Chapter 8: Psychotria Elata
Chapter 8: Psychotria Elata
Author: homo_pink
Rating: R
Pairing: J2
Word Count: 1k
Summary: Somebody unexpected sneaks aboard.
Chad somehow manages to whoop for joy, press his thumb to the intercom, and keep the phaser steady on the temporarily evil Jensen and Jared all at the same time. Jeff thinks maybe Chad deserves a raise. And if that's not indicative of how out of control things have spun...
"You heard him Alaina!" Chad gloats into the com. "Reset our course for Antares-four. Mayhem's gonna get his balls back!"
~
The embarrassing thing is, it takes less than five minutes for everything to go ass up in a most decidedly not fun way.
Someone in another section yells, “Shit, a cat!”, Chad gets trigger happy in the commotion and squeezes too soon, the killer porn star duo fall to the floor in stunned unison-
-and before anyone’s fully realized the situation, Old Man Beaver’s culprit puss has hopped up onto a much smaller, much less-utilized control board and haphazardly dumped its fluffy orange butt right atop a couple of hazardously placed buttons labeled POV Switch and Temporary Character Amnesia.
~
Jensen awakens to complete disorient.
He looks to be in some sort of holding cell, all clangy walls and a metallic rot; dusk-dark like the gritty cinematography in an early seasons horror show. The back of his skull feels bruisy, the warm tip of his dick is suspiciously wet, and there's a very male smell coming from somewhere very nearby.
He isn't alone in this little cage of his, it seems. Oddly, the discovery only causes him to grow a drop wetter.
The man-boy, when it materializes from behind the leg of its motherly shadow, crouched into a curl, is a lovely little beast. Marbled skin and a Glasgow smile, watching Jensen watch him. When he rises, full-bodied and long, he’s monstrous, beautiful. And Jensen feels a fine tremble quake through his belly at the sight.
~
Distantly, there are shouts. Screams, even.
They have a serene melody to them, tuneful if heard with a particular ear, and they’re lovely to Jensen, just lovely. And he ignores them completely in favor of the hard, humid gasps being sighed out against his throat.
Elsewhere in the pandemonium, someone is fretting over unsecured poppies. Jensen smiles thinly, and holds the little beast in place with his clamping thighs.
~
He’s clumsy in Jensen’s arms, erratically forceful, knocking their foreheads together in a childlike attempt at sweetness, and jabbing the hugeness of his cock all wrong, like he’s too excited by the idea of getting inside Jensen that he has no idea how to actually go about doing it.
And Jensen for that matter, sunny memories wiped, isn’t sure he’s any better at it himself.
They try, and try again, shift around, and with impatient legs Jensen lets his knees splay open wider, reaches down between them to get a guiding grip, and between the two of them, they manage finely. As though this is something they've always done, this gorgeous boy and he.
It’s mating season in their little prison bungalow and neither of them notices, nor cares about, the dazed crowd gathering around the small rectangular window on the door, shoving at each other to get a better look inside at their very noisy, very feral coupling.
~
Beneath them, the floor has grown slippery, and Jensen’s shoulder blades slide and jerk through the mess of sweat and excitement with every impolite shove he takes. And he does take it. So, so well. He cries and trembles and clings bodily to the boy, longs to know his name, his origin, the exact color of his pulsing heart.
“Look at me,” he says at one point, frantic, and the boy must speak his language, or pick up on his desperation, because as soon as Jensen says it, the boy does. And their mouths just can't seem to help themselves.
Jensen knows not all kisses feel like this.
Like he’s got salt in his eyes and a gnawing at his knees and a tiny little music box beneath his ribs, dollish.
Jensen digs his fingers down the boy’s back, red wet welling up in streaks. He presses greedy hands onto a pretty ass and pulls him even further, even harder into his body, and Jensen says, inexplicably, love-stupid, “You give me butterflies-“
“-and I choke up moths,” the boy finishes softly against Jensen’s lips, eyes huge in his face, scared and confused, and Jensen shushes him, hugs him protectively, and tells him without words, with babykisses in his hair and both bare legs wrapped around, that they can be scared and confused together.
~
“Hi,” the boy says when they’re all done, shyly.
Jensen is dripping nut from his ass and feels pleasingly sore everywhere, mottled-red marks over his hips and thighs in the shape of huge hands, and he says back just as nervously, just as smitten, “hi.”
Holding hands and sneaking stolen glances, they trade names, and a few more timid kisses, and Jensen lets Jared pick out his own dried blood from beneath Jensen's fingernails.
~
“What do we do? What the fuck do we do?” someone says. “They’re being even grosser than usual.”
“Has anyone tried just moving the cat?” another voice says, but Jensen’s too busy decorating Jared’s hair with little red petals they found floating in through the vents.
~
Danneel says it can take up to twenty-four hours for the allergen-toxin-whatevers to leave the system once someone's been exposed and nobody in the group is all that keen on having a couple of evil-minded counterparts roaming around the ship together, least of all while in heat. Chad retches dramatically. Jeff readjusts himself for the ninth time since it started.
They opt to leave them in for a while longer, just to be safe.
(The muffled noises in the background are enough to alert them to what sounds like a very athletic round two.)
She deftly and efficiently removes a purring Ginger from her lazy perch on the control switches, and scritches under the kitty’s chin, cooing about who’s a sneaky kitty, who’s a sneaky kitty, until someone, Chad probably, says, “Um, guys?”
As a unit, they turn to see what his bony, outstretched finger is pointing at, and collectively, they gasp. From Sly Miss Ginger’s vacated spot, they notice another very inconvenient button has been mysteriously added to their controls.
Chad laughs nervously. “You don’t think she - she sat on that one too, right?”
Jeff looks stricken. The button says MPREG. A poppy lands on someone's nose.
~
I lovingly tag dugindeep ♥
Author: homo_pink
Rating: R
Pairing: J2
Word Count: 1k
Summary: Somebody unexpected sneaks aboard.
Chad somehow manages to whoop for joy, press his thumb to the intercom, and keep the phaser steady on the temporarily evil Jensen and Jared all at the same time. Jeff thinks maybe Chad deserves a raise. And if that's not indicative of how out of control things have spun...
"You heard him Alaina!" Chad gloats into the com. "Reset our course for Antares-four. Mayhem's gonna get his balls back!"
~
The embarrassing thing is, it takes less than five minutes for everything to go ass up in a most decidedly not fun way.
Someone in another section yells, “Shit, a cat!”, Chad gets trigger happy in the commotion and squeezes too soon, the killer porn star duo fall to the floor in stunned unison-
-and before anyone’s fully realized the situation, Old Man Beaver’s culprit puss has hopped up onto a much smaller, much less-utilized control board and haphazardly dumped its fluffy orange butt right atop a couple of hazardously placed buttons labeled POV Switch and Temporary Character Amnesia.
~
Jensen awakens to complete disorient.
He looks to be in some sort of holding cell, all clangy walls and a metallic rot; dusk-dark like the gritty cinematography in an early seasons horror show. The back of his skull feels bruisy, the warm tip of his dick is suspiciously wet, and there's a very male smell coming from somewhere very nearby.
He isn't alone in this little cage of his, it seems. Oddly, the discovery only causes him to grow a drop wetter.
The man-boy, when it materializes from behind the leg of its motherly shadow, crouched into a curl, is a lovely little beast. Marbled skin and a Glasgow smile, watching Jensen watch him. When he rises, full-bodied and long, he’s monstrous, beautiful. And Jensen feels a fine tremble quake through his belly at the sight.
~
Distantly, there are shouts. Screams, even.
They have a serene melody to them, tuneful if heard with a particular ear, and they’re lovely to Jensen, just lovely. And he ignores them completely in favor of the hard, humid gasps being sighed out against his throat.
Elsewhere in the pandemonium, someone is fretting over unsecured poppies. Jensen smiles thinly, and holds the little beast in place with his clamping thighs.
~
He’s clumsy in Jensen’s arms, erratically forceful, knocking their foreheads together in a childlike attempt at sweetness, and jabbing the hugeness of his cock all wrong, like he’s too excited by the idea of getting inside Jensen that he has no idea how to actually go about doing it.
And Jensen for that matter, sunny memories wiped, isn’t sure he’s any better at it himself.
They try, and try again, shift around, and with impatient legs Jensen lets his knees splay open wider, reaches down between them to get a guiding grip, and between the two of them, they manage finely. As though this is something they've always done, this gorgeous boy and he.
It’s mating season in their little prison bungalow and neither of them notices, nor cares about, the dazed crowd gathering around the small rectangular window on the door, shoving at each other to get a better look inside at their very noisy, very feral coupling.
~
Beneath them, the floor has grown slippery, and Jensen’s shoulder blades slide and jerk through the mess of sweat and excitement with every impolite shove he takes. And he does take it. So, so well. He cries and trembles and clings bodily to the boy, longs to know his name, his origin, the exact color of his pulsing heart.
“Look at me,” he says at one point, frantic, and the boy must speak his language, or pick up on his desperation, because as soon as Jensen says it, the boy does. And their mouths just can't seem to help themselves.
Jensen knows not all kisses feel like this.
Like he’s got salt in his eyes and a gnawing at his knees and a tiny little music box beneath his ribs, dollish.
Jensen digs his fingers down the boy’s back, red wet welling up in streaks. He presses greedy hands onto a pretty ass and pulls him even further, even harder into his body, and Jensen says, inexplicably, love-stupid, “You give me butterflies-“
“-and I choke up moths,” the boy finishes softly against Jensen’s lips, eyes huge in his face, scared and confused, and Jensen shushes him, hugs him protectively, and tells him without words, with babykisses in his hair and both bare legs wrapped around, that they can be scared and confused together.
~
“Hi,” the boy says when they’re all done, shyly.
Jensen is dripping nut from his ass and feels pleasingly sore everywhere, mottled-red marks over his hips and thighs in the shape of huge hands, and he says back just as nervously, just as smitten, “hi.”
Holding hands and sneaking stolen glances, they trade names, and a few more timid kisses, and Jensen lets Jared pick out his own dried blood from beneath Jensen's fingernails.
~
“What do we do? What the fuck do we do?” someone says. “They’re being even grosser than usual.”
“Has anyone tried just moving the cat?” another voice says, but Jensen’s too busy decorating Jared’s hair with little red petals they found floating in through the vents.
~
Danneel says it can take up to twenty-four hours for the allergen-toxin-whatevers to leave the system once someone's been exposed and nobody in the group is all that keen on having a couple of evil-minded counterparts roaming around the ship together, least of all while in heat. Chad retches dramatically. Jeff readjusts himself for the ninth time since it started.
They opt to leave them in for a while longer, just to be safe.
(The muffled noises in the background are enough to alert them to what sounds like a very athletic round two.)
She deftly and efficiently removes a purring Ginger from her lazy perch on the control switches, and scritches under the kitty’s chin, cooing about who’s a sneaky kitty, who’s a sneaky kitty, until someone, Chad probably, says, “Um, guys?”
As a unit, they turn to see what his bony, outstretched finger is pointing at, and collectively, they gasp. From Sly Miss Ginger’s vacated spot, they notice another very inconvenient button has been mysteriously added to their controls.
Chad laughs nervously. “You don’t think she - she sat on that one too, right?”
Jeff looks stricken. The button says MPREG. A poppy lands on someone's nose.
~
I lovingly tag dugindeep ♥