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essene_backup: (spn: Sam is a sexass)
[personal profile] essene_backup
Title: More than Words
for [livejournal.com profile] spn_30snapshots  
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Table: A Picture is worth a thousand words (which I started a bazillion years ago, but am determined to finish!)
rating: ADULT
Prompt: 16


Jared sits sprawled out low and easy in the distressed leather chair that faces the fireplace. Feet bare, his toes curl and uncurl in the deep pile of the New Zealand wool rug. His knees are splayed wide, framing the man kneeling between them--head bent, back bare and glimmering in the firelight. Jared watches through half-lidded eyes as the man’s head drops down, jaw wide, lips tight, fingers around Jared’s cock even tighter.

After the months he’d been doing this (a routine established after that first proposition at the hotel bar): opening the door to the bell every Friday evening to the elegantly handsome man who was now naked and sucking with abandon on his cock, Jared thought he’d be jaded by now. Tired of the escapade. The excitement withered. The fascination gone. The obsession diminished. But that’s not the case. It’s good every single time; better than good. Jared’s had his fair share of blow-jobs, and not a single one holds a candle to 30 seconds of what the hooker in front of him can do with his wicked roseate lips and talented tongue.

It’s not just the slick slide of the hot mouth up and down his shaft: it’s the nimble fingers that dance from his perineum to his asshole, moving to stroke the soft skin of his inner thighs and fondling his scrotum. It’s the strong hands that pin his hips to the chair forcing Jared to wait, be patient, take what he’s given—until they don’t anymore, and Jared can palm the man’s head and buck up into that wet, heated mouth, thrusting down his throat as the whore presses his tongue to the underside of Jared’s cock. Jared can feel him swallow around his crown, letting saliva seep from the corners of his mouth, making it all tighter and wetter and hotter than anything Jared’s ever felt.

Except for when his cock is sheathed in the clinging heat of the man’s ass. That’s a thing of rapture. The tiny huffed breaths that Jared can punch out of him as he fucks in and out, the rosy blush that overtakes the man’s features, blotting out the freckles, moving down his neck and chest, sweeping arousal, flushed and heated throughout his body. It’s the sinuous roll of his hips thrusting to meet Jared, the drag of flesh on flesh, the pressure and give of his teeth and tongue wherever his mouth can reach. It’s like the man was made for this, his body so responsive and pliable to anything that Jared can give or demand from it.

Once, Jared didn’t touch him the whole evening. He made the man do everything with no more guidance than a few words or a look: undress him, stroke him, kiss him, guide his body down to the bed and then Jared’s shaft into his tight hole, riding him to completion. It was an exhilarating, frustrating torment to refrain from touching, to keep his hands still, his hips loose and under control. It took everything he had to keep from just throwing the man down and rutting into him like an animal to release the tension, to capture and claim and master the stunningly responsive being slowly riding himtowards maddening bliss.

Jared’s never found himself drawn to someone before. Moth/flame? Jared was always the flame. But this is different. It was only ever supposed to be sex. The whore was supposed to provide a release of lust and stress into a willing, obedient, detached receiver. But somewhere along the line, Jared grew…attached. He should have known after the first night. When he watched the man, whose ass and mouth he’d bought and paid for, leave and he felt…wrong. Not guilty. Not defiled. But an ache. A feeling something was…missing.

Jared tried to pin down and name the feeling by exercising the wildest flights of fancy he could devise in the days between the whore’s weekly visits. After ropes, whips, food, plugs, and any number of other debaucheries played out between them he found that wasn’t satisfactory. It was about this man. This body. And then, one night he found the answer when he awoke to find himself curved around the man. The man who had been on his hands and knees mere hours before, begging for Jared to fuck him harder, pleading with Jared to let him come, screaming hoarsely as Jared’s prick rasped over his prostate again and again.

But that was another night. Not this one. Tonight is different from any of the nights before. Jared reaches down and wraps his hand around the man’s jaw, pulling him reluctantly off his cock. Lust-glazed gold and green eyes look at him questioningly.

“I’m only going to ask this once and then never again,” Jared’s voice is low, rough with want, but steely and certain.

The man nods, chin bumping into Jared’s palm.

“Jensen, will you stay?”

Head tilting questioningly, Jensen responds, “I always do.”

Jared tightens his fingers along Jensen’s jaw until those green eyes wince slightly, then he lets it fall away. “That’s not what I mean.”

Jensen moves his hands to Jared’s knees and sits back on his heels regarding Jared closely as the firelight flickers across his features. Jared watches him for a moment until he can’t look anymore. He can’t say it. Either Jensen will understand....Or he won’t.

Slowly Jensen stands, graceful and masculine at once, then places his knees to either side of Jared’s thighs before guiding Jared’s aching cock to his entrance. Grasping Jared’s shoulders for balance he sinks down Jared’s shaft while he brings his mouth to Jared’s whispering, “I will. I’ll stay.”



AN
: I apologize for naming this after that horrid 90's song, I do...also, massive props to [livejournal.com profile] dancetomato  and [livejournal.com profile] popmusicjunkie for reining in my rampant SPAG and story gaps.
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