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wellownedbkupiron man, tony/rhodey, dog tags
tony catches glimpses of them in the open collar of rhodey's shirt, chain disappearing down into a clink of weights just out of sight. he can hear them, the slither of chain as he leans over and reads about whatever project tony's sharing with him today.
which may or may not be some upgrades to the war machine suit. not that tony's talking about it that way. he's passing it off as toys for maybe his next iron man suit, trying to keep a straight face as rhodey just gets more and more jealous.
he keeps glimpsing those dog tags out of the corner of his eye and he knows that they're body-warm and almost like a part of his friend rhodey. he gets distracted thinking of what rhodey would look like laid out naked on a bed with only those dog tags and... well, it's distracting.
he startles when the tags hang just in front of his eyes. they drop from rhodey's hand even as he leans in close to tony's ear and laughs low. "quit staring, tony."
smallville, clark/lex, thin line between love and hate
the stained glass is blazing hot against his skin, colored red with the glow of the setting sun. he pushed too far this time, he knows, so blinded by his quest to find out more about his personal savior. he shakes and fights against the weight on his back. clark just won't let up, pressing him naked and hard against the window of his home office.
clark's snarling, like some kind of animal, and biting at the skin that's bared while lex keeps arching into and away from the rough rough fabric of clark's jeans. his skin feels like it's on fire, strangely reminiscent of the meteor shower and a cornfield where he lost all his hair. it's paralyzing and exhilarating all at once, and he finds himself submitting and going with the flow, little whimpers with each rocking grind that has the space between him and clark lessening to almost non-existent.
"shut up, lex," clark growls, body slick and hard in all the right places to make lex rethink his determination to find out more about his dark-haired hero.
iron man (movie verse), tony/rhodey, handy
all rhodey can see of tony are his legs, sticking out from under the r8, one foot tapping in time to whatever cock rock guitars and bass blasting that he has on standby. it's not like any other time he's seen tony, not after MIT and his robot building schemes. he's always been pretty handy with a wrench and soldering iron, so it's no surprise that he doesn't believe in a mechanic caring for his precious automobiles.
but, hey, it's not a bad view from where rhodey's sitting, you know? tony still hasn't learned to wear anything that's not poured onto him like a second skin. not even his iron man suit knows how to be breathable or loose. tony's ass has never looked better, he thinks, except for a moment like right now, where he's bent over the front of his car, tinkering under the hood.
it's not like it's anything new. no one can spend any length of time in tony's presence without walking the line between wanting to be tony or wanting to fuck tony. times even happen where the two options are the same, wondering if he's quite as handy with people as he is with circuit boards. and rhodey? well, he's spent a long long time in tony's presence.
star trek enterprise, archer/tucker/t'pol, first contact
archer knows that it's mostly just the obstinacy of a vulcan that means she continues to speak of humans with the vaguest flavor of distaste and revulsion. her logic has long since allowed her to get closer to the crew, making semblances of friends and relying less and less on the hyposprays from doctor pflox to suppress her olfactory senses. he's just not clear on who it is exactly that is breaking down her well-built cultural walls.
it's always nagging in the back of his mind, about the relationships t'pol has built on the ship, about who she's spending all her time with. it's like a toothache, and he keeps prodding at it even when he doesn't realize he's doing so.
he doesn't expect his answer to be so obvious, especially when he's supposed to be captain and aware of his officers' whereabouts and general doings. trip has always been archer's friend, anyway, and it's a shock to walk into trip's room and see two of his senior officers pressed in a seemingly compromising position on the floor.
the door whooshes closed in the sudden silence of the room, the three occupants therein staring at each other in shocked query. the smile on t'pol's features closes off quickly and trip moves to stand awkwardly.
"cap'n," he nods, reaching a hand out unseeing to help t'pol off the floor. "is there something i can do to help ya?"
archer, still not having moved from the door, can't find the words to say what he means. the silence stretches even more awkwardly until t'pol comes to the rescue.
"captain, we were just discussing the number of incidents of childhood delinquency commander tucker remembers. perhaps you would like to join us?"
rps jared/sandy, both crossdress, pegging
she laughs when she sees how ridiculously short the nightie is on jared, the frills and froth only reaching down to caress the tops of his thighs. not that she has much to laugh about, the boxers she wears to cover her harness and strap-on pretty much swamping her, despite buying one of the smaller sizes. but the way he looks so vulnerable is pretty much the hottest thing she's seen outside of that one time at the laker girls' camp.
he bends down to kiss her, gentle and giving himself over to her care, she knows, and it's not the first time she wished they were closer to the same height. she takes her frustration and aggression, pouring it into the kiss as she pushes him back towards the bed, laying him down even as she crawls up into his lap. she takes her time here, one hand running down to play with the nipple that peeks out from the lingerie while she keeps the kiss at a pace she prefers. she can feel him getting harder and harder, the little scrap of fabric they had the nerve to call panties failing to do more than constrict his balls.
he whimpers, rocking up at her in quiet plea. she grins, blade sharp, and nips at his lips. "hands and knees, baby." he blushes and nods, shucking the little lace and satin panties as he goes. she strips out of the boxers too, as she watches him go, exposing a hot pink strap-on that she can't wait to put in jared. his eyes widen, a little, at the size of it, and she can tell that one day she'll have to ride his face with it, if the lust darkening his eyes is anything to go by.
tonight, though? tonight she just wants to ride his ass until he comes all over the pretty pink gauze and lace he's wearing. her fingers are probably not enough, but that doesn't stop her from adding one and then another to lube and stretch him until he's fairly rocking himself into the bed to get some much-needed friction.
"sandy, please!" he cries out, sweat making the nightie drag and pull against his skin. he chokes as she starts pushing into him, a high keening noise escaping him until she's fully seated and he's almost out of his mind in ecstasy and she's trembling on the brink.
oh yes. they're definitely going to keep doing this.
rps, jeff/misha/jensen, kinky competition, jeff v. misha
jensen's ass is legend on the supernatural set. everybody who's anybody knows that fucking jensen basically means having the best lay that you've ever had. ever. it's basically proven fact that jared's lack of girlfriend-to-wife stability is due to his being enamored of the ackles ass. and it's the reason women don't stay on the show for very long, either. it has pretty much nothing to do with the fans, and everything to do with how they collapse into orgasmic convulsions post-sleeping with jensen.
jeff and misha, on the other hand, are made of much, much stronger stuff.
neither of them know who first put the idea in their heads, whether it was some comment misha made on twitter, or if it was a call jeff made back when he was touring for watchmen. but season five suddenly becomes the season of getting one of their dicks in jensen's ass. jensen's totally amenable to that, of course, and he has no intention of turning either down. but they take it upon themselves to come up with a contest type obstacle course.
it may or may not have been planned out over a drunken night in vancouver, involving suspicious use of butt plugs and dildos and surprise blow jobs at 3 in the morning on a wednesday.
finally, jensen sighs and pulls them both aside, just before going on winter hiatus. he sighs when he sees them and sets out a testing schedule for who'll get his ass first. it may have included calendars and charts, just for clarity, with a final score chart to be filled out based on kissing prowess, hand jobs and blow jobs, as well as a bottom-tolerance indicator, for all the bases to be covered.
jensen's nothing if not practical.
rpf, jeff/misha/author's choice (jensen), "you're dating who?"
"you're dating who?" jeff asks, incredulously.
"don't tell me you haven't thought about it. that mouth, those legs. it's obvious he was begging for it and i just... helped him out."
jeff scoffs and tosses back another shot of whiskey, praying that this night will blur and be forgotten in the haze of a hangover tomorrow morning. "i thought you were married."
misha shrugs. "she's very understanding. what happens in vegas stays in vegas. or, well, vancouver--vegas without the lights and showgirls. though jared will do, in a pinch." his eyes unfocus, as if he's imagining jared in feathers and sequins, dancing behind some elvis impersonator. which, for misha, means he's directly on target with his thoughts. jeff just takes another drink, well into hangover-producing territory.
"but i thought he and jared were..."
"well, jared does join in sometimes. jensen tries to pretend that he's not thrilled every time it happens, but it's hard to ignore how happy he gets." misha's smile goes just a hair sappy. "besides, it's nice to see jensen happy."
rps, jared/author's choice (jensen), you look like you're trying to be wolverine
"hey bub," jensen says, giggling just a little bit while handing over a picture he's printed off the 'net. "something you want to tell me?" jared just scowls and crumples the picture in his hand, tossing over his shoulder with a quick glare. jensen throws up his hands. "hey, sorry. i don't want to get you angry, you know? claws scare me."
he laughs when jared growls. "just proving my case for me, man. you trying to look like wolverine for some reason?" jared just grunts and walks off, heading to the bedroom. jensen keeps on. "are you actually 26, or have you just not gotten older looking yet 'cause you heal so well? cause the girls in makeup will love that."
jared finally stops just inside the bedroom, manhandling jensen up against the doorjamb with a squeak. "you wanna know why i looked like that? i know all about that crush you've got hugh jackman. i saw your movie collection. think i don't know you're jacking off to his face when he's all muscles and growling and dangerous? think i don't know anything about that?" he's almost snarling the words into jensen's ear, body bracketing him in while one hand slides down and roughly handles jensen's hardening dick.
"or you just got a thing for men bigger than you are?"
jensen's squeak is more than enough of an answer.
rps, jared/jensen, "do something, do something... not that, not that!" (the mummy)
jared nearly died laughing when jensen came in to his trailer screaming "put it out! put it out!" it's not every day that you see your best friend come running into your trailer, pants aflame. it hardly seemed real.
then jared smelled the smoke. "dude, your pants are on fire!!" he yelled, still unable to think beyond seeing jensen running around like a cartoon character.
"no shit, sherlock! do something, do something!" jensen hollered, still running around. jared, snapping out of his stupor, came over and started slapping out the fire with his hands. "not that, not that!!" jensen squealed, sensitive areas not up for a padalecki-sized assault.
finally cottoning on, jared grabbed one of the dog bowls of water he had and tossed it in the general direction of jensen's hips, finally dousing the flames. he repeated it twice more, for good measure.
jensen looked both grateful and mutinous, drenched and singed. "thanks, man."
smiling, jared patted his arm. "hey, what are friends for? i mean, that must've been a helluva lie for your pants to spontaneously combust like that."
jensen scowled and punched his arm. "bitch." the sound of jared's laughter followed his squelching footsteps out of the trailer and down the lot.
rps, jensen/misha, can only speak in song lyrics
they're scowling at each other, locked as they are in this elevator and cursing claustrophobia and tiny directors and shared loser boyfriends (jared) and a researching department that doesn't actually check that the spells they write into the script don't have some kind of rotten consequences for their actors.
case in point:
"god send me an angel to wipe the tears from my eyes," jensen says, scowling.
"tell everybody waiting for superman that they should try to hold on as best they can. he hasn't dropped them, forgot them, or anything..." misha tries to comfort him, nearly getting his hand bitten off in the process.
"said i think you better leave me alone. get to steppin'. get the hell on." jensen points to the other side of the elevator car, taking a tight breath when misha nods and backs to where he's pointed.
silence engulfs the car momentarily before misha opens his mouth again. "why you gotta go and make things so complicated?"
"i've got the gift of one-liners and you've got the curse of curves." jensen shrugs, and checks his phone for a signal. "i can't commit to a thing, be it heart or hospital."
"what's the difference if i say i'll go away, when i know i'll come back on my knees someday?" misha looks so dejected that even jensen can't help but feel touched. "why can't i free your doubtful mind, and melt your cold, cold heart?"
"dry your eyes, it's better now. it's done." jensen nods and pulls misha into a hug just as his phone rings. he flips it open, "hello? is it me you're looking for?"
"hey jen, you with misha? we finally figured out what was causing the weird song lyric thing and we found out all you have to do is hold your breath for 30 seconds and then kiss and you'll be back to normal, ok? lemme know if it works ok?" jared babbles off over the line and hangs up before jensen can get another word in edgewise.
now, if only he could explain it to misha that way.
rps, jared/sandy, pegging
they do it to spice up their lives a little. just when she's up in vancouver for a visit and jensen gives a jaunty little wave before disappearing for the week she's there. she tried to in texas, once, but he freaked out with his parents being so close. personally, she thinks he's just a little scared to be that vulnerable in compromising places. it takes days for him to recover mentally from being fucked, from begging for sandy to fuck him harder and almost literally coming untouched. all that stimulation renders him a puddle of jared-shaped goo that wants nothing more than to tell her how wonderful he thinks she is.
like now? jared's on his hands and knees and the sheet's beginning to pull from the corners of the bed where he's got it twisted up in his fingers, grounding him. she's teasing him, just the tip of the strap-on rubbing circles against his hole and he's begging for it. loudly. and god, she's never been able to deny him anything. even as she rocks into him and holds against him as she turns on the vibrator to stimulate herself, she's still doing this for him.
he's greedy, pushing back and fucking himself on the dildo in short strokes as one hand comes up to play with himself. she stares and rocks with it, absorbed in the way his body parts around it, the way his breath catches as she tips up just that much harder. it's got to be one of the most gorgeous things she's ever seen; his ass taking her in over and over until she can hear him breathing her name like a prayer and groaning his release into the pillow under his head.
rps, chris/steve/jensen/jared, morning after
it's well past dawn, almost afternoon, when the haze of sunlight cuts through the blinds and curtains to throw the bed in a cheery yellow glow. it's disgusting, really, and jared wonders why he ever got a room on this side of the house if the sun would do something like that when it knows he's too hungover to breathe, let alone move out from the heat of covers and bodies and did he just say bodies? jared jerks suddenly awake, alcohol-soaked brain catching up and counting 6 more legs and 6 more arms in bed than he's used to (dogs don't count, considering that's 8 legs and there's fur involved and ow, this is really too much thinking for a hungover brain).
jared's scared to even open his eyes to see what he got up to. if it wasn't for at least one body behind him, he's sure he would be easing out of the bed right now and hoping like hell no one caught him being a coward and running like a punk from his own room. he's a grown man, for god's sake, and oh my god someone is happy to be in this predicament and curiosity is going to kill jared but he has to know who it is that just started rubbing up against his front.
he manages to get one eye cracked open, just enough to see that jensen's the one rubbing up against him, with a soft and warm steve jsut behind him. and wherever there's steve, there's sure to be chris, so that explains the set of hands that just started wandering down jared's sides.
the rough chuckle resonating by his ear does not make jared harder, thank you very much.
"your boy's freaking out, jenny."
jared's about to complain, really he is, but just then jensen smiles sleepily at him and he doesn't have defenses against that, ok? so there's no way he's able to stop himself from being drawn down into a kiss. and when that kiss turns into something more, well... he always did say his bed was orgy-sized.
rps, jared/jensen, you smell like sweets
jensen has never been so hungry in all his life. he swears it didn't start until he was on supernatural, until he met a sasquatch named padalecki. but ever since, god. it just always smells like candy and jensen is so. fucking. hungry.
it isn't until they're at a convention and he knows that jared ran out of gummy worms about a week before that he even realizes it. jared leans over his shoulder to read a note that one of the ushers had handed him from the crowd and jensen smells it. like someone just opened a pack of twizzlers and is teasing him with it. it's weird, like that craving for sour patch kids that jensen got just before hiatus and jared had swamped him in a hug before boarding a plane back to san antonio.
he keeps an eye out for it, and finds himself craving m&ms when jared sits next to him to play madden, mike and ike's when jared makes breakfast on their lone off day between shows, sweettarts and sprees when they go out for steaks at that one place a coupla miles from downtown vancouver. it's jared.
and when the thought crosses his mind that jared probably tastes just as sweet, well, jensen doesn't quite know what to do with that but experiment and see.
rps, jared & jensen, last summer when they'd both finished their movies and they agreed to meet up in texas
it's still early in the summer when they finally get to meet up, jared driving down to dallas just in time to pick jensen up from the airport. jared's tanned and easy, texan accent kicked up strong from weeks of sweet tea and down-home-cooking up in austin; whereas jensen is still a little pale, only a hint of sun from being back in LA for a few weeks before coming back to texas to kick it with friends and family. pennsylvania did not agree with tanning.
come to think of it, neither did spending most of the movie in an old mine shaft, but them's the breaks.
jared's truck is as beat up as jensen feels, old and solid but on the used side. he smiles when he sees it, though, and says nothing when they climb in, luggage in the open bed and nothing between them but an oversized gearshift handle. jared's eyes are on the road, hands steady at the wheel and smoothly pushing the truck between gears even as he starts telling jensen about filming and what he's been doing all summer. even some stupid prank he pulled involving oil, a cock and channing tatum. jensen knows better than to ask about it, knowing he'll get the full story again when he's not so beat from airplanes and layovers.
jared knocks his elbow against jensen's with a smile. "just you and me, dude. two weeks back home." he says something about sweet tea and steaks, ribs and late mornings and jensen nods, letting that sense of home wash over him again.
"can't beat that, man. not at all."
rps, chris pine/zach quinto, "i want to taste you"
chris does not have a thing for the vulcan ears, ok? of course he's done the requisite thinking of the unspoken differences between vulcan physiology and human physiology that comes standard to any star trek movie. but it is not something he thinks about often, ok? just because zach quinto is possibly the sexiest man he's ever set eyes on outside of a mirror (no one ever said chris was anything beyond narcissistic)... well. it doesn't mean that chris wants to fuck him or anything.
ok. he's thought about it. and it may have become a problem from time to time when spock is all manhandling kirk across the bridge on film (that scene took for-fucking-ever to film).
but honestly? it gets worse once filming is over and they're doing the promos everywhere. interview after interview with the two of them side by side and zach's hands are really, really expressive. and he such a GQ motherfucker that even when he's being a slob, zach looks elegant. and chris just really, really wants him. however he can get him, chris wants a piece of zachary quinto.
he tells him so, finally, somewhere between new york and LA, he pushes zach up against a wall and whispers in his ear "i want to taste you." and the shiver and nod he gets in response? totally a kink now.
rps, chris pine/zachary quinto, breathplay
he likes the way chris looks all bruised up. found that out the hard way when he had to watch him walk around in makeup bruises for the majority of filming. not the least of it being the perennial split lip and black eye that he had for a good chunk of the time. and then there was that scene, just after vulcan has been destroyed and kirk is supposed to be provoking spock into showing emotion.
zach's just forgotten about how much strength he has when he's really into something. he's got chris pinned to what's supposed to be the navigation controls--at least, that's what he thinks they're supposed to be--with a hand at his throat when he feels it. chris isn't breathing as deeply, and if zach's not mistaken, his cock is starting to press against the front of his pants. for lack of a better word, zach finds this *fascinating*. and he purposely flubs his next line so that they'll have to do it over again.
the look in chris' eye seems both mutinous and lustful. very interesting.
zach only tries it the second time, just for verification and yes, chris presses up into his hand just the slightest bit to cut off his air just a little more. it passes jj's inspection after the fact, no one the wiser when everything runs smooth and chris not complaining about getting choked to death onscreen.
but a covert word and nod has them both anticipating exploring this a little more back at the hotel.
rps, hugh jackman/liev schreiber/taylor kitsch, introductions
it's not just their characters who have grins that are sharp and full of preadatory gleam, as taylor's coming to find out. no, it's more than that. he can tell as soon as he walks into the room where they're having a read-through and getting a feel for the other actors and their supposed relationships.
they're seated across from him and every time he looks up, they look hungry. he worries that this is supposed to be some kind of intimidation. their characters are old as the hills by the time gambit rolls onto the scene, honed killers that have seen more death than the law allows, executioners in their own right. add in how devastatingly handsome they are and it's a deadly combination for even a strong man-- something taylor's never been.
it's no wonder that he finds himself pressed between the two of them in a conference room after the fact, both men with one hand down his pants, teasing him mercilessly. liev keeps biting at the muscle between his neck and shoulder while hugh plunders his mouth with kisses. taylor doesn't even know what to do with himself, each hand going up to snag tightly in their hair. he's going to come just like this, no escape and he doesn't think he's even introduced himself as anything other than "hi, i'm supposed to be playing gambit in this movie."
they don't stop until he's a quivering wreck, pants wet with come and muscles barely holding him up. hugh grins, gives him one last squeeze before they move apart and make their way to the door. "nice to meet you, kid. we think you'll do just fine." the door closes behind them, leaving taylor slumped against a chair with their sharp grins fixed firmly in mind.
god he's fucked.
tony catches glimpses of them in the open collar of rhodey's shirt, chain disappearing down into a clink of weights just out of sight. he can hear them, the slither of chain as he leans over and reads about whatever project tony's sharing with him today.
which may or may not be some upgrades to the war machine suit. not that tony's talking about it that way. he's passing it off as toys for maybe his next iron man suit, trying to keep a straight face as rhodey just gets more and more jealous.
he keeps glimpsing those dog tags out of the corner of his eye and he knows that they're body-warm and almost like a part of his friend rhodey. he gets distracted thinking of what rhodey would look like laid out naked on a bed with only those dog tags and... well, it's distracting.
he startles when the tags hang just in front of his eyes. they drop from rhodey's hand even as he leans in close to tony's ear and laughs low. "quit staring, tony."
smallville, clark/lex, thin line between love and hate
the stained glass is blazing hot against his skin, colored red with the glow of the setting sun. he pushed too far this time, he knows, so blinded by his quest to find out more about his personal savior. he shakes and fights against the weight on his back. clark just won't let up, pressing him naked and hard against the window of his home office.
clark's snarling, like some kind of animal, and biting at the skin that's bared while lex keeps arching into and away from the rough rough fabric of clark's jeans. his skin feels like it's on fire, strangely reminiscent of the meteor shower and a cornfield where he lost all his hair. it's paralyzing and exhilarating all at once, and he finds himself submitting and going with the flow, little whimpers with each rocking grind that has the space between him and clark lessening to almost non-existent.
"shut up, lex," clark growls, body slick and hard in all the right places to make lex rethink his determination to find out more about his dark-haired hero.
iron man (movie verse), tony/rhodey, handy
all rhodey can see of tony are his legs, sticking out from under the r8, one foot tapping in time to whatever cock rock guitars and bass blasting that he has on standby. it's not like any other time he's seen tony, not after MIT and his robot building schemes. he's always been pretty handy with a wrench and soldering iron, so it's no surprise that he doesn't believe in a mechanic caring for his precious automobiles.
but, hey, it's not a bad view from where rhodey's sitting, you know? tony still hasn't learned to wear anything that's not poured onto him like a second skin. not even his iron man suit knows how to be breathable or loose. tony's ass has never looked better, he thinks, except for a moment like right now, where he's bent over the front of his car, tinkering under the hood.
it's not like it's anything new. no one can spend any length of time in tony's presence without walking the line between wanting to be tony or wanting to fuck tony. times even happen where the two options are the same, wondering if he's quite as handy with people as he is with circuit boards. and rhodey? well, he's spent a long long time in tony's presence.
star trek enterprise, archer/tucker/t'pol, first contact
archer knows that it's mostly just the obstinacy of a vulcan that means she continues to speak of humans with the vaguest flavor of distaste and revulsion. her logic has long since allowed her to get closer to the crew, making semblances of friends and relying less and less on the hyposprays from doctor pflox to suppress her olfactory senses. he's just not clear on who it is exactly that is breaking down her well-built cultural walls.
it's always nagging in the back of his mind, about the relationships t'pol has built on the ship, about who she's spending all her time with. it's like a toothache, and he keeps prodding at it even when he doesn't realize he's doing so.
he doesn't expect his answer to be so obvious, especially when he's supposed to be captain and aware of his officers' whereabouts and general doings. trip has always been archer's friend, anyway, and it's a shock to walk into trip's room and see two of his senior officers pressed in a seemingly compromising position on the floor.
the door whooshes closed in the sudden silence of the room, the three occupants therein staring at each other in shocked query. the smile on t'pol's features closes off quickly and trip moves to stand awkwardly.
"cap'n," he nods, reaching a hand out unseeing to help t'pol off the floor. "is there something i can do to help ya?"
archer, still not having moved from the door, can't find the words to say what he means. the silence stretches even more awkwardly until t'pol comes to the rescue.
"captain, we were just discussing the number of incidents of childhood delinquency commander tucker remembers. perhaps you would like to join us?"
rps jared/sandy, both crossdress, pegging
she laughs when she sees how ridiculously short the nightie is on jared, the frills and froth only reaching down to caress the tops of his thighs. not that she has much to laugh about, the boxers she wears to cover her harness and strap-on pretty much swamping her, despite buying one of the smaller sizes. but the way he looks so vulnerable is pretty much the hottest thing she's seen outside of that one time at the laker girls' camp.
he bends down to kiss her, gentle and giving himself over to her care, she knows, and it's not the first time she wished they were closer to the same height. she takes her frustration and aggression, pouring it into the kiss as she pushes him back towards the bed, laying him down even as she crawls up into his lap. she takes her time here, one hand running down to play with the nipple that peeks out from the lingerie while she keeps the kiss at a pace she prefers. she can feel him getting harder and harder, the little scrap of fabric they had the nerve to call panties failing to do more than constrict his balls.
he whimpers, rocking up at her in quiet plea. she grins, blade sharp, and nips at his lips. "hands and knees, baby." he blushes and nods, shucking the little lace and satin panties as he goes. she strips out of the boxers too, as she watches him go, exposing a hot pink strap-on that she can't wait to put in jared. his eyes widen, a little, at the size of it, and she can tell that one day she'll have to ride his face with it, if the lust darkening his eyes is anything to go by.
tonight, though? tonight she just wants to ride his ass until he comes all over the pretty pink gauze and lace he's wearing. her fingers are probably not enough, but that doesn't stop her from adding one and then another to lube and stretch him until he's fairly rocking himself into the bed to get some much-needed friction.
"sandy, please!" he cries out, sweat making the nightie drag and pull against his skin. he chokes as she starts pushing into him, a high keening noise escaping him until she's fully seated and he's almost out of his mind in ecstasy and she's trembling on the brink.
oh yes. they're definitely going to keep doing this.
rps, jeff/misha/jensen, kinky competition, jeff v. misha
jensen's ass is legend on the supernatural set. everybody who's anybody knows that fucking jensen basically means having the best lay that you've ever had. ever. it's basically proven fact that jared's lack of girlfriend-to-wife stability is due to his being enamored of the ackles ass. and it's the reason women don't stay on the show for very long, either. it has pretty much nothing to do with the fans, and everything to do with how they collapse into orgasmic convulsions post-sleeping with jensen.
jeff and misha, on the other hand, are made of much, much stronger stuff.
neither of them know who first put the idea in their heads, whether it was some comment misha made on twitter, or if it was a call jeff made back when he was touring for watchmen. but season five suddenly becomes the season of getting one of their dicks in jensen's ass. jensen's totally amenable to that, of course, and he has no intention of turning either down. but they take it upon themselves to come up with a contest type obstacle course.
it may or may not have been planned out over a drunken night in vancouver, involving suspicious use of butt plugs and dildos and surprise blow jobs at 3 in the morning on a wednesday.
finally, jensen sighs and pulls them both aside, just before going on winter hiatus. he sighs when he sees them and sets out a testing schedule for who'll get his ass first. it may have included calendars and charts, just for clarity, with a final score chart to be filled out based on kissing prowess, hand jobs and blow jobs, as well as a bottom-tolerance indicator, for all the bases to be covered.
jensen's nothing if not practical.
rpf, jeff/misha/author's choice (jensen), "you're dating who?"
"you're dating who?" jeff asks, incredulously.
"don't tell me you haven't thought about it. that mouth, those legs. it's obvious he was begging for it and i just... helped him out."
jeff scoffs and tosses back another shot of whiskey, praying that this night will blur and be forgotten in the haze of a hangover tomorrow morning. "i thought you were married."
misha shrugs. "she's very understanding. what happens in vegas stays in vegas. or, well, vancouver--vegas without the lights and showgirls. though jared will do, in a pinch." his eyes unfocus, as if he's imagining jared in feathers and sequins, dancing behind some elvis impersonator. which, for misha, means he's directly on target with his thoughts. jeff just takes another drink, well into hangover-producing territory.
"but i thought he and jared were..."
"well, jared does join in sometimes. jensen tries to pretend that he's not thrilled every time it happens, but it's hard to ignore how happy he gets." misha's smile goes just a hair sappy. "besides, it's nice to see jensen happy."
rps, jared/author's choice (jensen), you look like you're trying to be wolverine
"hey bub," jensen says, giggling just a little bit while handing over a picture he's printed off the 'net. "something you want to tell me?" jared just scowls and crumples the picture in his hand, tossing over his shoulder with a quick glare. jensen throws up his hands. "hey, sorry. i don't want to get you angry, you know? claws scare me."
he laughs when jared growls. "just proving my case for me, man. you trying to look like wolverine for some reason?" jared just grunts and walks off, heading to the bedroom. jensen keeps on. "are you actually 26, or have you just not gotten older looking yet 'cause you heal so well? cause the girls in makeup will love that."
jared finally stops just inside the bedroom, manhandling jensen up against the doorjamb with a squeak. "you wanna know why i looked like that? i know all about that crush you've got hugh jackman. i saw your movie collection. think i don't know you're jacking off to his face when he's all muscles and growling and dangerous? think i don't know anything about that?" he's almost snarling the words into jensen's ear, body bracketing him in while one hand slides down and roughly handles jensen's hardening dick.
"or you just got a thing for men bigger than you are?"
jensen's squeak is more than enough of an answer.
rps, jared/jensen, "do something, do something... not that, not that!" (the mummy)
jared nearly died laughing when jensen came in to his trailer screaming "put it out! put it out!" it's not every day that you see your best friend come running into your trailer, pants aflame. it hardly seemed real.
then jared smelled the smoke. "dude, your pants are on fire!!" he yelled, still unable to think beyond seeing jensen running around like a cartoon character.
"no shit, sherlock! do something, do something!" jensen hollered, still running around. jared, snapping out of his stupor, came over and started slapping out the fire with his hands. "not that, not that!!" jensen squealed, sensitive areas not up for a padalecki-sized assault.
finally cottoning on, jared grabbed one of the dog bowls of water he had and tossed it in the general direction of jensen's hips, finally dousing the flames. he repeated it twice more, for good measure.
jensen looked both grateful and mutinous, drenched and singed. "thanks, man."
smiling, jared patted his arm. "hey, what are friends for? i mean, that must've been a helluva lie for your pants to spontaneously combust like that."
jensen scowled and punched his arm. "bitch." the sound of jared's laughter followed his squelching footsteps out of the trailer and down the lot.
rps, jensen/misha, can only speak in song lyrics
they're scowling at each other, locked as they are in this elevator and cursing claustrophobia and tiny directors and shared loser boyfriends (jared) and a researching department that doesn't actually check that the spells they write into the script don't have some kind of rotten consequences for their actors.
case in point:
"god send me an angel to wipe the tears from my eyes," jensen says, scowling.
"tell everybody waiting for superman that they should try to hold on as best they can. he hasn't dropped them, forgot them, or anything..." misha tries to comfort him, nearly getting his hand bitten off in the process.
"said i think you better leave me alone. get to steppin'. get the hell on." jensen points to the other side of the elevator car, taking a tight breath when misha nods and backs to where he's pointed.
silence engulfs the car momentarily before misha opens his mouth again. "why you gotta go and make things so complicated?"
"i've got the gift of one-liners and you've got the curse of curves." jensen shrugs, and checks his phone for a signal. "i can't commit to a thing, be it heart or hospital."
"what's the difference if i say i'll go away, when i know i'll come back on my knees someday?" misha looks so dejected that even jensen can't help but feel touched. "why can't i free your doubtful mind, and melt your cold, cold heart?"
"dry your eyes, it's better now. it's done." jensen nods and pulls misha into a hug just as his phone rings. he flips it open, "hello? is it me you're looking for?"
"hey jen, you with misha? we finally figured out what was causing the weird song lyric thing and we found out all you have to do is hold your breath for 30 seconds and then kiss and you'll be back to normal, ok? lemme know if it works ok?" jared babbles off over the line and hangs up before jensen can get another word in edgewise.
now, if only he could explain it to misha that way.
rps, jared/sandy, pegging
they do it to spice up their lives a little. just when she's up in vancouver for a visit and jensen gives a jaunty little wave before disappearing for the week she's there. she tried to in texas, once, but he freaked out with his parents being so close. personally, she thinks he's just a little scared to be that vulnerable in compromising places. it takes days for him to recover mentally from being fucked, from begging for sandy to fuck him harder and almost literally coming untouched. all that stimulation renders him a puddle of jared-shaped goo that wants nothing more than to tell her how wonderful he thinks she is.
like now? jared's on his hands and knees and the sheet's beginning to pull from the corners of the bed where he's got it twisted up in his fingers, grounding him. she's teasing him, just the tip of the strap-on rubbing circles against his hole and he's begging for it. loudly. and god, she's never been able to deny him anything. even as she rocks into him and holds against him as she turns on the vibrator to stimulate herself, she's still doing this for him.
he's greedy, pushing back and fucking himself on the dildo in short strokes as one hand comes up to play with himself. she stares and rocks with it, absorbed in the way his body parts around it, the way his breath catches as she tips up just that much harder. it's got to be one of the most gorgeous things she's ever seen; his ass taking her in over and over until she can hear him breathing her name like a prayer and groaning his release into the pillow under his head.
rps, chris/steve/jensen/jared, morning after
it's well past dawn, almost afternoon, when the haze of sunlight cuts through the blinds and curtains to throw the bed in a cheery yellow glow. it's disgusting, really, and jared wonders why he ever got a room on this side of the house if the sun would do something like that when it knows he's too hungover to breathe, let alone move out from the heat of covers and bodies and did he just say bodies? jared jerks suddenly awake, alcohol-soaked brain catching up and counting 6 more legs and 6 more arms in bed than he's used to (dogs don't count, considering that's 8 legs and there's fur involved and ow, this is really too much thinking for a hungover brain).
jared's scared to even open his eyes to see what he got up to. if it wasn't for at least one body behind him, he's sure he would be easing out of the bed right now and hoping like hell no one caught him being a coward and running like a punk from his own room. he's a grown man, for god's sake, and oh my god someone is happy to be in this predicament and curiosity is going to kill jared but he has to know who it is that just started rubbing up against his front.
he manages to get one eye cracked open, just enough to see that jensen's the one rubbing up against him, with a soft and warm steve jsut behind him. and wherever there's steve, there's sure to be chris, so that explains the set of hands that just started wandering down jared's sides.
the rough chuckle resonating by his ear does not make jared harder, thank you very much.
"your boy's freaking out, jenny."
jared's about to complain, really he is, but just then jensen smiles sleepily at him and he doesn't have defenses against that, ok? so there's no way he's able to stop himself from being drawn down into a kiss. and when that kiss turns into something more, well... he always did say his bed was orgy-sized.
rps, jared/jensen, you smell like sweets
jensen has never been so hungry in all his life. he swears it didn't start until he was on supernatural, until he met a sasquatch named padalecki. but ever since, god. it just always smells like candy and jensen is so. fucking. hungry.
it isn't until they're at a convention and he knows that jared ran out of gummy worms about a week before that he even realizes it. jared leans over his shoulder to read a note that one of the ushers had handed him from the crowd and jensen smells it. like someone just opened a pack of twizzlers and is teasing him with it. it's weird, like that craving for sour patch kids that jensen got just before hiatus and jared had swamped him in a hug before boarding a plane back to san antonio.
he keeps an eye out for it, and finds himself craving m&ms when jared sits next to him to play madden, mike and ike's when jared makes breakfast on their lone off day between shows, sweettarts and sprees when they go out for steaks at that one place a coupla miles from downtown vancouver. it's jared.
and when the thought crosses his mind that jared probably tastes just as sweet, well, jensen doesn't quite know what to do with that but experiment and see.
rps, jared & jensen, last summer when they'd both finished their movies and they agreed to meet up in texas
it's still early in the summer when they finally get to meet up, jared driving down to dallas just in time to pick jensen up from the airport. jared's tanned and easy, texan accent kicked up strong from weeks of sweet tea and down-home-cooking up in austin; whereas jensen is still a little pale, only a hint of sun from being back in LA for a few weeks before coming back to texas to kick it with friends and family. pennsylvania did not agree with tanning.
come to think of it, neither did spending most of the movie in an old mine shaft, but them's the breaks.
jared's truck is as beat up as jensen feels, old and solid but on the used side. he smiles when he sees it, though, and says nothing when they climb in, luggage in the open bed and nothing between them but an oversized gearshift handle. jared's eyes are on the road, hands steady at the wheel and smoothly pushing the truck between gears even as he starts telling jensen about filming and what he's been doing all summer. even some stupid prank he pulled involving oil, a cock and channing tatum. jensen knows better than to ask about it, knowing he'll get the full story again when he's not so beat from airplanes and layovers.
jared knocks his elbow against jensen's with a smile. "just you and me, dude. two weeks back home." he says something about sweet tea and steaks, ribs and late mornings and jensen nods, letting that sense of home wash over him again.
"can't beat that, man. not at all."
rps, chris pine/zach quinto, "i want to taste you"
chris does not have a thing for the vulcan ears, ok? of course he's done the requisite thinking of the unspoken differences between vulcan physiology and human physiology that comes standard to any star trek movie. but it is not something he thinks about often, ok? just because zach quinto is possibly the sexiest man he's ever set eyes on outside of a mirror (no one ever said chris was anything beyond narcissistic)... well. it doesn't mean that chris wants to fuck him or anything.
ok. he's thought about it. and it may have become a problem from time to time when spock is all manhandling kirk across the bridge on film (that scene took for-fucking-ever to film).
but honestly? it gets worse once filming is over and they're doing the promos everywhere. interview after interview with the two of them side by side and zach's hands are really, really expressive. and he such a GQ motherfucker that even when he's being a slob, zach looks elegant. and chris just really, really wants him. however he can get him, chris wants a piece of zachary quinto.
he tells him so, finally, somewhere between new york and LA, he pushes zach up against a wall and whispers in his ear "i want to taste you." and the shiver and nod he gets in response? totally a kink now.
rps, chris pine/zachary quinto, breathplay
he likes the way chris looks all bruised up. found that out the hard way when he had to watch him walk around in makeup bruises for the majority of filming. not the least of it being the perennial split lip and black eye that he had for a good chunk of the time. and then there was that scene, just after vulcan has been destroyed and kirk is supposed to be provoking spock into showing emotion.
zach's just forgotten about how much strength he has when he's really into something. he's got chris pinned to what's supposed to be the navigation controls--at least, that's what he thinks they're supposed to be--with a hand at his throat when he feels it. chris isn't breathing as deeply, and if zach's not mistaken, his cock is starting to press against the front of his pants. for lack of a better word, zach finds this *fascinating*. and he purposely flubs his next line so that they'll have to do it over again.
the look in chris' eye seems both mutinous and lustful. very interesting.
zach only tries it the second time, just for verification and yes, chris presses up into his hand just the slightest bit to cut off his air just a little more. it passes jj's inspection after the fact, no one the wiser when everything runs smooth and chris not complaining about getting choked to death onscreen.
but a covert word and nod has them both anticipating exploring this a little more back at the hotel.
rps, hugh jackman/liev schreiber/taylor kitsch, introductions
it's not just their characters who have grins that are sharp and full of preadatory gleam, as taylor's coming to find out. no, it's more than that. he can tell as soon as he walks into the room where they're having a read-through and getting a feel for the other actors and their supposed relationships.
they're seated across from him and every time he looks up, they look hungry. he worries that this is supposed to be some kind of intimidation. their characters are old as the hills by the time gambit rolls onto the scene, honed killers that have seen more death than the law allows, executioners in their own right. add in how devastatingly handsome they are and it's a deadly combination for even a strong man-- something taylor's never been.
it's no wonder that he finds himself pressed between the two of them in a conference room after the fact, both men with one hand down his pants, teasing him mercilessly. liev keeps biting at the muscle between his neck and shoulder while hugh plunders his mouth with kisses. taylor doesn't even know what to do with himself, each hand going up to snag tightly in their hair. he's going to come just like this, no escape and he doesn't think he's even introduced himself as anything other than "hi, i'm supposed to be playing gambit in this movie."
they don't stop until he's a quivering wreck, pants wet with come and muscles barely holding him up. hugh grins, gives him one last squeeze before they move apart and make their way to the door. "nice to meet you, kid. we think you'll do just fine." the door closes behind them, leaving taylor slumped against a chair with their sharp grins fixed firmly in mind.
god he's fucked.
