obstinatrix (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
obstinatrix) wrote2011-08-23 04:41 pm
obstinatrix) wrote2011-08-23 04:41 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Sunscreen (J2, NC-17)
Title: Sunscreen
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~4000
Summary/Notes: I started writing this for a prompt on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
akintay's J2 Summer Break meme: 'Jensen's favourite thing about summer is Jared in shorts.' However, it diverged from that massively, so now it is going to fulfil my kink_bingo square for 'feet'. Hilariously, really, since it is exactly 0% kink/fetish and 100% schmoopy porn cliches, but there you go. I blame deirdre_c, and also this picture.
"Hey," Jared says, poking Jensen's calf with his bare toes. "You're gonna burn, y'know that?" His voice has gone loose and lazy from the sun-sleepy afternoon, Texas telling in the length of his vowels. His toes flex against the muscle of Jensen's calf, curling into it. "Sun cream, dude. It's right there."
He's right, of course. Dammit, Jensen knows he's right, can already feel the prickle of a burn trying to take root above the collar of his shirt, his sunscreen from this morning charred away to leave only its coconut scent. It's stupid, after all these years, to work up resentment that Jared barely needs any sunscreen at all, while Jensen's liable to turn into a giant, lobster-coloured freckle after ten minutes in the yard. All the more stupid to let himself get burned because of it, but there it is. So Jared makes him stupid. It's not like it's a new revelation. He says, "Dude, I'm fine," shooting Jared a sidelong glance. "Quit worrying."
Thing is, Jensen can afford to be a little stupid, to make his token protest, because Jared has his back. He knows what Jared's about to say before he says it, predicts the snort of disbelief that emerges. "Yeah, sure, you're fine. You'll be thanking me later when your shoulders don't feel like a TV dinner, I promise you. Move over." And then he's crawling across the two feet of picnic blanket between them, settling himself with a knee either side of Jensen's body, fitting Jensen neatly into the vee of his thighs. "Shirt off."
Okay, so Jared has his best interests at heart. Jensen knows that, and he's grateful for it, but that? That's just downright pushy. Jensen fights the stupid little frisson in his stomach that sparks at that tone to Jared's voice, wraps his arms irritably around himself. "And that'll stop me burning...how, exactly?"
"Because then I'll be able to get your neck and shoulders properly, dumbass," Jared retorts neatly, hands going to the hem of Jensen's shirt. "Off, or I'll take it off for you."
Oh God. Jensen would be the first to admit -- to himself, at least -- that part of the joy of summer is the increased likelihood of coming across Jared without his usual eighteen layers of clothes on. What is not so joyful is the part where Jared seems to expect similar levels of nakedness from him -- hell, seems to want to help in causing said nakedness -- and Jensen's just supposed to be all nonchalant about it, all one-of-the-guys when Jared's growling at him to take his goddamn shirt off, long fingers crawling across the flat of Jensen's stomach. Shit. Those hands are horribly close to his cock, now, and the stupid thing seems to want to get even closer, stirring, rising up against the seam of his shorts. Jensen has to get Jared out of the way now, and giving in seems like the only sure fire method.
Jensen doesn't want to take any chances with this.
"Fuck you," he says, but he crosses his arms over his chest, pulls on the hem of his shirt. "If I hit you in the face because you're too close, it'll be your own funeral."
"Quickfire reflexes," Jared assures him pleasantly. His broad smile is the first thing Jensen sees as he emerges from his cocoon of cloth and tosses it aside. He wants to feel agitation towards it, but Jared's smiles seem to have magical properties, because he can't work up anything more bitter than grudging affection.
"Yeah, well." He turns around again, ducks his head. The position hides his face, lets him curl in on himself, almost foetal, and Jensen judges that it's worth the vulnerable feeling at his nape for that, especially since Jared's gonna want access anyway. Access to the back of Jensen's neck, the tendons in his throat, the blades of his shoulders. Jared's going to want to put his goddamn hands everywhere, and Jensen's getting far too happy in his pants at the prospect. He pulls up his knees and concentrates on not shivering bodily when Jared's hands settle on his shoulders, squeezing lightly at the muscle.
"Shit, Jen, you could use a backrub too, from the feel of it," Jared says, and squeezes again.
Oh, hell no. Jensen jerks forward a little out of Jared's grip, much as his body doesn't seem to want to, shoulders twitching under Jared's hands. "Just the sunscreen, Jay," he says firmly.
"But --"
"Sunscreen."
Jared mutters something, but he shifts in closer, legs falling loose either side of Jensen's body, like he's settling in to do the job -- the one he came over here for, and nothing else. A moment later, there's the telltale click and squeeze of a bottle being opened, and then the wet chill of sunscreen on Jensen's shoulders, going some way to mute the exhilaration of having Jared's hands on his body.
God, Jared's hands, though. The momentary shock of cold is all well and good, but it's only momentary. The combination of Jensen's incipient burn and Jared's natural body heat prevents the cool barrier from giving him much relief for long. Seconds later, the chill is gone, leaving only the smooth glide of Jared's hands on his skin, the way his thumbs feel as they hook under the wings of Jensen's shoulderblades, pressing surreptitiously deep as they slide down. It's all Jensen can do to suppress a groan as they push out a row of knots, and that means it's time to think of something else. Jesus Christ, anything else, just so Jared won't work out how absolutely Jensen's dick has misinterpreted the situation. Jensen blinks his eyes open and looks for something to focus on.
Grass; dried up ground where there was once grass; picnic blanket. On the blanket, Jared's feet, as long and slender as the rest of him, browned along the tops by the summer. They've fallen loose, tilting outward to expose his inner ankle bones to the sun, and Jensen finds himself suddenly fascinated by the divots above those bones, the semi-circles of shadow. Above the ankle bones, Jared's calves, strong muscle running under bronze. Jensen wants to touch them, run his thumbs up the insides of Jared's legs the way Jared's thumbing at his shoulderblades, feel the muscle resist until it gives. He's close enough to be able to almost see the texture of the skin, the sun-lightened hair covering it, the soft place at the inside of Jared's knee. He wonders, sudden and visceral, how that place would feel under his lips, what kind of sound Jared might make if he opened his mouth against it. How it would compare in texture and sensitivity to the smooth inside of Jared's foot, the high pale arch where the tan gives way to lighter, softer skin. Jared has beautiful feet, delicately fashioned, elegant. Jensen wonders if anyone's ever thought about kissing them.
This, probably, should be the point at which he pulls himself up short, realises what the hell he's thinking. Moreover, it should probably be the point at which he recognises that it's doing nothing at all to help with his problem, now swiftly transcending the bounds of 'little'. The trouble is that, now Jensen's brain has found something to latch onto, it doesn't seem to want to unlatch. Jared's still rubbing at his shoulders, hands skimming his sides, and probably he should be about done with the sunscreen by now, but Jensen's not thinking about that any more. That - Jared's hands on his skin - it's a warm buzz snaking up the column of his spine, mellow undertone to the reality of this, Jared's feet, drawing his eyes. The strong arch of his right foot seems to cry out for Jensen to run a thumb along the line of it, and maybe he's had a little too much sun after all, because the next thing he knows, he's reaching out, curling his fingers around the top of it, index overlapping the place where Jared's toes begin. It fits there solidly as if it had been crafted for his palm, and Jensen's lip is caught between his teeth by the time he presses his thumb against the jut of Jared's sesamoid, begins to draw it lower.
He feels Jared's exhalation more than he hears it, feels the incremental jerk of his foot in Jensen's hand. Against his palm, a momentary tightening of muscles precedes a sudden and total submission when Jensen's thumb slips onto the centre of the sole, presses there. Jared's toes clench, calf lengthening instinctively, and the gesture brings him closer to the small of Jensen's back, reels him in. Belatedly, Jensen notices that Jared's hands have stopped moving on his shoulders, the grease of the sunscreen dissipated now, and the warmth of them is feather-light and gentle at his waist. The heat of Jared's body is palpable in the long thighs clamped either side of Jensen's; is pressed, now, too, to the base of Jensen's spine. That heat is indistinct, but it's fierce, and Jensen feels a sweat break out at the nape of his neck at the thought of it, what it might mean. He works his thumb a little deeper into the tissues, draws it up slowly towards Jared's toes. He wants to see that clench again, wants to feel Jared's foot arch in around the pivot of Jensen's hand. God. It shouldn't be so goddamn fascinating. It must be the sun.
He works a slow line up the centre of Jared's sole, and Jared hisses, long toes splaying reflexively. Jensen bites his lip, heartbeat kicking up in his throat, and rubs a deep circle with his thumb until Jared's entire leg jerks in his hand, hips hitching against Jensen's back. "Nnngh - Jensen!"
It's unreadable, Jared's tone, more surprised reaction in it than anything else, and Jensen can feel the sweat crawling slowly down his spine, inchoate want and fear. "Am I hurting you?"
"No, Jesus." Jared clenches his toes, spreads them again, and that's clear enough, so Jensen resumes, his other hand reaching on instinct for a loose grip on Jared's left foot as he coaxes tension out of his right. His fingertips are lax against the outer blade, the skin ridiculously smooth where they overlap, and it's a stretch to Jared's heel with his thumb, a long way to the base of his arch. When he presses there, Jared full-on groans, lifts his hips, and oh. Oh.
Jared's hard. Jensen had half-suspected it before, pushed the idea aside before he could dwell on it too closely, but it's clear and undeniable now, the hot line of Jared's cock against Jensen's ass, and Jensen feels his own cock leap in sympathy. Fuck. His fingers freeze in place, the sound of his breath suddenly thunderous in his ears.
"You want me to keep going?"
He doesn't know what makes him say it. An instant before, everything was awkwardness frozen in motion, even the in-out of Jared's chest stilled in horror. The sensible thing to do would have been to shift away, laugh it off, roll over onto his front and let the sun warm his back. The sensible thing to do would be to deny all knowledge.
The trouble is, though, that Jensen doesn't want to, and from the feel of it, Jared doesn't, either. Jensen wants to feel just how much he doesn't want to, without such impediments as swim shorts between them. He wants to feel it enough in this moment that the desire overrides all common sense. That question, posed while Jared's hard against the curve of Jensen's ass, can only mean one thing, and Jensen feels the bottom drop out of his stomach as he asks it, like he's swung out over a precipice on a length of dental floss. Jesus. Jesus. But he wants it. He wants Jared to say yes.
For an awful moment, Jared doesn't say anything. His foot is still smooth and still in Jensen's hand, and Jensen can't resist squeezing it a little, reflexively, an instinctive comfort. He swallows around the rising sense of oh shit in his throat, thumb sweeping across the centre of Jared's foot. "Jay?" he prompts, stupidly small; presses with the pad of his thumb, and Jared moans. Pushes his hips up against Jensen's backside, the scorching heat of his dick shoved up flush to the swell of it, and Jensen breathes again, arches his back instinctively.
"Keep going." Jared's voice is suddenly very close to his ear, the tone of it rough and low. It's a little like his early-morning voice, on those rare occasions when he's had a late night and woken up after Jensen; and it's a little like his late-night voice, when he's aching from a day's work and desperate to crash; but it's also something quite unlike either of those things, and the thought makes Jensen shiver bodily. This is a voice Jensen's never heard before. This is Jared's fuck me voice, and Jensen can feel its warmth against the bolt of his jaw, swiftly followed by the soft give of Jared's lips on his skin.
It's only the barest of touches, but it makes Jensen jerk as if he's been electrocuted. "Oh, God." His left hand slides up the length of Jared's leg, grips at his thigh for purchase. Jared laughs softly, and then his mouth is back, open now, wet inside of it sliding against Jensen's neck.
"Keep going." Darker, now, rougher, and Jensen can't deny that voice. He slides his fingers up the length of Jared's foot, presses their tips into the spaces between his toes, and Jared rewards the gesture with a groan in his throat. His hips are shifting in a rhythm, now, Jared pushing his dick up against Jensen's ass, getting himself off. Jensen would probably be more resentful about the rudeness of it if he wasn't too busy trying not to self-combust at the thought.
"Like that?" He glides his thumb up the inner arch of Jared's foot, draws a circle around the knob of the anklebone.
Jared nips at Jensen's earlobe, brief flash of sharpness, and his right hand snakes around Jensen's waist to trace the spur of his hipbone. "Yeah." He splays his fingers, flattening his palm on Jensen's belly, hot skin on hot skin. Shit, he's close now, fingertips dipping below the waistband of Jensen's shorts. The muscles of Jensen's stomach twitch desperately, wanting closer, closer. His pelvis lifts, entirely of its own accord, knees going loose as he rolls up towards Jared's hand.
"Yeah?" He tips his head back onto Jared's shoulder, looks up at him heavy-lidded. His thumb repeats its circle around Jared's anklebone, and Jared shivers against him.
"Yeah," Jared confirms, low, and his eyes are locked on Jensen's as his fingers arrow down into Jensen's shorts, finding his cock and circling the spine of it.
"Oh, shit, Jared." He does arch up, then, helpless, fucking up into the tunnel of Jared's fingers. His eyelids flicker, instinctively wanting to close, but Jared is looking at him steadily, mouth pink and parted as his eyes move between Jensen's face and the shape of his hand on Jensen's dick, and Jensen can't look away from that. He can't.
"I gotcha," Jared says, but it's shaky, and his hips are pulsing more insistently, restlessly, against Jensen's back. "Yeah, I gotcha, you're okay."
Jared's hand is massive, spanning him easily, capable strokes up and down Jensen's shaft that seem to coax out sensation right from the marrow of his bones. Jensen's been hard for an inappropriately long enough time that he's slick in Jared's grasp, slipping wetly through his fist as he works. The sound of it is dirty-good, makes Jensen blush even as he arches his back and cries out at the clever swipe of Jared's thumb across the head, catching at the slit. "God," he groans, fingers digging into the meat of Jared's thigh. "Yeah."
"Yeah, that good?" Jared's coming apart. Jensen can hear it in his voice, the loose, breathless stutter of it, the way his thrusts are going erratic against Jensen's back. He squeezes his thighs around Jensen's body, and Jensen takes a moment to think about how good that's gonna feel when Jared's sheathed inside of him, filling him up, every fat inch. The thought sets a new sluice of precome spurting up out of his slit, and Jared's breath quickens, becomes a moan as his hand picks up pace. "Fuck, Jensen. Fuck, I wanna see. Gotta let me see you, come on, come on -- "
Jared's other hand surrenders its hold on Jensen's waist, curving around to scrabble at the front of his shorts, and Jensen doesn't even care that they're technically in public, here, because the urgency in Jared's every movement is just too fucking beautiful. He pulls, shoves at the fabric, and then Jensen can see, his cock slipping pink through Jared's grip, Jared's knuckles wet and shining where Jensen's precome has drooled down the back of his hand. Holy shit, but he likes the way it looks, Jared's long fingers, the square cut of his thumb, and from the sound Jared makes, he seems to like it too.
"Oh, shit," Jared whispers, almost reverent against the back of Jensen's ear, hand moving frenetically, now, desperately. "Shit, Jen, look at you, look at that. So fucking wet, dude. Get this wet every time, I'd probably let you fuck me just like this."
"Jesus Christ -- " Orgasm takes Jensen by surprise, takes root in the pit of his stomach and rips through him in jagged splinters of heat, just at the thought of it. Just at the thought of doing this again, of Jared letting him spear him open on his cock, of Jared doing the same to him. Jared over him, Jared in him, Jared's big hands, Jared's dick. He can feel the head of it sliding in its own slick against the base of his spine, freed at some point from the front of Jared's shorts, and the sensation drags another hot spurt out of Jensen, wrenches a low, dark sound from the back of his throat.
"Shit," Jared whispers, voice breaking. His hand is still working, slower and slower, white and glistening with Jensen's come. His free hand has returned to Jensen's waist to hold him still while he thrusts against him, jagged little pushes of his hips, urgent. "God, so hot. You're so fucking beautiful."
"Says you," Jensen spits back, rough, still pulsing gently into Jared's loosening grip. "Your fucking hands, man." He laughs, loose with orgasm. "Your fucking feet. Can't wait to see your dick."
"Oh fuck." Jared jerks spasmodically, and Jensen feels the first wet spurt of it, Jared's heat between them. Jared's breath is ragged, frantic, and Jensen's spent cock twitches manfully, a last wave of heat rushing up his spine.
"Yeah," he breathes, "yeah, Jared, come on me. Come all over me, dude, I want it. Wanna feel you, want you to get me all filthy, J --"
There's more, but he's cut off by Jared's mouth, hard and slack on his, and Jared muffling a yell into it as he comes all over Jensen's back in shuddering spurts. His fingers are pressing into Jensen's hip hard enough that it'll bruise, and the press of mouths is more a bite than a kiss, Jared's teeth on Jensen's lower lip as he moans and jerks, but that's okay. Fuck, it's more than okay.
By the time Jared's done coming, they're kissing properly, wet and deep, slow fucks of tongue. Jared wipes his hand off on Jensen's belly, probably figuring he's too filthy already for it to matter, and Jensen's pretty far from giving a damn. It's a good kiss, post-coital, the way you kiss someone you've kissed a thousand times before, slack and intimate and open-mouthed. It's their first kiss. It's not gonna be their last.
Eventually, Jared pulls back, and Jensen looks up at him. He looks fucked-out, mouth pink and kiss-bitten, hair awry from Jensen's fingers. He smiles, and Jensen feels a sudden, not entirely unexpected, urge to kiss it off his face.
"Hey," Jared says, on a laugh, "you've caught the sun." His thumb traces the line of Jensen's cheekbone, along the ridge of bone to his ear. "We should probably go inside." His mouth quirks. "No sun in there."
"No bed out here, either," Jensen shoots back, stomach clenching hopefully, and Jared laughs, leans in to kiss the sun-hot crest of Jensen's cheekbone.
"That too," he says. "Definitely that too."
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Words: ~4000
Summary/Notes: I started writing this for a prompt on
akintay's J2 Summer Break meme: 'Jensen's favourite thing about summer is Jared in shorts.' However, it diverged from that massively, so now it is going to fulfil my kink_bingo square for 'feet'. Hilariously, really, since it is exactly 0% kink/fetish and 100% schmoopy porn cliches, but there you go. I blame deirdre_c, and also this picture. "Hey," Jared says, poking Jensen's calf with his bare toes. "You're gonna burn, y'know that?" His voice has gone loose and lazy from the sun-sleepy afternoon, Texas telling in the length of his vowels. His toes flex against the muscle of Jensen's calf, curling into it. "Sun cream, dude. It's right there."
He's right, of course. Dammit, Jensen knows he's right, can already feel the prickle of a burn trying to take root above the collar of his shirt, his sunscreen from this morning charred away to leave only its coconut scent. It's stupid, after all these years, to work up resentment that Jared barely needs any sunscreen at all, while Jensen's liable to turn into a giant, lobster-coloured freckle after ten minutes in the yard. All the more stupid to let himself get burned because of it, but there it is. So Jared makes him stupid. It's not like it's a new revelation. He says, "Dude, I'm fine," shooting Jared a sidelong glance. "Quit worrying."
Thing is, Jensen can afford to be a little stupid, to make his token protest, because Jared has his back. He knows what Jared's about to say before he says it, predicts the snort of disbelief that emerges. "Yeah, sure, you're fine. You'll be thanking me later when your shoulders don't feel like a TV dinner, I promise you. Move over." And then he's crawling across the two feet of picnic blanket between them, settling himself with a knee either side of Jensen's body, fitting Jensen neatly into the vee of his thighs. "Shirt off."
Okay, so Jared has his best interests at heart. Jensen knows that, and he's grateful for it, but that? That's just downright pushy. Jensen fights the stupid little frisson in his stomach that sparks at that tone to Jared's voice, wraps his arms irritably around himself. "And that'll stop me burning...how, exactly?"
"Because then I'll be able to get your neck and shoulders properly, dumbass," Jared retorts neatly, hands going to the hem of Jensen's shirt. "Off, or I'll take it off for you."
Oh God. Jensen would be the first to admit -- to himself, at least -- that part of the joy of summer is the increased likelihood of coming across Jared without his usual eighteen layers of clothes on. What is not so joyful is the part where Jared seems to expect similar levels of nakedness from him -- hell, seems to want to help in causing said nakedness -- and Jensen's just supposed to be all nonchalant about it, all one-of-the-guys when Jared's growling at him to take his goddamn shirt off, long fingers crawling across the flat of Jensen's stomach. Shit. Those hands are horribly close to his cock, now, and the stupid thing seems to want to get even closer, stirring, rising up against the seam of his shorts. Jensen has to get Jared out of the way now, and giving in seems like the only sure fire method.
Jensen doesn't want to take any chances with this.
"Fuck you," he says, but he crosses his arms over his chest, pulls on the hem of his shirt. "If I hit you in the face because you're too close, it'll be your own funeral."
"Quickfire reflexes," Jared assures him pleasantly. His broad smile is the first thing Jensen sees as he emerges from his cocoon of cloth and tosses it aside. He wants to feel agitation towards it, but Jared's smiles seem to have magical properties, because he can't work up anything more bitter than grudging affection.
"Yeah, well." He turns around again, ducks his head. The position hides his face, lets him curl in on himself, almost foetal, and Jensen judges that it's worth the vulnerable feeling at his nape for that, especially since Jared's gonna want access anyway. Access to the back of Jensen's neck, the tendons in his throat, the blades of his shoulders. Jared's going to want to put his goddamn hands everywhere, and Jensen's getting far too happy in his pants at the prospect. He pulls up his knees and concentrates on not shivering bodily when Jared's hands settle on his shoulders, squeezing lightly at the muscle.
"Shit, Jen, you could use a backrub too, from the feel of it," Jared says, and squeezes again.
Oh, hell no. Jensen jerks forward a little out of Jared's grip, much as his body doesn't seem to want to, shoulders twitching under Jared's hands. "Just the sunscreen, Jay," he says firmly.
"But --"
"Sunscreen."
Jared mutters something, but he shifts in closer, legs falling loose either side of Jensen's body, like he's settling in to do the job -- the one he came over here for, and nothing else. A moment later, there's the telltale click and squeeze of a bottle being opened, and then the wet chill of sunscreen on Jensen's shoulders, going some way to mute the exhilaration of having Jared's hands on his body.
God, Jared's hands, though. The momentary shock of cold is all well and good, but it's only momentary. The combination of Jensen's incipient burn and Jared's natural body heat prevents the cool barrier from giving him much relief for long. Seconds later, the chill is gone, leaving only the smooth glide of Jared's hands on his skin, the way his thumbs feel as they hook under the wings of Jensen's shoulderblades, pressing surreptitiously deep as they slide down. It's all Jensen can do to suppress a groan as they push out a row of knots, and that means it's time to think of something else. Jesus Christ, anything else, just so Jared won't work out how absolutely Jensen's dick has misinterpreted the situation. Jensen blinks his eyes open and looks for something to focus on.
Grass; dried up ground where there was once grass; picnic blanket. On the blanket, Jared's feet, as long and slender as the rest of him, browned along the tops by the summer. They've fallen loose, tilting outward to expose his inner ankle bones to the sun, and Jensen finds himself suddenly fascinated by the divots above those bones, the semi-circles of shadow. Above the ankle bones, Jared's calves, strong muscle running under bronze. Jensen wants to touch them, run his thumbs up the insides of Jared's legs the way Jared's thumbing at his shoulderblades, feel the muscle resist until it gives. He's close enough to be able to almost see the texture of the skin, the sun-lightened hair covering it, the soft place at the inside of Jared's knee. He wonders, sudden and visceral, how that place would feel under his lips, what kind of sound Jared might make if he opened his mouth against it. How it would compare in texture and sensitivity to the smooth inside of Jared's foot, the high pale arch where the tan gives way to lighter, softer skin. Jared has beautiful feet, delicately fashioned, elegant. Jensen wonders if anyone's ever thought about kissing them.
This, probably, should be the point at which he pulls himself up short, realises what the hell he's thinking. Moreover, it should probably be the point at which he recognises that it's doing nothing at all to help with his problem, now swiftly transcending the bounds of 'little'. The trouble is that, now Jensen's brain has found something to latch onto, it doesn't seem to want to unlatch. Jared's still rubbing at his shoulders, hands skimming his sides, and probably he should be about done with the sunscreen by now, but Jensen's not thinking about that any more. That - Jared's hands on his skin - it's a warm buzz snaking up the column of his spine, mellow undertone to the reality of this, Jared's feet, drawing his eyes. The strong arch of his right foot seems to cry out for Jensen to run a thumb along the line of it, and maybe he's had a little too much sun after all, because the next thing he knows, he's reaching out, curling his fingers around the top of it, index overlapping the place where Jared's toes begin. It fits there solidly as if it had been crafted for his palm, and Jensen's lip is caught between his teeth by the time he presses his thumb against the jut of Jared's sesamoid, begins to draw it lower.
He feels Jared's exhalation more than he hears it, feels the incremental jerk of his foot in Jensen's hand. Against his palm, a momentary tightening of muscles precedes a sudden and total submission when Jensen's thumb slips onto the centre of the sole, presses there. Jared's toes clench, calf lengthening instinctively, and the gesture brings him closer to the small of Jensen's back, reels him in. Belatedly, Jensen notices that Jared's hands have stopped moving on his shoulders, the grease of the sunscreen dissipated now, and the warmth of them is feather-light and gentle at his waist. The heat of Jared's body is palpable in the long thighs clamped either side of Jensen's; is pressed, now, too, to the base of Jensen's spine. That heat is indistinct, but it's fierce, and Jensen feels a sweat break out at the nape of his neck at the thought of it, what it might mean. He works his thumb a little deeper into the tissues, draws it up slowly towards Jared's toes. He wants to see that clench again, wants to feel Jared's foot arch in around the pivot of Jensen's hand. God. It shouldn't be so goddamn fascinating. It must be the sun.
He works a slow line up the centre of Jared's sole, and Jared hisses, long toes splaying reflexively. Jensen bites his lip, heartbeat kicking up in his throat, and rubs a deep circle with his thumb until Jared's entire leg jerks in his hand, hips hitching against Jensen's back. "Nnngh - Jensen!"
It's unreadable, Jared's tone, more surprised reaction in it than anything else, and Jensen can feel the sweat crawling slowly down his spine, inchoate want and fear. "Am I hurting you?"
"No, Jesus." Jared clenches his toes, spreads them again, and that's clear enough, so Jensen resumes, his other hand reaching on instinct for a loose grip on Jared's left foot as he coaxes tension out of his right. His fingertips are lax against the outer blade, the skin ridiculously smooth where they overlap, and it's a stretch to Jared's heel with his thumb, a long way to the base of his arch. When he presses there, Jared full-on groans, lifts his hips, and oh. Oh.
Jared's hard. Jensen had half-suspected it before, pushed the idea aside before he could dwell on it too closely, but it's clear and undeniable now, the hot line of Jared's cock against Jensen's ass, and Jensen feels his own cock leap in sympathy. Fuck. His fingers freeze in place, the sound of his breath suddenly thunderous in his ears.
"You want me to keep going?"
He doesn't know what makes him say it. An instant before, everything was awkwardness frozen in motion, even the in-out of Jared's chest stilled in horror. The sensible thing to do would have been to shift away, laugh it off, roll over onto his front and let the sun warm his back. The sensible thing to do would be to deny all knowledge.
The trouble is, though, that Jensen doesn't want to, and from the feel of it, Jared doesn't, either. Jensen wants to feel just how much he doesn't want to, without such impediments as swim shorts between them. He wants to feel it enough in this moment that the desire overrides all common sense. That question, posed while Jared's hard against the curve of Jensen's ass, can only mean one thing, and Jensen feels the bottom drop out of his stomach as he asks it, like he's swung out over a precipice on a length of dental floss. Jesus. Jesus. But he wants it. He wants Jared to say yes.
For an awful moment, Jared doesn't say anything. His foot is still smooth and still in Jensen's hand, and Jensen can't resist squeezing it a little, reflexively, an instinctive comfort. He swallows around the rising sense of oh shit in his throat, thumb sweeping across the centre of Jared's foot. "Jay?" he prompts, stupidly small; presses with the pad of his thumb, and Jared moans. Pushes his hips up against Jensen's backside, the scorching heat of his dick shoved up flush to the swell of it, and Jensen breathes again, arches his back instinctively.
"Keep going." Jared's voice is suddenly very close to his ear, the tone of it rough and low. It's a little like his early-morning voice, on those rare occasions when he's had a late night and woken up after Jensen; and it's a little like his late-night voice, when he's aching from a day's work and desperate to crash; but it's also something quite unlike either of those things, and the thought makes Jensen shiver bodily. This is a voice Jensen's never heard before. This is Jared's fuck me voice, and Jensen can feel its warmth against the bolt of his jaw, swiftly followed by the soft give of Jared's lips on his skin.
It's only the barest of touches, but it makes Jensen jerk as if he's been electrocuted. "Oh, God." His left hand slides up the length of Jared's leg, grips at his thigh for purchase. Jared laughs softly, and then his mouth is back, open now, wet inside of it sliding against Jensen's neck.
"Keep going." Darker, now, rougher, and Jensen can't deny that voice. He slides his fingers up the length of Jared's foot, presses their tips into the spaces between his toes, and Jared rewards the gesture with a groan in his throat. His hips are shifting in a rhythm, now, Jared pushing his dick up against Jensen's ass, getting himself off. Jensen would probably be more resentful about the rudeness of it if he wasn't too busy trying not to self-combust at the thought.
"Like that?" He glides his thumb up the inner arch of Jared's foot, draws a circle around the knob of the anklebone.
Jared nips at Jensen's earlobe, brief flash of sharpness, and his right hand snakes around Jensen's waist to trace the spur of his hipbone. "Yeah." He splays his fingers, flattening his palm on Jensen's belly, hot skin on hot skin. Shit, he's close now, fingertips dipping below the waistband of Jensen's shorts. The muscles of Jensen's stomach twitch desperately, wanting closer, closer. His pelvis lifts, entirely of its own accord, knees going loose as he rolls up towards Jared's hand.
"Yeah?" He tips his head back onto Jared's shoulder, looks up at him heavy-lidded. His thumb repeats its circle around Jared's anklebone, and Jared shivers against him.
"Yeah," Jared confirms, low, and his eyes are locked on Jensen's as his fingers arrow down into Jensen's shorts, finding his cock and circling the spine of it.
"Oh, shit, Jared." He does arch up, then, helpless, fucking up into the tunnel of Jared's fingers. His eyelids flicker, instinctively wanting to close, but Jared is looking at him steadily, mouth pink and parted as his eyes move between Jensen's face and the shape of his hand on Jensen's dick, and Jensen can't look away from that. He can't.
"I gotcha," Jared says, but it's shaky, and his hips are pulsing more insistently, restlessly, against Jensen's back. "Yeah, I gotcha, you're okay."
Jared's hand is massive, spanning him easily, capable strokes up and down Jensen's shaft that seem to coax out sensation right from the marrow of his bones. Jensen's been hard for an inappropriately long enough time that he's slick in Jared's grasp, slipping wetly through his fist as he works. The sound of it is dirty-good, makes Jensen blush even as he arches his back and cries out at the clever swipe of Jared's thumb across the head, catching at the slit. "God," he groans, fingers digging into the meat of Jared's thigh. "Yeah."
"Yeah, that good?" Jared's coming apart. Jensen can hear it in his voice, the loose, breathless stutter of it, the way his thrusts are going erratic against Jensen's back. He squeezes his thighs around Jensen's body, and Jensen takes a moment to think about how good that's gonna feel when Jared's sheathed inside of him, filling him up, every fat inch. The thought sets a new sluice of precome spurting up out of his slit, and Jared's breath quickens, becomes a moan as his hand picks up pace. "Fuck, Jensen. Fuck, I wanna see. Gotta let me see you, come on, come on -- "
Jared's other hand surrenders its hold on Jensen's waist, curving around to scrabble at the front of his shorts, and Jensen doesn't even care that they're technically in public, here, because the urgency in Jared's every movement is just too fucking beautiful. He pulls, shoves at the fabric, and then Jensen can see, his cock slipping pink through Jared's grip, Jared's knuckles wet and shining where Jensen's precome has drooled down the back of his hand. Holy shit, but he likes the way it looks, Jared's long fingers, the square cut of his thumb, and from the sound Jared makes, he seems to like it too.
"Oh, shit," Jared whispers, almost reverent against the back of Jensen's ear, hand moving frenetically, now, desperately. "Shit, Jen, look at you, look at that. So fucking wet, dude. Get this wet every time, I'd probably let you fuck me just like this."
"Jesus Christ -- " Orgasm takes Jensen by surprise, takes root in the pit of his stomach and rips through him in jagged splinters of heat, just at the thought of it. Just at the thought of doing this again, of Jared letting him spear him open on his cock, of Jared doing the same to him. Jared over him, Jared in him, Jared's big hands, Jared's dick. He can feel the head of it sliding in its own slick against the base of his spine, freed at some point from the front of Jared's shorts, and the sensation drags another hot spurt out of Jensen, wrenches a low, dark sound from the back of his throat.
"Shit," Jared whispers, voice breaking. His hand is still working, slower and slower, white and glistening with Jensen's come. His free hand has returned to Jensen's waist to hold him still while he thrusts against him, jagged little pushes of his hips, urgent. "God, so hot. You're so fucking beautiful."
"Says you," Jensen spits back, rough, still pulsing gently into Jared's loosening grip. "Your fucking hands, man." He laughs, loose with orgasm. "Your fucking feet. Can't wait to see your dick."
"Oh fuck." Jared jerks spasmodically, and Jensen feels the first wet spurt of it, Jared's heat between them. Jared's breath is ragged, frantic, and Jensen's spent cock twitches manfully, a last wave of heat rushing up his spine.
"Yeah," he breathes, "yeah, Jared, come on me. Come all over me, dude, I want it. Wanna feel you, want you to get me all filthy, J --"
There's more, but he's cut off by Jared's mouth, hard and slack on his, and Jared muffling a yell into it as he comes all over Jensen's back in shuddering spurts. His fingers are pressing into Jensen's hip hard enough that it'll bruise, and the press of mouths is more a bite than a kiss, Jared's teeth on Jensen's lower lip as he moans and jerks, but that's okay. Fuck, it's more than okay.
By the time Jared's done coming, they're kissing properly, wet and deep, slow fucks of tongue. Jared wipes his hand off on Jensen's belly, probably figuring he's too filthy already for it to matter, and Jensen's pretty far from giving a damn. It's a good kiss, post-coital, the way you kiss someone you've kissed a thousand times before, slack and intimate and open-mouthed. It's their first kiss. It's not gonna be their last.
Eventually, Jared pulls back, and Jensen looks up at him. He looks fucked-out, mouth pink and kiss-bitten, hair awry from Jensen's fingers. He smiles, and Jensen feels a sudden, not entirely unexpected, urge to kiss it off his face.
"Hey," Jared says, on a laugh, "you've caught the sun." His thumb traces the line of Jensen's cheekbone, along the ridge of bone to his ear. "We should probably go inside." His mouth quirks. "No sun in there."
"No bed out here, either," Jensen shoots back, stomach clenching hopefully, and Jared laughs, leans in to kiss the sun-hot crest of Jensen's cheekbone.
"That too," he says. "Definitely that too."
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