing up a little more of that thick cock, feels Mr Padalecki let out a tiny, pleasured moan. It's such a sweet sound, and Jensen can hardly believe he's the one to milk it out of this big, strong man. So badly wants to hear more.
So he lets his weight drop down, lets Mr Padalecki's cock spear him wide open, force his walls apart, and sits on the entirety of it, clenches it tight inside him, sobbing a little at the pain.
This time Mr Padalecki actually lets out a hoarse shout, spasming on the couch, hands reaching out to grab Jensen by the ass cheeks and topple Jensen forward into his chest, eyes falling shut. He takes a while to recover so Jensen sits there, trying to blink away tears, mouths at Mr Padalecki's nipple instead, at that wildly-heaving chest.
"I said, slowly, Jen. Oh my god. How was that taking it easy?! Did I tear you?" Mr Padalecki asks, worried, letting his hands rest on Jensen's hips. "Let's lift you up, Jen, make sure you're okay."
But when Mr Padalecki's fingers massage the rim of his hole - spread wide open around Mr Padalecki's cock, already feeling ravaged and sore, and twitching a little with the tremors running through Jensen's body - the man moans a little, wildly.
"Stretched so tight around me, fuck. God, Jensen, just look at this little mouth of yours stuffed full of my cock."
Jensen feels a little better now - starts to realise how he's filled to the brim with that thick cock of Mr Padalecki's, how he can feel the swollen head nestled deep in him, farther up than anything's ever been. Mr Padalecki's cock is twitching inside him - Jensen swears he can feel it pulsing a little, and it's a weird feeling.
Jensen rocks a little, and, oh god, there's something - the ridge of a vein, the jutting curve that separates the pretty head of Mr Padalecki's cock from the rest of the shaft, something, he doesn't really care what - pressing against that sweet spot inside him, the one that makes his cock drool crazily in pleasure. He puts his hands on Mr Padalecki's shoulders, let those broad golden shoulders anchor him, then he slides all the way up, and lets himself drop back down, lets his hips roll and swivel and pull choked sounds right out of Mr Padalecki, lets himself feel Mr Padalecki's balls, that thatch of hair between his thighs, rub against his ass.
Jensen lets his fingers tangle in Mr Padalecki's hair so he can drag his head down onto Jensen's chest, can arch his back to knock his nipples against Mr Padalecki's nose - those stiff peaks which Jensen's rubbed raw all day long. He guides Mr Padalecki's face around his nipples, teaches him where to lick, teaches him to nip down, hard, tells him to kiss them suck them, milk them please, until Mr Padalecki's had enough, until Mr Padalecki pulls back to rest his head on the couch, leaving Jensen's nipples so stuffed with blood sucked greedily to the surface that they feel heavy, that they feel like they bounce a little every time Jensen himself bounces, jiggle a little with every movement he makes.
His thighs ache, the muscles in them bunching as he bounces up and down, as he rolls his hips and clenches his insides, coaxes little grunts and pants and groans from Mr Padalecki. Jensen won't let himself blink, keeps his eyes on Mr Padalecki's face - Mr Padalecki who Jensen's reduced into a squirming mess, head thrown back and eyes clenched shut tightly, hands spasming uselessly around Jensen's hips.
It's so fucking hot, Jensen can barely stand it - he has to lean in and kiss Mr Padalecki on the lips, has to let his whimpers out into that mouth, to feel their breaths mingle and mist. But it's still not nearly enough, not fast enough or hard enough, and Jesen's thighs are starting to cramp with the strain. He pants against Mr Padalecki in frustration, humping his cock against Mr Padalecki's stomach, pleading "Please, faster, please, please, wanna make you come."
He'd always thought sex with Mr Padalecki would be sweet, gentle. Mr Padalecki would place Jensen on his back and prop himself up over him on his elbows, kiss him with each thrust, moan love you when he came. Sex with him would be careful, tender, polite.
But Mr Padalecki - no matter how adorable, how gentle, how sweet he usually is, how big a goof - is more a beast than a gentleman in bed, Jensen discovers when their lips meet, when Jensen takes the chance to remind Mr Padalecki he loves him, whispers that into his mouth, still suspended halfway on Mr Padalecki's cock. He expects to feel strong thighs under him, and instead finds that cock ripped right out of him so suddenly it feels like he's being stabbed in reverse, like he's being drained, emptied out from the inside, hollow.
Jensen whimpers in loss, hands scrabbling where they've been gouging holes into Mr Padalecki's shoulders, tries to push the man back onto the couch and his gorgeous cock back inside him so he can ride it hard and fast till the both of them are shivering and covered in come.
Instead Mr Padalecki lifts Jensen right off his cock like Jensen weighs nothing at all, like Jensen might as well be a toy, a helpless rag doll, those thick fingers of his clutching so hard at Jensen's hips and sides Jensen knows there'll be bruises, hopes they'll stick around for weeks.
Jensen finds himself spun almost in mid-air, before he's slammed down on his belly, crying out in shock as his cock finds itself rubbing against the scratchy material of the couch. He whimpers at the burn, the friction against the already weeping head of his cock, tries to wriggle his hips back, away from the pain, but he can't move right now - can't do anything but cry out into the couch as Mr Padalecki fucks into him.
Mr Padalecki's giant hand is wrapped around the back of his neck, pinning Jensen down casually, effortlessly so that his face is pressed into the couch, so that all Jensen can do is bite down onto the cushion next to his head as Mr Padalecki knocks his thighs open with his knees, and feeds him the entirety of his cock, the whole seemingly-endless length of it, in a strong thust that knocks all the air out of Jensen's lungs.
Jensen's always been the one in control - he always, always sets the pace, always lets men know when their time is up and he's had enough, always rides them stupid, and leaves them once he's had his fun.
So when Mr Padalecki puts those humongous paws all over him, uses them to spread Jensen's thighs wide open, uses them to clutch Jensen's hips and pull him back into every violent thrust, Jensen's caught off guard - especially because this is Mr Padalecki, the gentle giant who cries watching movies about dogs, and who doesn't really like eating gummy bears becauseI can feel their eyes on me, Jen, I feel so horrible chewing on them while they stare at me.
And yet here he is, being pounded so hard into the couch he's sure the old thing will shatter into pieces under him, and loving it, begging for more, screaming for harder and faster and make me wet, Mr Padalecki, make me drip. Every snap of Mr Padalecki's hips sends his cock piercing up into Jensen, opening him up in tender places, sends it hammering in so high and deep, Jensen's convinced Mr Padalecki wants to stuff it deep enough that Jensen will be spitting Mr Padalecki's come out when he orgasms. His balls slap against the back of Jensen's thigh with each thrust and it starts to feel like he's being spanked - if he looks, he knows he'll be red back there, glowing hot.
And Mr Padalecki's started biting him, gnawing at him, really, teeth dragging around the back of his neck, his back, nibbling hard enough on his ear that Jensen whimpers into the pillow in pain.
When Mr Padalecki notices him chewing desperately on the pillow, almost drowning in his own spit, he tears it away cruelly, mouths the side of Jensen's neck and tells him to scream louder, he's gunna fuck scream after scream out of Jensen, gonna make him come and shout and cry till his throat is sore, is this fast enough, Jen, is it deep enough for you, huh tells him all of this in this dark whisper Jensen's never, ever, ever heard before, not even when Mr Padalecki got angry at him and Chris for busting the TV with a baseball bat one day back in middle school.
Mr Padalecki is filthy in bed - positively dirty, scorchingly rough. He palms Jensen's body all over like Jensen belongs to him and he just wants to check everything is in working order - everything's ready to be fucked. His hip snapping back and forth mercilessly while he manhandles Jensen, while he turns Jensen onto his back with his cock is still inside him, so that it spins in him, rubs him everywhere, so good, so amazingly good that Jensen can't help but come.
He comes so hard it feels like his cock and balls are about to turn inside out, comes so violently his seed shoots out of him and hits him square in the face, spurts right out onto his chest and neck, all while he's keening, and sobbing "oh, oh, ohhh" into thin air, wishing Mr Padalecki would lean over and kiss him, swallow the sounds he's making down.
Mr Padalecki just leans close, nonchalant as fuck, and licks the come off Jensen's face while Jensen trembles and whimpers, licks Jensen's come up onto his tongue and feeds it back into Jensen through his mouth, lets Jensen suck his tongue down and keep it in his mouth for a while as Mr Padalecki's hips keep snapping.
He tugs Jensen's limbs every which way, ordering Jensen to hold your knees like this, wanna be a good boy for me, Jen? lift your hips higher for me, clamp your thighs around me, come on, first splaying Jensen's thighs open wide around his waist, then grabbing Jensen by the back of his knees and folding him right into half so that his knees are pressed tight against his chest, rubbing against his swollen nipples. He makes Jensen hug his knees to himself with his arms, so that he can let his own big hands wander, so he can cup his fingers around the base of his cock, pressing against Jensen's hole so he can feel himself sliding in and out, so he can rub at the rim and hook it with a finger to pull it open, so he can slide that finger inside Jensen, right up against his cock.
Mr Padalecki wriggles his finger, like Jensen's insides are his to rummage through as and when he likes, slides his finger further and further up so he can prod at Jensen's sweet spot, press down on it and flick it hard with the tip of his finger, while his cock is still rocking in and out of Jensen with wet, squelchy noises.
"What a greedy hole, Jen. Just look at it, gobbling down every single thing I've fed it - my fingers, my cock, just wanna let it swallow my fist up one day, wanna seal it up with a butt plug, keep your insides spread open for me, how about it? Maybe get you a playdate one day, let him press his cock into you right next to mine, you gonna take it for me, gonna let two cocks fight their way inside you? Gonna be a good boy for me, suck the come out of me with your hole?"
Jensen tries to sob out a yes from over his knees, but the sound is garbled, broken. It's apparently enough for Mr Padalecki, because he bends forward, leans all his weight on Jensen's knees, almost crushing Jensen into half, and kisses Jensen - kisses him and kisses him and kisses him, sucks all the air right out of his lungs through his mouth, only retreating when Jensen's nearly passed out from lack of it.
Mr Padalecki's hands slide up Jensen's thighs, gripping them and then pulling Jensen backward so that he's curled up like an embryo, his whole back almost off the couch, all the weight resting on the back of his skull, the tense column of his neck.
Mr Padalecki's thrusts grow a little jagged now, more shallow thrusts that rock him back and forth than long strokes in and out, that deep dicking motion that makes Jensen's hole clench needily each time the tip of Mr Padalecki's cock backs out of him.
When Mr Padalecki comes, he roars, rising up to his knees and slapping his balls against Jensen's ass with the last few motions of his hips. And, oh god, Jensen's never felt this before, never felt hot seed spill out of another man's body right into his own, never felt anyone spray hot come inside him ever and fill him up, their dick twitching and stoppering him up, keeping all the come inside him, and the pressure and heat is so good, he kinda passes out, arms falling uselessly to his side and letting his caged knees slip free.
When Jensen comes to, Mr Padalecki is peering at him, cupping his cheek gently, wiping at Jensen's neck and face and body with a warm, wet washcloth, and asking him are you okay, jesus, you scared me back there, buddy.
"Mmmkay," Jensen manages to string together. Oh, he's more than okay, he feels so good and so pleased, so well-fucked with how he's aching deep inside, how when he clenches his hole he can feel wetness trickling from it, can still feel how thick Mr Padalecki's cock had been, how it spread him open and held him open without mercy, how it had plundered him and stole its pleasure from him, left him full of its seed.
Mr Padalecki gently spreads his thighs and wipes them down, all that sticky drying come, runs the cloth lightly around Jensen's hole, scratching at his rim and making it bloom open without Jensen's permission, making it pulse open and shut, desperate to drag Mr Padalecki's fingers right back in - drag the cloth in along with them, anything as long as it gets fed.
Mr Padalecki rubs at his stomach softly, pressing down a little, spreads the cloth out under Jensen and tells him to push, to empty himself out, it's gotta be uncomfortable, huh? Jensen does that half-heartedly, rocking his hips slightly and clenching his hole open and shut lazily, feels some of Mr Padalecki's come trickle out, then tells Mr Padalecki please, let me keep your seed in me, and places his palm over Mr Padalecki's on his belly to link their fingers.
Jensen manages to gather just enough strength for him to tilt his head up for a kiss. Mr Padalecki willingly obliges, licking him open gently and sucking softly on Jensen's lower lip - sweet as ever, with those gentle eyes and that wide grin, like he hadn't almost broken Jensen into half, almost fucked his way into, and right back out of Jensen's body just a while ago.
"Love you," Jensen tells him, whispers against those lips.
He feels the grin unfurl even wider, knows Mr Padalecki has to be dimpling now, irresistible, but all Jensen needs to hear is Mr Padalecki whispering right back, "Love you too, Jen. Like I ever stood a chance against you", before he seals his lips over Jensen's again, lets Jensen wrap his arms and legs around him, clinging like a monkey, trying to shimmy his way up Mr Padalecki and already starting to rub his dick against that hard stomach.
"You're gonna be the death of me, buddy, gonna break my dick right in half. This is why the 20 years had me worried, you know," Mr Padalecki tells him, but it gets lost in the kiss, swallowed up somewhere among their rolling tongues, completely forgotten later on when Jensen starts coaxing moans out of Mr Padalecki, when Mr Padalecki pounds screams out of Jensen in retribution.
Jensen can't remember falling asleep, but when his eyes blink open the next time he can remember, sunlight is pouring through the windows, slanting over them where they're still curled up on the couch.
Jensen's head is lying on Mr Padalecki's arm, the kitchen tablecloth wrapped around their bodies tightly, their legs lying together underneat, sweaty, in a tangled mess, and Mr Padalecki's cock is kinda lying really nicely in the crease of Jensen's ass, hardening a little every time Jensen moves back against it. Jensen clenches his ass cheeks around it, wants to fuck the crease of his ass on that dick as Mr Padalecki comes awake, muttering huh, what, what's happening confusedly before that morphs into oh my god, Jen, my dick is gonna fall off one day, and then what will you do, and Jensen so just wants to get fucked again, even though his hole feels a little puffy still when he clenches it, even though Mr Padalecki probably broke it in last night, riding it hard and wild.
Mr Padalecki starts nuzzling at Jensen's neck, unwrapping the tablecloth from around them, his dick filling up quickly with blood and his hips already squirming against Jensen, oh god, how perfect was that, please, please let him get fucked again.
Except Chris' voice comes floating right out of the kitchen, before Chris himself ambles out onto the living room, carton of milk in hand.
"Morning, sunshines! Had a good night, huh, dad? Nabbed yourself a slice of hot virgin pie, eh? So now that you got yourself a pretty new wife, how about getting me a new guitar and- ...what the fuck, you guys, what the fuck? Seriously, dad, again? Seriously, what, did you not fuck the jailbait juice out of your system all night long? I didn't sleep in the car last night to come home to front row seats at your creepy fuckathon, jesus fucking christ! And, oh my god, Jensen Ackles, you spit that cock right of your ass right now before I superglue that slutty hole of yours shut. I swear to god-"
Well. Almost perfect.