lost, found & finished: j2 ficlet
runpunkrun and I were egging each other on for WIP Amnesty Day, but I jumped the gun early on that this year and am pretty much out of half-finished fics. I did find the stash of Supernatural RPS that's been gathering dust, and one of them, it turns out, was pretty close to done. Where done=I wrote the first half at 2 a.m. like six months ago and left myself no notes as to where it was supposed to go, so last night I figured out a new plan and finished it.
For newsletter coding:
Title: Might Just Get
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: R
~1200 words
MIGHT JUST GET
j2.
The birthday party is winding down. Jared's on one end of his couch, eyes heavy-lidded, cone-shaped hat skewed to one side.
Jensen lifts an arm to pat Jared on the shoulders and it falls down heavier than he'd expected. Gravity's always a surprise when he's put away this many. Everything's a surprise when he's put away this many.
"You get everything you want?" Jensen asks, and Jared turns to look at him.
"Hmm," Jared says. He rubs his hand in wide, round circles over his belly, stretching his long legs out under the coffee table.
Jensen claps Jared's back again. "It's your birthday, man. You should get everything you want."
Jared blinks slowly, leaning forward. Jensen's arm slides down the couch behind him. "One more thing," Jared says, standing with only a tiny bit of stagger and pulling Jensen to his feet.
*
The upstairs bathroom is medium-sized, anonymous in that having company way, like fake plastic fruit on a formal dinner table. Jensen's never been in there before.
In the yellow glow of a night light, Jared's hair casts shadows across his face like tall grass in front of a drive-in movie screen.
Jensen doesn't get what they're doing there. It's Jared's party, if he wants some coke he doesn't have to hide out in the john. Jensen's ready to lay off even the pot for the rest of the night, given the way everything's gone all confusing.
"What?" he asks as Jared presses him against the sink.
"What else I want," Jared mumbles, and kisses him.
Jared tastes like whiskey and weed and his lips move over Jensen's mouth like they know what they want. Jensen goes with the flow. It's Sunday night, he's up late to be working tomorrow, he's toasted as hell and Jared's kissing him, holding Jensen's waist in a tight grip, pushing his tongue against Jensen's. Jensen follows lazily along.
"Can I --"
Jared's voice is rough, husky, and Jensen pulls the stupid fucking cardboard hat off his head, the elastic tie catching on Jared's chin.
Jensen's ear is wet, Jared's breath blowing coolly over it as he keeps talking. "I want to suck you, Jensen, please --"
His hand's on Jensen's fly and Jensen can feel his body fighting through the haze, trying to respond, wanting to get hard, feeling something real no matter how confused his brain still is.
Jensen puts a hand on Jared's chest. "Let me," he says.
He turns them around, settling Jared's ass on the marble counter. Jared's eyes are wide and Jensen's reflection in the dim light looks calm and cool, like he's got any idea what the hell he's doing. He bends down and kisses Jared's neck, his throat where the shirt collar gapes open, one unbuttoned square of skin at a time.
Jared's stomach is smooth and shaking, rolling with shallow breaths like an oil slick on water, and Jensen's knees hit the thick rug. He's on his knees in Jared's spare bathroom, two inches from giving a guy a blowjob. But he's not nervous, thank Christ for the drugs or the low lighting or the money in his bank account like an escape route any time the bullshit gets too deep. He never has to do anything he doesn't want to again, and it makes him think anything that feels good is probably OK.
Fingertips stroke along the back of his neck, Jared's hand spanning from jaw to spine in an easy grip. When Jensen gets the zipper down and his mouth around Jared's dick, there's a low, contented sigh from above and the fingers slide up the back of his head into his hair.
It hasn't been so long that Jensen's forgotten how to do this and he works Jared with his mouth and his hands, losing any sense of how long it's been since Jared pushed his cock into Jensen's throat, how long since Jared started moaning, how long since Jensen realized how close Jared was to coming.
He sits back, swallows, wipes his mouth awkwardly. Jared's leaning his head against the mirror, toes still touching the floor. Jensen pulls himself up, bumping into Jared's knee, and Jared opens his eyes. He looks shocked and satisfied and Jensen bends in, kissing the corner of his mouth.
The hallway is quiet but downstairs there's still the remnant of a party, stereo on, a girl laughing in the kitchen. Mike wanders back in that direction and Jensen grabs his sleeve.
"Give me a ride?" he asks, rubbing his stomach and trying to look even more trashed than he feels. Mike's likely to blow him off if he doesn't really sell it.
Mike waves an arm half-heartedly at the kitchen, then digs in his pocket for the keys. "Fucking lightweight."
*
"I just figured things'd be easier if we didn't talk about it," Jensen says, when he starts to worry Jared's developed some kind of hysterical laryngitis that prevents them from having a normal conversation as soon as the camera stops rolling.
Jared coughs, spits coffee back onto the plastic lid. "You keep doing me favors like that and --"
"It wasn't --"
"Jensen." Jared looks away, stares at the plastic table, at the tent poles, at a lady from wardrobe walking by with an armful of plaid shirts. Anywhere but Jensen.
And then his shoulders hitch, and his chin comes up, and Jensen feels every one of his vertebrae sizzling under his skin. He can tell this is the part Jared's been practicing.
"Look, it's alright. We were both pretty loaded. And you know when I'm high it's like -- I get turned on by everything, 'specially somebody being nice. And you're a nice guy, and I just wanna say -- thanks."
"You're welcome," Jensen says automatically, and then opens his mouth to try something less polite.
Jared shakes his head. "It's cool. I know what it's like to want to give somebody what they want, and --"
"No," Jensen says, mouth nowhere near connected to his brain. "That's not -- dammit, Jared, that's not how it happened."
It's not fair to be pissed off. It does no good at all for Jensen to want to shove Jared, kick at him under the table, stand right in his face and yell like they both aren't figuring this out a few steps after it's already happened.
But Jared's asking him something now, whether he's figured it out or not. "Don't make excuses," Jensen says. "That's as bad as my stupid plan to ignore it, worse maybe."
"Then what --" Jared stops.
"I wasn't doing you a favor," Jensen says, as clear as he knows, and his voice doesn't even shake. "You asked, and I guess that's what I'd been waiting on."
Jared's grin breaks wide across his face, and Jensen looks down at his hands and laughs at himself, at both of them.
"Hey Jensen."
"Yeah." The sun is behind Jared's shoulder, still high and bright, and Jensen squints his eyes closed a little.
"What are you doing right now?"
"Right now?" Jared nods. "Sitting here with you, making fools out of ourselves."
Jared juts his chin back over his shoulder toward the trailers. "Pay attention, man. I'm asking you a question."
END.
CREDITS: Ce makes the mixes. The Stones make the titles. Punk and Miella make sure I've made some progress to my work.
For newsletter coding:
Title: Might Just Get
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: R
~1200 words
MIGHT JUST GET
j2.
The birthday party is winding down. Jared's on one end of his couch, eyes heavy-lidded, cone-shaped hat skewed to one side.
Jensen lifts an arm to pat Jared on the shoulders and it falls down heavier than he'd expected. Gravity's always a surprise when he's put away this many. Everything's a surprise when he's put away this many.
"You get everything you want?" Jensen asks, and Jared turns to look at him.
"Hmm," Jared says. He rubs his hand in wide, round circles over his belly, stretching his long legs out under the coffee table.
Jensen claps Jared's back again. "It's your birthday, man. You should get everything you want."
Jared blinks slowly, leaning forward. Jensen's arm slides down the couch behind him. "One more thing," Jared says, standing with only a tiny bit of stagger and pulling Jensen to his feet.
*
The upstairs bathroom is medium-sized, anonymous in that having company way, like fake plastic fruit on a formal dinner table. Jensen's never been in there before.
In the yellow glow of a night light, Jared's hair casts shadows across his face like tall grass in front of a drive-in movie screen.
Jensen doesn't get what they're doing there. It's Jared's party, if he wants some coke he doesn't have to hide out in the john. Jensen's ready to lay off even the pot for the rest of the night, given the way everything's gone all confusing.
"What?" he asks as Jared presses him against the sink.
"What else I want," Jared mumbles, and kisses him.
Jared tastes like whiskey and weed and his lips move over Jensen's mouth like they know what they want. Jensen goes with the flow. It's Sunday night, he's up late to be working tomorrow, he's toasted as hell and Jared's kissing him, holding Jensen's waist in a tight grip, pushing his tongue against Jensen's. Jensen follows lazily along.
"Can I --"
Jared's voice is rough, husky, and Jensen pulls the stupid fucking cardboard hat off his head, the elastic tie catching on Jared's chin.
Jensen's ear is wet, Jared's breath blowing coolly over it as he keeps talking. "I want to suck you, Jensen, please --"
His hand's on Jensen's fly and Jensen can feel his body fighting through the haze, trying to respond, wanting to get hard, feeling something real no matter how confused his brain still is.
Jensen puts a hand on Jared's chest. "Let me," he says.
He turns them around, settling Jared's ass on the marble counter. Jared's eyes are wide and Jensen's reflection in the dim light looks calm and cool, like he's got any idea what the hell he's doing. He bends down and kisses Jared's neck, his throat where the shirt collar gapes open, one unbuttoned square of skin at a time.
Jared's stomach is smooth and shaking, rolling with shallow breaths like an oil slick on water, and Jensen's knees hit the thick rug. He's on his knees in Jared's spare bathroom, two inches from giving a guy a blowjob. But he's not nervous, thank Christ for the drugs or the low lighting or the money in his bank account like an escape route any time the bullshit gets too deep. He never has to do anything he doesn't want to again, and it makes him think anything that feels good is probably OK.
Fingertips stroke along the back of his neck, Jared's hand spanning from jaw to spine in an easy grip. When Jensen gets the zipper down and his mouth around Jared's dick, there's a low, contented sigh from above and the fingers slide up the back of his head into his hair.
It hasn't been so long that Jensen's forgotten how to do this and he works Jared with his mouth and his hands, losing any sense of how long it's been since Jared pushed his cock into Jensen's throat, how long since Jared started moaning, how long since Jensen realized how close Jared was to coming.
He sits back, swallows, wipes his mouth awkwardly. Jared's leaning his head against the mirror, toes still touching the floor. Jensen pulls himself up, bumping into Jared's knee, and Jared opens his eyes. He looks shocked and satisfied and Jensen bends in, kissing the corner of his mouth.
The hallway is quiet but downstairs there's still the remnant of a party, stereo on, a girl laughing in the kitchen. Mike wanders back in that direction and Jensen grabs his sleeve.
"Give me a ride?" he asks, rubbing his stomach and trying to look even more trashed than he feels. Mike's likely to blow him off if he doesn't really sell it.
Mike waves an arm half-heartedly at the kitchen, then digs in his pocket for the keys. "Fucking lightweight."
*
"I just figured things'd be easier if we didn't talk about it," Jensen says, when he starts to worry Jared's developed some kind of hysterical laryngitis that prevents them from having a normal conversation as soon as the camera stops rolling.
Jared coughs, spits coffee back onto the plastic lid. "You keep doing me favors like that and --"
"It wasn't --"
"Jensen." Jared looks away, stares at the plastic table, at the tent poles, at a lady from wardrobe walking by with an armful of plaid shirts. Anywhere but Jensen.
And then his shoulders hitch, and his chin comes up, and Jensen feels every one of his vertebrae sizzling under his skin. He can tell this is the part Jared's been practicing.
"Look, it's alright. We were both pretty loaded. And you know when I'm high it's like -- I get turned on by everything, 'specially somebody being nice. And you're a nice guy, and I just wanna say -- thanks."
"You're welcome," Jensen says automatically, and then opens his mouth to try something less polite.
Jared shakes his head. "It's cool. I know what it's like to want to give somebody what they want, and --"
"No," Jensen says, mouth nowhere near connected to his brain. "That's not -- dammit, Jared, that's not how it happened."
It's not fair to be pissed off. It does no good at all for Jensen to want to shove Jared, kick at him under the table, stand right in his face and yell like they both aren't figuring this out a few steps after it's already happened.
But Jared's asking him something now, whether he's figured it out or not. "Don't make excuses," Jensen says. "That's as bad as my stupid plan to ignore it, worse maybe."
"Then what --" Jared stops.
"I wasn't doing you a favor," Jensen says, as clear as he knows, and his voice doesn't even shake. "You asked, and I guess that's what I'd been waiting on."
Jared's grin breaks wide across his face, and Jensen looks down at his hands and laughs at himself, at both of them.
"Hey Jensen."
"Yeah." The sun is behind Jared's shoulder, still high and bright, and Jensen squints his eyes closed a little.
"What are you doing right now?"
"Right now?" Jared nods. "Sitting here with you, making fools out of ourselves."
Jared juts his chin back over his shoulder toward the trailers. "Pay attention, man. I'm asking you a question."
END.
CREDITS: Ce makes the mixes. The Stones make the titles. Punk and Miella make sure I've made some progress to my work.