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raeschaeTitle: Getaway (A Disclaimer Verse OneShot)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raeschae
Pairing: J2
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3600
Summary: Hot, tattooed boys having hot, sweaty sex in the hot, Mexican sun. 'Nuff said.
Part of the Disclaimer Verse
A/N: Fornightporters, who requested straight-up Disclaimer porn. I don't do a lot of NC-17 stories in this 'verse, it doesn't always lend itself to that, but they're hot, tattooed, hard-bodied boys. It's not like it's that hard to write. ;)
They don't come here nearly enough anymore, in Jensen's humble opinion. With a kid at home, and multiple business ventures, life gets crazy faster than it used to and time just kind of slips away. It's not like they think about it, or even contemplate how long it's been since they last took a break. But when Jared rolled over yesterday morning and said they needed to come to TJ, even if just for a night, Jensen didn't even hesitate to respond with an, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
Used to, they would roll into town after work, fuck for a few hours, and then sleep until well into the afternoon the next day before waking up to fuck some more. The fact that he woke up at nine to find Jared's side of the bed already empty is a testament to just how much they've changed. Having a kid who actually has to wake up and go to school in the morning has screwed their routine all to hell, apparently. It's quickly becoming the exception, rather than the rule, when Jensen sleeps past noon anymore.
After a quick shower, he stumbles into the kitchen of their two bedroom beach bungalow to find that Jared has already brewed coffee, just like home. It's comforting, and Jensen smiles as he pours himself a cup and makes his way toward the deck, dressed in nothing but an old pair of Jared's basketball shorts, drawstring pulled tight. Jared's taller, and broader through the shoulders than Jensen, but his waist and hips are narrow and much closer to Jensen's own size.
Of course, it's not like they share clothes a lot or anything. He's not a girl who needs to lounge around in her boyfriend's dress shirt. For one thing, Jared only owns a couple of dress shirts, for very special occasions, and for another? He has pretty terrible taste, outside of the clothes Jensen designs for him. Except for his daily jeans and tanks, he's pretty much a fashion disaster. Though, at six feet, four inches of solid tattooed fucking muscle, nobody really seems to notice this fact, Jensen included.
Stepping outside, he breathes deep of the salty ocean air and enjoys the beat of the already-sweltering Mexican sun. Tijuana isn't really a “tourist” destination, unless the tourists are drunken high school and college kids looking to get fucked up on the cheap. There aren't a lot of seasonal visitors out this direction, which is exactly why they chose to buy this house.
It's old, built in the forties and sort of falling apart around the edges. The guys have tended to immediate needs when it comes to repairs and improvements, but they're in agreement that a.) it's got a certain charm as it is and they don't want to ruin that by upgrading everything, and b.) they're lazy, and this is their vacation spot. Why the hell would they spend their time here worrying about remodeling the kitchen or whatever?
“Morning,” Jared smiles and Jensen turns at the deck railing to respond.
His words promptly catch in his throat.
Seriously? This is his boyfriend. Stretched out on a teak lounger in nothing but a threadbare pair of tan cargo shorts, golden skin already glistening in the mid-morning sun. He's got a sketch pad propped against his knees, a pencil between his fingers, and a giant cup of coffee in his hand. His hair falls in his eyes when he bends to set the pad and pencil on the deck, and he smiles at Jensen over the lip of his mug with about ten thousand unspoken words shouting from his wide, hazel eyes.
“Morning yourself,” Jensen finally manages, legs crossed as he leans against the railing Jared installed a couple of years ago.
There are seagulls cawing loudly in the background and the sounds of a few locals scurrying about in the distance, but Jensen's not paying attention to them. Jared's half-naked and smiling at him. What else really matters anyway?
Pushing off the rail, Jensen makes his way over to the chair and places his cup on the ground next to Jared's. Swings one leg over those mile-long ones and then lowers himself onto Jared's thighs. “You should be fuckin' illegal,” he growls, leaning in to catch a rivulet of sweat making it way from the hollow of Jared's throat to the “J” tattooed on his sternum. Katie once asked Jared if the initial was for his own name or Jensen's, and Jared just smirked and nodded. Even Jensen doesn't know for sure, but he has his suspicions.
Long fingers dig into his sides and Jared's hips roll up as his head falls back. “Fuckin' hell, Jen,” he groans when Jensen moves his lips to seal over Jared's nipple and his teeth scrape over the hardening pebble.
His hands are working the button on Jared's shorts and he can feel the sun hot on his back, but Jensen could care less if they both burn. They won't notice until later anyway.
Jared doesn't argue when Jensen pulls at his shorts. He actually helps by bucking his hips and letting Jensen tug the fabric over his ass. Sliding back, Jensen stands and walks his way off of the chair, dragging Jared's shorts with him until he can throw them on the deck. It's not a private beach, but they don't exactly get loads of visitors, either, so laying Jared out naked in the morning humidity shouldn't be a problem.
Jared's certainly not complaining, eyes laser focused on the place where Jensen is pushing the long, nylon basketball shorts over his legs and kicking them out of the way. He then walks around the side of the lounger and bends low to suck Jared's earlobe into his mouth. “Sit up for me, Jay,” he requests in a rough, low gravel that causes Jared to do exactly as he asks. He pulls the pins out of the chair back and then replaces them so that the lounger almost lays flat. Reclined just enough for Jared to see everything Jensen plans on doing to him. “Lay back.”
The way he does as he's told is kind of the hottest fucking thing Jensen can imagine. Here's this guy who's pretty much larger than life, literally. He has a tight handle on every facet of every thing, from his business to his home to his family, and he doesn't even have to try. He just does it, effortlessly. The only time Jared loosens his grip, hands over the reigns completely, is when he's with Jensen. And if that's not the biggest ego stroke on the planet, Jensen doesn't know what is.
Instead of straddling Jared again, Jensen walks back to the end of the lounger and bends over to grasp Jared's ankles. This part is tricky – they learned when they first bought the chair that maintaining a solid center of gravity is pretty damn important. It's a heavy piece of furniture, solid and unmoving most of the time, but if Jared moves up too high, or down too low, it will tip over. Jensen can't help smiling at that memory.
“Scoot up,” he nods and Jared shifts and shimmies until he's in the exact right spot. And then Jensen raises an eyebrow and stands. Jared doesn't need any more instruction as he spreads his impossibly long legs and plants his feet on the either side of the chair. “Jesus Christ, Jay.”
Jensen loves looking at the sun setting over the ocean, and Brayden skating around the park at Ollie, and the number of zeros at the end of the checks that he gets from Macy's. But there is nothing, nothing, he loves more than the sight of Jared all spread out and watching him, desperate anticipation in those bright, hazel eyes. He drinks it in with a long, lazy gaze and it's all he can do to keep from pouncing.
Jared's cock is growing before Jensen's eyes and he licks his lips at the thought of tasting it. “You have any idea what I'm gonna do to you?” He moves forward and plants one knee in the center of the lounger between Jared's legs. “How long I'm gonna lick and suck on this cock?” Jared rolls his hips again, but he's not saying much. He never does when Jensen gets like this. “Fuckin' love your cock on my mouth, Jay.” He rests one hand against Jared's thigh and runs the thumb of his other over the wet tip of Jared's cock.
When he drags his fist slowly up and down the shaft, Jared lets his head fall back and his eyes close. “Jesus,” he manages, and it's a full word, so Jensen knows there's more work to be done.
Sometimes, he wishes he could deep throat like a fucking porn star, the way Jared can. Since he can't, Jensen wraps one hand around the base of Jared's cock and works the part of his shaft that just won't fit in his mouth. Jared doesn't seem to mind the dual attention. He's kind of a whore like that.
With his other hand, Jensen's fingers trace the 'Live Life Loud' tattoo on Jared's left hip bone and can't help smiling around him when Jared's hip pops up at the contact. His fingers are in Jensen's hair and he's grumbling under his breath more than moaning. He manages to bite out things like 'yeah' and 'good' and 'Jen' but the words are starting to break down. This is when Jensen knows he has Jared right where he wants him.
Squeezing the base of Jared's cock, Jensen quirks an eyebrow and licks his lips when he pulls off with a wicked gleam. Jared is waiting, eyes shut, for whatever comes next, though his legs fall further open because they've danced this particular number so many times that it's not exactly a surprise what Jensen's going to do.
Chris once said that his only problem with monogamy is that it involves fucking the same person all the time. Doesn't matter how much you love someone, he theorized, it has to get old at some point. Repitition breeds boredom and, eventually, you gotta find something else or shoot yourself in the head. Chris is really fucking eloquent like that.
Thing is, Jensen used to agree with him. He used to be afraid that there was going to come a day when he was going to be bored with Jared, or Jared was going to get bored with him, and they just weren't going to be into this anymore. It was going to be more like going through the motions. And if there's nothing thing neither of them do well, it's boredom.
Turns out, Jensen realized awhile ago, and rediscovers while standing at the side of the chair and looking over Jared's golden, ink-covered skin, Jared's body is about the furthest thing from boring he's ever seen. It's been eight years, almost nine, that they've been doing this thing, and even when they're just straight-up missionary? It's as hot as it was the night they met. He never mentions it, but having someone know his body, every place to suck and nip and lick and touch, is so much fucking better than fumbling around with some stranger armed only with a bag of generic tricks that should work on everyone.
“Jen,” Jared pants, hips thrusting. He's flushed, blooms of red behind the tats that adorn his chest and the new 'Mayhem' one arched over his abs in honor of the nickname Brayden has earned in the last year or so.
He stands there, teasing Jared for a few more seconds, but there's always this point where everything becomes as painfully frustrating for Jensen as it is for Jared, and he just can't hold out anymore. Straddling his hips and running his fingers up over hard muscles and sweat-moistened skin, Jensen lets himself appreciate that this is forever his. Dips his head and captures a nipple between his teeth, tugging and sucking until Jared's hips are moving and his cock is trailing the crack of Jensen's ass.
He leans forward and presses their chests together, lips against Jared's ear when he groans, “Gonna ride your cock, Jay. You're gonna fuck me right here, outside where anybody can walk by and see how much you fuckin' love it.” He's the top. Usually. But there are times. Shit, there are times when he needs to feel Jared. To take him so far inside that he may never find his way out. He doesn't plan it, but he doesn't fight it when it happens, either.
Eyes closed, Jared nods his head and rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. Jensen leans over the side of the chair and blindly gropes for the lube they left there last night. It's probably a weird tradition, but they've learned that the need to fuck each other blind can crop up in any room of this house at any moment, so they always open the windows, put the beer in the fridge, and strategically place lube bottles wherever they might need them upon arrival. It's saved both of their asses on more than one occasion.
He flicks the bottle open and starts to tip it over his fingers when Jared stops him. There's a wicked glint in his eye when he slicks his own fingers and then pulls Jensen flat against his chest while he works slow circles over his hole.
“Fuck, yeah, Jay,” he groans when Jared slips the first finger inside. It's instinctual, the way his hips push back at the second one. Jesus Christ, it feels so fucking good. “More,” he hears himself breathe against Jared's chest and Jared adds a third finger, stretching Jensen enough to loosen him up.
Apparently, Jensen didn't drive Jared far enough to the edge to lose all brain function. Just as he begins to adjust, to relax into Jared's chest, his fingers brush the exact right spot and Jensen jerks hard, bolting almost upright with a near-roar. Jared smacks his hip and Jensen rolls his eyes. “Gonna wake the neighbors,” Jared chuckles.
He almost whimpers when Jared withdraws his fingers, but rolls his eyes instead, reaching behind to grip Jared's cock in his fist. “Shut up and fuck me,” he orders, guiding Jared until he feels the head stretch his hole. “Fuckin' Christ, Jay. You get bigger since last time?”
Jared doesn't answer, lip caught between his teeth as he grips the tattoos on Jensen's hips and guides him down while lazily rolling his own forward. “Fuck,” he breathes, eyes squeezing shut.
“Fuckin' look at me,” Jensen insists, and Jared does. It's breath-taking, his pupils blown wide like there's nothing he wants more. “Watch me, Jay,” he goes on. If there's anything Jensen has learned about Jared in the last eight and a half years, it's that he has a serious kink for the sound of Jensen's voice. “Fuckin' love this, huh? Look,” he nods and Jared's eyes drop to the place Jensen is rising and falling. “God, you fuckin' love watching your cock in my ass, don't you? Goddamn. Fuckin' love feelin' it, man.”
Jared just grunts, thrusts his hips harder, and moans when Jensen moves his hands to the arms of the lounger, gripping until his knuckles are white. He may not be able to speak, but Jared can fuck like a goddamn jack hammer. Long hours in his basement gym don't just make him look like an Adonis. The force of his thrusts, the strength in his legs, drives him deep and causes Jensen to growl out once again.
“Yeah, Jay,” he gasps, arms giving out as he collapses onto Jared's chest and feels to massive hands grip at his ass, kneading and pulling as Jared fucks harder into him. “Fuckin' give it to me, c'mon,” Jensen pleads against Jared's neck, and there's no describing the way it feels. The way it stings and fills him and sets every nerve on edge. “Harder,” he bites at Jared's ear and oomphs when Jared complies.
His body's on fire, sweating and sliding against Jared's chest, and Jared whimpers every time the platinum rings through Jensen's nipples slide over his bare ones. His hands are squeezing so hard at Jensen's ass, he's pretty sure he's going to be bruised, and he's thrusting as hard and as fast as he can, just the way Jensen loves it.
When he feels it building, Jensen sits up and grabs one of Jared's wrists, dragging his hand around until his massive fingers engulf Jensen's painfully hard cock. “Almost,” he grunts, the friction of that hot hand, the pressure of those precision fingers, is about kill him.
Jared's eyes meet his suddenly, hand stilling, and he almost looks surprised. “Goddamn motherfuckin' shit,” he growls.
Jensen just nods. “That's it, kid,” he encourages, slamming back against the erratic thrust that indicates Jared's about to lose it. Dropping back down against his chest, Jensen bites at Jared's jaw and speaks low against his ear. “Want you to come for me, Jay. Wanna feel you, man. Fuckin' come in my ass.” He doesn't stop until Jared goes rigid and he feels it. Really fucking feels it.
Some people get married. They exchange rings to show their commitment. For some people, it's a collar or a cuff that signifies their intention of staying together forever. Two years into their relationship, Jared and Jensen got themselves tested and agreed to throw the condoms out. Sure, there are the matching tattoos for the rest of the world to see, but for them, their bond was sealed the day they tossed that box and laid each other complete bare and raw. There's nobody else. Forever.
Even before he's finished coming, Jared is stripping the flesh of Jensen's cock, arm moving in a furious blur. It doesn't take much before Jensen is cursing a blue streak, thick splashes of white coming hard against both of their stomachs and Jared's hand.
He holds tight to the chair, back slouched, as he fights to regain breath. It's really fucking hard to do that when Jared is licking his fingers clean, but Jensen finally manages enough composure to breathe, “Fuckin' hell, man,” just before he collapses onto Jared's chest.
“You're gonna burn out here,” is Jared's only response, hand trailing lazy up and down his back.
He's probably right. Much as he'd love to be the golden god that Jared is, and as much of a giant pussy as it makes him feel to admit it, he's far too fair complected to spend a lot more time like this. He'll burn up like a lobster, and have a thousand more freckles, to boot. Cute when he was six. Not so much anymore.
“Shower,” Jensen grunts, pushing himself up when he's pretty sure his legs can take it. “Just took a fuckin' shower,” he adds, glaring over his shoulder when Jared smacks his ass. “You comin'?”
Arms folded behind his head and naked as the day he was born, there's no way that Jared could look any fucking hotter than he does right now. It's just not fucking possible. He brings his legs up onto the lounger and crosses them at his ankles. “Thought I might get some more sun,” he laughs when he turns his head in Jensen's direction.
Of course, he's pretty quick to jump his giant ass up when they hear giggling down the beach. “You're such a fucking prude,” Jensen rolls his eyes.
Jared follows him into the house and stops off at the refrigerator for a bottle of water. “It's more for their protection than mine,” he assures Jensen. “You're kinda possessive, dude.”
“Yeah, right, I'm the possessive one.” It's true – Jensen is possessive. And if somebody happened by and stared a little too long at Jared's naked ass on the deck? He would wanna knock 'em out. But Jared accusing him of it is a little like a pot and a fucking kettle.
Jared follows him into the bathroom and crowds into the shower behind him. “Not my fault you make me fuckin' crazy.”
“Man, you are plenty crazy all on your own.”
“Wasn't till I met you.”
They turn effortlessly, like a choreographed routine practiced and perfected over years spent together. Jensen presses in close and runs the bar of soap over Jared's abs. “You hung out with Chad when I met you,” Jensen reminds him with a laugh. “You were bat-shit fucked up long before I came along.”
“Jen?” Jared asks, head dropping back to rest on Jensen's shoulder, pliant. “Can you do me a favor and not talk about Chad, or, ya know, anyone else, while you're dick's ridin' my crack?”
“For sure,” Jensen agrees, hand dipping lower as he lets the soap slip from his grasp. “Want me to talk about how I'm gonna fuck your goddamn perfect, tight little ass as hard as you fucked mine out there instead?”
When Jared mumbles incoherently instead of answering, Jensen knows it's going to be awhile before they head back to their real lives. And he's more than a little okay with that.
Hit Counter
Author:
raeschaePairing: J2
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3600
Summary: Hot, tattooed boys having hot, sweaty sex in the hot, Mexican sun. 'Nuff said.
Part of the Disclaimer Verse
A/N: For
nightporters, who requested straight-up Disclaimer porn. I don't do a lot of NC-17 stories in this 'verse, it doesn't always lend itself to that, but they're hot, tattooed, hard-bodied boys. It's not like it's that hard to write. ;)They don't come here nearly enough anymore, in Jensen's humble opinion. With a kid at home, and multiple business ventures, life gets crazy faster than it used to and time just kind of slips away. It's not like they think about it, or even contemplate how long it's been since they last took a break. But when Jared rolled over yesterday morning and said they needed to come to TJ, even if just for a night, Jensen didn't even hesitate to respond with an, “Abso-fucking-lutely.”
Used to, they would roll into town after work, fuck for a few hours, and then sleep until well into the afternoon the next day before waking up to fuck some more. The fact that he woke up at nine to find Jared's side of the bed already empty is a testament to just how much they've changed. Having a kid who actually has to wake up and go to school in the morning has screwed their routine all to hell, apparently. It's quickly becoming the exception, rather than the rule, when Jensen sleeps past noon anymore.
After a quick shower, he stumbles into the kitchen of their two bedroom beach bungalow to find that Jared has already brewed coffee, just like home. It's comforting, and Jensen smiles as he pours himself a cup and makes his way toward the deck, dressed in nothing but an old pair of Jared's basketball shorts, drawstring pulled tight. Jared's taller, and broader through the shoulders than Jensen, but his waist and hips are narrow and much closer to Jensen's own size.
Of course, it's not like they share clothes a lot or anything. He's not a girl who needs to lounge around in her boyfriend's dress shirt. For one thing, Jared only owns a couple of dress shirts, for very special occasions, and for another? He has pretty terrible taste, outside of the clothes Jensen designs for him. Except for his daily jeans and tanks, he's pretty much a fashion disaster. Though, at six feet, four inches of solid tattooed fucking muscle, nobody really seems to notice this fact, Jensen included.
Stepping outside, he breathes deep of the salty ocean air and enjoys the beat of the already-sweltering Mexican sun. Tijuana isn't really a “tourist” destination, unless the tourists are drunken high school and college kids looking to get fucked up on the cheap. There aren't a lot of seasonal visitors out this direction, which is exactly why they chose to buy this house.
It's old, built in the forties and sort of falling apart around the edges. The guys have tended to immediate needs when it comes to repairs and improvements, but they're in agreement that a.) it's got a certain charm as it is and they don't want to ruin that by upgrading everything, and b.) they're lazy, and this is their vacation spot. Why the hell would they spend their time here worrying about remodeling the kitchen or whatever?
“Morning,” Jared smiles and Jensen turns at the deck railing to respond.
His words promptly catch in his throat.
Seriously? This is his boyfriend. Stretched out on a teak lounger in nothing but a threadbare pair of tan cargo shorts, golden skin already glistening in the mid-morning sun. He's got a sketch pad propped against his knees, a pencil between his fingers, and a giant cup of coffee in his hand. His hair falls in his eyes when he bends to set the pad and pencil on the deck, and he smiles at Jensen over the lip of his mug with about ten thousand unspoken words shouting from his wide, hazel eyes.
“Morning yourself,” Jensen finally manages, legs crossed as he leans against the railing Jared installed a couple of years ago.
There are seagulls cawing loudly in the background and the sounds of a few locals scurrying about in the distance, but Jensen's not paying attention to them. Jared's half-naked and smiling at him. What else really matters anyway?
Pushing off the rail, Jensen makes his way over to the chair and places his cup on the ground next to Jared's. Swings one leg over those mile-long ones and then lowers himself onto Jared's thighs. “You should be fuckin' illegal,” he growls, leaning in to catch a rivulet of sweat making it way from the hollow of Jared's throat to the “J” tattooed on his sternum. Katie once asked Jared if the initial was for his own name or Jensen's, and Jared just smirked and nodded. Even Jensen doesn't know for sure, but he has his suspicions.
Long fingers dig into his sides and Jared's hips roll up as his head falls back. “Fuckin' hell, Jen,” he groans when Jensen moves his lips to seal over Jared's nipple and his teeth scrape over the hardening pebble.
His hands are working the button on Jared's shorts and he can feel the sun hot on his back, but Jensen could care less if they both burn. They won't notice until later anyway.
Jared doesn't argue when Jensen pulls at his shorts. He actually helps by bucking his hips and letting Jensen tug the fabric over his ass. Sliding back, Jensen stands and walks his way off of the chair, dragging Jared's shorts with him until he can throw them on the deck. It's not a private beach, but they don't exactly get loads of visitors, either, so laying Jared out naked in the morning humidity shouldn't be a problem.
Jared's certainly not complaining, eyes laser focused on the place where Jensen is pushing the long, nylon basketball shorts over his legs and kicking them out of the way. He then walks around the side of the lounger and bends low to suck Jared's earlobe into his mouth. “Sit up for me, Jay,” he requests in a rough, low gravel that causes Jared to do exactly as he asks. He pulls the pins out of the chair back and then replaces them so that the lounger almost lays flat. Reclined just enough for Jared to see everything Jensen plans on doing to him. “Lay back.”
The way he does as he's told is kind of the hottest fucking thing Jensen can imagine. Here's this guy who's pretty much larger than life, literally. He has a tight handle on every facet of every thing, from his business to his home to his family, and he doesn't even have to try. He just does it, effortlessly. The only time Jared loosens his grip, hands over the reigns completely, is when he's with Jensen. And if that's not the biggest ego stroke on the planet, Jensen doesn't know what is.
Instead of straddling Jared again, Jensen walks back to the end of the lounger and bends over to grasp Jared's ankles. This part is tricky – they learned when they first bought the chair that maintaining a solid center of gravity is pretty damn important. It's a heavy piece of furniture, solid and unmoving most of the time, but if Jared moves up too high, or down too low, it will tip over. Jensen can't help smiling at that memory.
“Scoot up,” he nods and Jared shifts and shimmies until he's in the exact right spot. And then Jensen raises an eyebrow and stands. Jared doesn't need any more instruction as he spreads his impossibly long legs and plants his feet on the either side of the chair. “Jesus Christ, Jay.”
Jensen loves looking at the sun setting over the ocean, and Brayden skating around the park at Ollie, and the number of zeros at the end of the checks that he gets from Macy's. But there is nothing, nothing, he loves more than the sight of Jared all spread out and watching him, desperate anticipation in those bright, hazel eyes. He drinks it in with a long, lazy gaze and it's all he can do to keep from pouncing.
Jared's cock is growing before Jensen's eyes and he licks his lips at the thought of tasting it. “You have any idea what I'm gonna do to you?” He moves forward and plants one knee in the center of the lounger between Jared's legs. “How long I'm gonna lick and suck on this cock?” Jared rolls his hips again, but he's not saying much. He never does when Jensen gets like this. “Fuckin' love your cock on my mouth, Jay.” He rests one hand against Jared's thigh and runs the thumb of his other over the wet tip of Jared's cock.
When he drags his fist slowly up and down the shaft, Jared lets his head fall back and his eyes close. “Jesus,” he manages, and it's a full word, so Jensen knows there's more work to be done.
Sometimes, he wishes he could deep throat like a fucking porn star, the way Jared can. Since he can't, Jensen wraps one hand around the base of Jared's cock and works the part of his shaft that just won't fit in his mouth. Jared doesn't seem to mind the dual attention. He's kind of a whore like that.
With his other hand, Jensen's fingers trace the 'Live Life Loud' tattoo on Jared's left hip bone and can't help smiling around him when Jared's hip pops up at the contact. His fingers are in Jensen's hair and he's grumbling under his breath more than moaning. He manages to bite out things like 'yeah' and 'good' and 'Jen' but the words are starting to break down. This is when Jensen knows he has Jared right where he wants him.
Squeezing the base of Jared's cock, Jensen quirks an eyebrow and licks his lips when he pulls off with a wicked gleam. Jared is waiting, eyes shut, for whatever comes next, though his legs fall further open because they've danced this particular number so many times that it's not exactly a surprise what Jensen's going to do.
Chris once said that his only problem with monogamy is that it involves fucking the same person all the time. Doesn't matter how much you love someone, he theorized, it has to get old at some point. Repitition breeds boredom and, eventually, you gotta find something else or shoot yourself in the head. Chris is really fucking eloquent like that.
Thing is, Jensen used to agree with him. He used to be afraid that there was going to come a day when he was going to be bored with Jared, or Jared was going to get bored with him, and they just weren't going to be into this anymore. It was going to be more like going through the motions. And if there's nothing thing neither of them do well, it's boredom.
Turns out, Jensen realized awhile ago, and rediscovers while standing at the side of the chair and looking over Jared's golden, ink-covered skin, Jared's body is about the furthest thing from boring he's ever seen. It's been eight years, almost nine, that they've been doing this thing, and even when they're just straight-up missionary? It's as hot as it was the night they met. He never mentions it, but having someone know his body, every place to suck and nip and lick and touch, is so much fucking better than fumbling around with some stranger armed only with a bag of generic tricks that should work on everyone.
“Jen,” Jared pants, hips thrusting. He's flushed, blooms of red behind the tats that adorn his chest and the new 'Mayhem' one arched over his abs in honor of the nickname Brayden has earned in the last year or so.
He stands there, teasing Jared for a few more seconds, but there's always this point where everything becomes as painfully frustrating for Jensen as it is for Jared, and he just can't hold out anymore. Straddling his hips and running his fingers up over hard muscles and sweat-moistened skin, Jensen lets himself appreciate that this is forever his. Dips his head and captures a nipple between his teeth, tugging and sucking until Jared's hips are moving and his cock is trailing the crack of Jensen's ass.
He leans forward and presses their chests together, lips against Jared's ear when he groans, “Gonna ride your cock, Jay. You're gonna fuck me right here, outside where anybody can walk by and see how much you fuckin' love it.” He's the top. Usually. But there are times. Shit, there are times when he needs to feel Jared. To take him so far inside that he may never find his way out. He doesn't plan it, but he doesn't fight it when it happens, either.
Eyes closed, Jared nods his head and rolls his bottom lip between his teeth. Jensen leans over the side of the chair and blindly gropes for the lube they left there last night. It's probably a weird tradition, but they've learned that the need to fuck each other blind can crop up in any room of this house at any moment, so they always open the windows, put the beer in the fridge, and strategically place lube bottles wherever they might need them upon arrival. It's saved both of their asses on more than one occasion.
He flicks the bottle open and starts to tip it over his fingers when Jared stops him. There's a wicked glint in his eye when he slicks his own fingers and then pulls Jensen flat against his chest while he works slow circles over his hole.
“Fuck, yeah, Jay,” he groans when Jared slips the first finger inside. It's instinctual, the way his hips push back at the second one. Jesus Christ, it feels so fucking good. “More,” he hears himself breathe against Jared's chest and Jared adds a third finger, stretching Jensen enough to loosen him up.
Apparently, Jensen didn't drive Jared far enough to the edge to lose all brain function. Just as he begins to adjust, to relax into Jared's chest, his fingers brush the exact right spot and Jensen jerks hard, bolting almost upright with a near-roar. Jared smacks his hip and Jensen rolls his eyes. “Gonna wake the neighbors,” Jared chuckles.
He almost whimpers when Jared withdraws his fingers, but rolls his eyes instead, reaching behind to grip Jared's cock in his fist. “Shut up and fuck me,” he orders, guiding Jared until he feels the head stretch his hole. “Fuckin' Christ, Jay. You get bigger since last time?”
Jared doesn't answer, lip caught between his teeth as he grips the tattoos on Jensen's hips and guides him down while lazily rolling his own forward. “Fuck,” he breathes, eyes squeezing shut.
“Fuckin' look at me,” Jensen insists, and Jared does. It's breath-taking, his pupils blown wide like there's nothing he wants more. “Watch me, Jay,” he goes on. If there's anything Jensen has learned about Jared in the last eight and a half years, it's that he has a serious kink for the sound of Jensen's voice. “Fuckin' love this, huh? Look,” he nods and Jared's eyes drop to the place Jensen is rising and falling. “God, you fuckin' love watching your cock in my ass, don't you? Goddamn. Fuckin' love feelin' it, man.”
Jared just grunts, thrusts his hips harder, and moans when Jensen moves his hands to the arms of the lounger, gripping until his knuckles are white. He may not be able to speak, but Jared can fuck like a goddamn jack hammer. Long hours in his basement gym don't just make him look like an Adonis. The force of his thrusts, the strength in his legs, drives him deep and causes Jensen to growl out once again.
“Yeah, Jay,” he gasps, arms giving out as he collapses onto Jared's chest and feels to massive hands grip at his ass, kneading and pulling as Jared fucks harder into him. “Fuckin' give it to me, c'mon,” Jensen pleads against Jared's neck, and there's no describing the way it feels. The way it stings and fills him and sets every nerve on edge. “Harder,” he bites at Jared's ear and oomphs when Jared complies.
His body's on fire, sweating and sliding against Jared's chest, and Jared whimpers every time the platinum rings through Jensen's nipples slide over his bare ones. His hands are squeezing so hard at Jensen's ass, he's pretty sure he's going to be bruised, and he's thrusting as hard and as fast as he can, just the way Jensen loves it.
When he feels it building, Jensen sits up and grabs one of Jared's wrists, dragging his hand around until his massive fingers engulf Jensen's painfully hard cock. “Almost,” he grunts, the friction of that hot hand, the pressure of those precision fingers, is about kill him.
Jared's eyes meet his suddenly, hand stilling, and he almost looks surprised. “Goddamn motherfuckin' shit,” he growls.
Jensen just nods. “That's it, kid,” he encourages, slamming back against the erratic thrust that indicates Jared's about to lose it. Dropping back down against his chest, Jensen bites at Jared's jaw and speaks low against his ear. “Want you to come for me, Jay. Wanna feel you, man. Fuckin' come in my ass.” He doesn't stop until Jared goes rigid and he feels it. Really fucking feels it.
Some people get married. They exchange rings to show their commitment. For some people, it's a collar or a cuff that signifies their intention of staying together forever. Two years into their relationship, Jared and Jensen got themselves tested and agreed to throw the condoms out. Sure, there are the matching tattoos for the rest of the world to see, but for them, their bond was sealed the day they tossed that box and laid each other complete bare and raw. There's nobody else. Forever.
Even before he's finished coming, Jared is stripping the flesh of Jensen's cock, arm moving in a furious blur. It doesn't take much before Jensen is cursing a blue streak, thick splashes of white coming hard against both of their stomachs and Jared's hand.
He holds tight to the chair, back slouched, as he fights to regain breath. It's really fucking hard to do that when Jared is licking his fingers clean, but Jensen finally manages enough composure to breathe, “Fuckin' hell, man,” just before he collapses onto Jared's chest.
“You're gonna burn out here,” is Jared's only response, hand trailing lazy up and down his back.
He's probably right. Much as he'd love to be the golden god that Jared is, and as much of a giant pussy as it makes him feel to admit it, he's far too fair complected to spend a lot more time like this. He'll burn up like a lobster, and have a thousand more freckles, to boot. Cute when he was six. Not so much anymore.
“Shower,” Jensen grunts, pushing himself up when he's pretty sure his legs can take it. “Just took a fuckin' shower,” he adds, glaring over his shoulder when Jared smacks his ass. “You comin'?”
Arms folded behind his head and naked as the day he was born, there's no way that Jared could look any fucking hotter than he does right now. It's just not fucking possible. He brings his legs up onto the lounger and crosses them at his ankles. “Thought I might get some more sun,” he laughs when he turns his head in Jensen's direction.
Of course, he's pretty quick to jump his giant ass up when they hear giggling down the beach. “You're such a fucking prude,” Jensen rolls his eyes.
Jared follows him into the house and stops off at the refrigerator for a bottle of water. “It's more for their protection than mine,” he assures Jensen. “You're kinda possessive, dude.”
“Yeah, right, I'm the possessive one.” It's true – Jensen is possessive. And if somebody happened by and stared a little too long at Jared's naked ass on the deck? He would wanna knock 'em out. But Jared accusing him of it is a little like a pot and a fucking kettle.
Jared follows him into the bathroom and crowds into the shower behind him. “Not my fault you make me fuckin' crazy.”
“Man, you are plenty crazy all on your own.”
“Wasn't till I met you.”
They turn effortlessly, like a choreographed routine practiced and perfected over years spent together. Jensen presses in close and runs the bar of soap over Jared's abs. “You hung out with Chad when I met you,” Jensen reminds him with a laugh. “You were bat-shit fucked up long before I came along.”
“Jen?” Jared asks, head dropping back to rest on Jensen's shoulder, pliant. “Can you do me a favor and not talk about Chad, or, ya know, anyone else, while you're dick's ridin' my crack?”
“For sure,” Jensen agrees, hand dipping lower as he lets the soap slip from his grasp. “Want me to talk about how I'm gonna fuck your goddamn perfect, tight little ass as hard as you fucked mine out there instead?”
When Jared mumbles incoherently instead of answering, Jensen knows it's going to be awhile before they head back to their real lives. And he's more than a little okay with that.
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