Fic: The Games We Play (PG-13)
Nov. 5th, 2008 04:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
acquiescenceTitle: The Games We Play
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this
Rating: PG-13 maybe light R
Summary: Every time they get together Jensen and Jeff play the same game
Characters: Jeffrey Dean Morgan/Jensen Ackles
Word Count: 981
A/N: I've been wanting to write Jeff for a while now, but I've been a little daunted at the prospect - because I wasn't sure I would be able to get him right. I'm not sure how well I succeeded but I hope you'll enjoy despite any flaws I might have made. Day 5 of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
mini_nanowrimo.
A/N 2: I seem to always have trouble with keeping my tenses straight when I'm writing RPS so, please show me where I messed up cause I hate switching around the way I'm prone to do.
“Thought you were never going to get here.” Jensen drawls, it’s late enough that he doesn’t bother trying to cover up the slur of his words, just lets them flow honeyed from his lips as he give Jeff a lopsided grin.
“Can’t do nothing about flight delays.” Jeff says complaining and dropping himself heavily down on the sofa beside Jensen, letting out a satisfied groan as he props up his feet on the low coffee table.
Jensen glares at his feet on his table, but doesn’t say anything about it – he’s not that much of a girl, after all, no matter what anyone says. He hands Jeff a beer, glancing at him side long – half his attention still on the game on the television.
The rest of his attention is completely on Jeff. Like it always is when they’re together. He’s never more aware of himself and what’s around him than when Jeff is beside him – each shift pulling one from him in response – like their tied together, like Jensen has no choice but to follow each one of Jeff’s movements.
He’s still not sure when that started – before or after they started fucking, he can’t recall one way or the other. But he knows it’s there now.
He is wound tight with the feeling of it, waiting for Jeff to make his move. To touch him, to kiss him, to press him into the sofa there, before they’ve really even caught up and just take him – his body hums for it, for all of it and more and more of his attention is turning toward Jeff until the game is nothing more than a distant blur in the background and Jeff is all there is.
All it takes is one touch, Jeff dropping his hand from his lap, thumb rubbing across the back of Jensen’s hand – and he’s wound tight. Waiting for the rest, it’s only a matter of time now and it’s all Jensen can do to keep from falling apart before Jeff’s even really touched him.
He doesn’t know when this started, when he became so wrapped up in Jeff, so hungry for his touch. And he’s not sure he really cares, not so long as Jeff will touch him, so long as Jeff puts those big hands on him, pushes under his shirt and just fucking takes him.
He’s never been like this with anyone before, never so ready to just give himself up – but with Jeff it’s all he can do.
“You’re tight as a bow aren’t you?” Jeff asks, like he’s commenting on the weather, like he doesn’t know Jensen is practically vibrating with need for him, pupils blown wide, fingers tapping against his knee to keep from reaching out and pulling Jeff on top of him.
“Been too long, hasn’t it. I know how you hate to wait. So impatient.” Jeff chuckles, his voice gravel rough and warm. He’s slung an arm over the back of the sofa, letting his fingers toy with the back of Jensen’s neck, just a light caress here and there. Never putting any real force or meaning behind anything, just teasing, taking his time.
Jensen does his best to keep his eyes on the television screen, though he can’t even tell if the game is still on, can’t hear if it’s even on at all, anything to keep from looking at Jeff, because he’ll be gone if he does. He knows the moment he meets his eyes, it’s all over.
“Did you miss me Jen?” He doesn’t know if Jeff is looking at him or not, he doesn’t dare look though. Jensen shrugs, give a sort of non-committal hum as his answer.
“Is that right?” Another chuckle, this one darker than the one before, sending shivers up and down Jensen’s spine; he has to lift himself from the sofa for a moment before settling back down again. The urge to reach out for Jeff is getting too hard to ignore.
“Well I missed you.” Jeff is leaning closer now, Jensen can smell him, not just the scent of the cologne he always splashes on after a long plane ride, but that scent of warmth and hunger and desire and it’s all fucking Jeff. Jensen can feel his breath warm against his neck and he has to fist his hands into the fabric of his jeans.
“Missed the way you’re always so hungry for it, the way you practically beg though I’ve hardly touched you, the way you ache for it.” His voice is low now, maple syrup thick with a touch of fire. Jensen is going to burn for him, he always does.
“Look at me, Jen.” It’s not a request, not really. Jensen knows that tone, that one that says don’t fuck with me, boy the one he can’t ignore, and yet he manages to down the rest of his beer eyes still firmly glued to the television.
“Look at me.” Jeff starts again, his fingers carding up into Jensen’s hair, it’s not really long enough for Jeff to really get a grip, but Jensen gets the idea. A flash of tongue, wetting his lip, betraying the want yet again.
Jeff may call Jensen impatient, but Jensen knows Jeff hates to wait, hates the way Jensen is so stubborn, the way Jensen sticks in his heels and waits for Jeff to break first.
It’s always better that way, Jensen thinks. Best when Jeff loses that calm collected look and he’s so desperate for him that he makes him look, presses his lips against Jensen’s harshly not worrying about the bruises he might be leaving behind, what sort of story Jensen will have to come up with to tell the make-up girls the next day.
It’s the game they always play, every time. Sometimes Jeff wins, sometimes it’s Jensen – it but doesn’t matter all that much in the end.
Disclaimer: I don't own any of this
Rating: PG-13 maybe light R
Summary: Every time they get together Jensen and Jeff play the same game
Characters: Jeffrey Dean Morgan/Jensen Ackles
Word Count: 981
A/N: I've been wanting to write Jeff for a while now, but I've been a little daunted at the prospect - because I wasn't sure I would be able to get him right. I'm not sure how well I succeeded but I hope you'll enjoy despite any flaws I might have made. Day 5 of
mini_nanowrimo.A/N 2: I seem to always have trouble with keeping my tenses straight when I'm writing RPS so, please show me where I messed up cause I hate switching around the way I'm prone to do.
“Thought you were never going to get here.” Jensen drawls, it’s late enough that he doesn’t bother trying to cover up the slur of his words, just lets them flow honeyed from his lips as he give Jeff a lopsided grin.
“Can’t do nothing about flight delays.” Jeff says complaining and dropping himself heavily down on the sofa beside Jensen, letting out a satisfied groan as he props up his feet on the low coffee table.
Jensen glares at his feet on his table, but doesn’t say anything about it – he’s not that much of a girl, after all, no matter what anyone says. He hands Jeff a beer, glancing at him side long – half his attention still on the game on the television.
The rest of his attention is completely on Jeff. Like it always is when they’re together. He’s never more aware of himself and what’s around him than when Jeff is beside him – each shift pulling one from him in response – like their tied together, like Jensen has no choice but to follow each one of Jeff’s movements.
He’s still not sure when that started – before or after they started fucking, he can’t recall one way or the other. But he knows it’s there now.
He is wound tight with the feeling of it, waiting for Jeff to make his move. To touch him, to kiss him, to press him into the sofa there, before they’ve really even caught up and just take him – his body hums for it, for all of it and more and more of his attention is turning toward Jeff until the game is nothing more than a distant blur in the background and Jeff is all there is.
All it takes is one touch, Jeff dropping his hand from his lap, thumb rubbing across the back of Jensen’s hand – and he’s wound tight. Waiting for the rest, it’s only a matter of time now and it’s all Jensen can do to keep from falling apart before Jeff’s even really touched him.
He doesn’t know when this started, when he became so wrapped up in Jeff, so hungry for his touch. And he’s not sure he really cares, not so long as Jeff will touch him, so long as Jeff puts those big hands on him, pushes under his shirt and just fucking takes him.
He’s never been like this with anyone before, never so ready to just give himself up – but with Jeff it’s all he can do.
“You’re tight as a bow aren’t you?” Jeff asks, like he’s commenting on the weather, like he doesn’t know Jensen is practically vibrating with need for him, pupils blown wide, fingers tapping against his knee to keep from reaching out and pulling Jeff on top of him.
“Been too long, hasn’t it. I know how you hate to wait. So impatient.” Jeff chuckles, his voice gravel rough and warm. He’s slung an arm over the back of the sofa, letting his fingers toy with the back of Jensen’s neck, just a light caress here and there. Never putting any real force or meaning behind anything, just teasing, taking his time.
Jensen does his best to keep his eyes on the television screen, though he can’t even tell if the game is still on, can’t hear if it’s even on at all, anything to keep from looking at Jeff, because he’ll be gone if he does. He knows the moment he meets his eyes, it’s all over.
“Did you miss me Jen?” He doesn’t know if Jeff is looking at him or not, he doesn’t dare look though. Jensen shrugs, give a sort of non-committal hum as his answer.
“Is that right?” Another chuckle, this one darker than the one before, sending shivers up and down Jensen’s spine; he has to lift himself from the sofa for a moment before settling back down again. The urge to reach out for Jeff is getting too hard to ignore.
“Well I missed you.” Jeff is leaning closer now, Jensen can smell him, not just the scent of the cologne he always splashes on after a long plane ride, but that scent of warmth and hunger and desire and it’s all fucking Jeff. Jensen can feel his breath warm against his neck and he has to fist his hands into the fabric of his jeans.
“Missed the way you’re always so hungry for it, the way you practically beg though I’ve hardly touched you, the way you ache for it.” His voice is low now, maple syrup thick with a touch of fire. Jensen is going to burn for him, he always does.
“Look at me, Jen.” It’s not a request, not really. Jensen knows that tone, that one that says don’t fuck with me, boy the one he can’t ignore, and yet he manages to down the rest of his beer eyes still firmly glued to the television.
“Look at me.” Jeff starts again, his fingers carding up into Jensen’s hair, it’s not really long enough for Jeff to really get a grip, but Jensen gets the idea. A flash of tongue, wetting his lip, betraying the want yet again.
Jeff may call Jensen impatient, but Jensen knows Jeff hates to wait, hates the way Jensen is so stubborn, the way Jensen sticks in his heels and waits for Jeff to break first.
It’s always better that way, Jensen thinks. Best when Jeff loses that calm collected look and he’s so desperate for him that he makes him look, presses his lips against Jensen’s harshly not worrying about the bruises he might be leaving behind, what sort of story Jensen will have to come up with to tell the make-up girls the next day.
It’s the game they always play, every time. Sometimes Jeff wins, sometimes it’s Jensen – it but doesn’t matter all that much in the end.