wellownedbkup (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
wellownedbkup) wrote2009-05-02 02:08 am
wellownedbkup) wrote2009-05-02 02:08 am
twofer: part 3, jensen/jess suethor in paris
Part 3:
The morning dawns far too soon. He’s lying in bed, watching her dress in the light from the balcony. It’s a marvel, the way she’s so unselfconscious about how she looks, fingers skimming a bra strap over the curve of shoulder. The lazy ponytail she’s got over her shoulder just makes him sit up and reach for her, reminding him suddenly of both the innocence of a girl-next-door and the completely sexual being he had in his bed last night. Jess walks over to him slowly, bare toes curling into the plush carpeting.
“Do you have to go so soon?” Jensen asks, pulling her down to sit next to him. He wants to keep her forever, keep his mind off of a certain tall and floppy haired co-star with relationship issues. He tries not to think about how easy it would be to call her Jay, to insert names and imagine faces. It would hit too close to the truth for him, and of all things, he can’t think of him. His hand tangles a little in her ponytail, trying to keep a connection. The smile on her face is sad.
“You know, once, I watched a movie that was all about an American girl who gets seduced by a rich man in Paris and he asks her to stay ‘til September.”
He raises an eyebrow and caresses a lock of hair out of her face. “I meant for the weekend.”
“Two outta three ain’t bad.” She smiles and leans up to kiss him, soft and deep and hard to leave. He encourages her onward still, leaning back until all that she can do is straddle him with her skirt hiked up around her hips. Pulling away, she blushes as she looks down. “Distracter.”
He shrugs unabashedly and pulls her close again, whispering against her lips, “Can you blame me?” She mms softly, kissing again and again at his lips even as she tries to back away.
“I should go,” she whispers halfheartedly, inviting his objections.
“It’s the weekend and it is Paris, of course. How often do you get this chance?” She raises an eyebrow, reminding him of how long she has been in France. “Point taken.” Still, she pulls away, her fingertips dragging along his skin like they’re magnetically attracted.
“Jess…”
She points a finger at him accusingly, mocking glint in her glare. "You'd have me forget everything I had planned for this weekend, wouldn't you? Just to satisfy your whims."
"In a heartbeat." His smile is so earnest and endearing, she huffs a sigh and sashays back over to him. His eyes brighten, crinkling a little where his smile crosses into genuine fondness at the way she reaches out to him.
Dramatically, she lays back in his arms, the back of one hand shielding her eyes. "If I must, sir. Do your worst." She eyes him askance, baring half her face. "Only, do be gentle." She effects such a horrendous fainting heroine accent that he can't stop himself from screwing up his face in displeasure. She giggles and launches herself up. "C'mon, then. If I'm to stay with you, I’ll need some things to wear."
Jensen sends her a sultry glance. "My plans don't really involve clothes."
She tosses his slacks at him. "Yes. But mine do." Her laugh is infectious.
He makes a point of kissing her senseless in every tourist spot they stop in, from the Eifel Tower to the Arc de Triomphe to the Louvre, near the postage stamp sized Mona Lisa. Surrounding tourists sneer, but he doesn't care. The woman has a way about her that's infectious, a sense of wonderment as she looks at the paintings of the starving artists beneath L'Etoile. And if his motives are not quite as pure as her enjoyment of the City, well... no one ever called him a saint.
Besides, he knows she knows. He can tell with the way her eyes sparkle as she suggests one more exhibit, one more stop before they head back to his hotel. She wheedles and cajoles, asking when he'll see the sights with her kind of company again. He tells himself he's only giving in because he likes hearing her ask for directions in French, voice husky and sweet from another mad kiss. But he knows it’s something else. Something in the way she reminds him of who he’d like to be with. It’s not enough for her to see Paris in sections. She has to see everything and right away. It’s not until he’s basically molesting her on the street corner in the rusty glow of the setting sun that she relents enough to head back to his room where he can make good on his plans for the evening.
Plans that include room service and an intense study of every inch of her skin.
The morning dawns far too soon. He’s lying in bed, watching her dress in the light from the balcony. It’s a marvel, the way she’s so unselfconscious about how she looks, fingers skimming a bra strap over the curve of shoulder. The lazy ponytail she’s got over her shoulder just makes him sit up and reach for her, reminding him suddenly of both the innocence of a girl-next-door and the completely sexual being he had in his bed last night. Jess walks over to him slowly, bare toes curling into the plush carpeting.
“Do you have to go so soon?” Jensen asks, pulling her down to sit next to him. He wants to keep her forever, keep his mind off of a certain tall and floppy haired co-star with relationship issues. He tries not to think about how easy it would be to call her Jay, to insert names and imagine faces. It would hit too close to the truth for him, and of all things, he can’t think of him. His hand tangles a little in her ponytail, trying to keep a connection. The smile on her face is sad.
“You know, once, I watched a movie that was all about an American girl who gets seduced by a rich man in Paris and he asks her to stay ‘til September.”
He raises an eyebrow and caresses a lock of hair out of her face. “I meant for the weekend.”
“Two outta three ain’t bad.” She smiles and leans up to kiss him, soft and deep and hard to leave. He encourages her onward still, leaning back until all that she can do is straddle him with her skirt hiked up around her hips. Pulling away, she blushes as she looks down. “Distracter.”
He shrugs unabashedly and pulls her close again, whispering against her lips, “Can you blame me?” She mms softly, kissing again and again at his lips even as she tries to back away.
“I should go,” she whispers halfheartedly, inviting his objections.
“It’s the weekend and it is Paris, of course. How often do you get this chance?” She raises an eyebrow, reminding him of how long she has been in France. “Point taken.” Still, she pulls away, her fingertips dragging along his skin like they’re magnetically attracted.
“Jess…”
She points a finger at him accusingly, mocking glint in her glare. "You'd have me forget everything I had planned for this weekend, wouldn't you? Just to satisfy your whims."
"In a heartbeat." His smile is so earnest and endearing, she huffs a sigh and sashays back over to him. His eyes brighten, crinkling a little where his smile crosses into genuine fondness at the way she reaches out to him.
Dramatically, she lays back in his arms, the back of one hand shielding her eyes. "If I must, sir. Do your worst." She eyes him askance, baring half her face. "Only, do be gentle." She effects such a horrendous fainting heroine accent that he can't stop himself from screwing up his face in displeasure. She giggles and launches herself up. "C'mon, then. If I'm to stay with you, I’ll need some things to wear."
Jensen sends her a sultry glance. "My plans don't really involve clothes."
She tosses his slacks at him. "Yes. But mine do." Her laugh is infectious.
He makes a point of kissing her senseless in every tourist spot they stop in, from the Eifel Tower to the Arc de Triomphe to the Louvre, near the postage stamp sized Mona Lisa. Surrounding tourists sneer, but he doesn't care. The woman has a way about her that's infectious, a sense of wonderment as she looks at the paintings of the starving artists beneath L'Etoile. And if his motives are not quite as pure as her enjoyment of the City, well... no one ever called him a saint.
Besides, he knows she knows. He can tell with the way her eyes sparkle as she suggests one more exhibit, one more stop before they head back to his hotel. She wheedles and cajoles, asking when he'll see the sights with her kind of company again. He tells himself he's only giving in because he likes hearing her ask for directions in French, voice husky and sweet from another mad kiss. But he knows it’s something else. Something in the way she reminds him of who he’d like to be with. It’s not enough for her to see Paris in sections. She has to see everything and right away. It’s not until he’s basically molesting her on the street corner in the rusty glow of the setting sun that she relents enough to head back to his room where he can make good on his plans for the evening.
Plans that include room service and an intense study of every inch of her skin.