SPN RPS Fic: Freckled, Jensen/Misha (R)
Feb. 21st, 2011 05:45 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
annundrielFreckled
Jensen/Misha
R
528
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aldehyde, who prompted, "Misha loves that Jensen’s freckles extend to his neck. Jensen loves that his neck is such an erogenous zone."
Thank youcautionzombies for giving it a read. <3
Misha corners Jensen between the couch’s arm and back, slipping between his legs and pressing him into the cushions. His hands are warm through Jensen’s t-shirt, mouth hot on Jensen’s skin. Misha’s like a force of nature; all Jensen can do is go with it, tilt his head back and let Misha take.
Except Misha doesn’t move where Jensen expects him to, doesn’t go where Jensen thinks he will. Where Jensen wants him to. Instead, he mouths at Jensen’s jaw, tongue a teasing flicker against stubble.
Groaning, Jensen clutches at Misha’s hips, hands sliding around to the small of his back, fingers hooking in the belt loops on his jeans. He pulls and tugs, squirms beneath Misha’s body. “Misha,” he growls. “Misha, would you just fucking move on?”
Misha grins against Jensen’s skin; Jensen can feel his teeth. “Patience, Jensen, I’m cataloguing your freckles.”
“What?” Jensen shifts against the cushions and blinks up at the ceiling. At the edge of his vision he can see the dark shock of Misha’s hair. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
“Because they’re there,” Misha says, voice humming across Jensen’s skin. One of Misha’s hands slides against Jensen’s cheek, Misha’s fingers slipping into Jensen’s hair and gently tugging his head until Jensen turns to the side. He nips at Jensen’s earlobe. “And I want to.”
“You’re—” Jensen gasps when Misha’s fingers find a nipple through his shirt. “You’re insane.”
“Be that as it may,” Misha answers, sounding entirely too reasonable, “you have freckles on your neck and I intend to taste every one of them.”
Jensen’s fingers tighten against Misha.
“And then I’m going to strip you naked and taste the rest.”
Misha’s eyelashes brush Jensen’s skin, a whisper of contact as Misha presses against him, butterfly wings that cause hurricanes in Jensen’s belly. Unhooking his fingers from the waistband of Misha’s jeans, Jensen slips them under his shirt, wants to feel the glide of muscle beneath skin as Misha finally, finally moves downward, mouth slick and hot on Jensen’s throat.
Teeth grazing Jensen’s skin, Misha licks and sucks, nips at the curve of Jensen’s Adam’s apple. Pulls back to watch the mark Jensen knows he left bloom there. Jensen turns to watch him, finds Misha’s eyes dark and intent. Misha shifts, bringing a hand up, his thumb rasping against Jensen’s stubble as his fingers brush Jensen’s cheek.
Jensen shivers, and swallows, and feels like he’s shaking apart.
“What’re you looking at?” he asks, voice rough, heart pounding.
Misha stares a moment longer. “You,” he says finally, and then he’s leaning back in, tongue tracing patterns that Jensen can’t follow. It dances across Jensen’s skin, and Jensen hooks a leg around Misha’s calf, slides his arms tighter, pulls Misha closer.
They fit together easily, perfectly, Misha tucked between Jensen’s thighs, Jensen tucked in the corner of the couch. There’s no place Jensen would rather be than here with Misha’s hands roaming his sides, Misha’s mouth traveling the length of his neck. The tip of Misha’s tongue skips over Jensen’s pulse, connecting the freckles on his skin, and Jensen sighs, throat bared, waiting for Misha to map him inch by inch.
Jensen/Misha
R
528
For
aldehyde, who prompted, "Misha loves that Jensen’s freckles extend to his neck. Jensen loves that his neck is such an erogenous zone."Thank you
cautionzombies for giving it a read. <3Misha corners Jensen between the couch’s arm and back, slipping between his legs and pressing him into the cushions. His hands are warm through Jensen’s t-shirt, mouth hot on Jensen’s skin. Misha’s like a force of nature; all Jensen can do is go with it, tilt his head back and let Misha take.
Except Misha doesn’t move where Jensen expects him to, doesn’t go where Jensen thinks he will. Where Jensen wants him to. Instead, he mouths at Jensen’s jaw, tongue a teasing flicker against stubble.
Groaning, Jensen clutches at Misha’s hips, hands sliding around to the small of his back, fingers hooking in the belt loops on his jeans. He pulls and tugs, squirms beneath Misha’s body. “Misha,” he growls. “Misha, would you just fucking move on?”
Misha grins against Jensen’s skin; Jensen can feel his teeth. “Patience, Jensen, I’m cataloguing your freckles.”
“What?” Jensen shifts against the cushions and blinks up at the ceiling. At the edge of his vision he can see the dark shock of Misha’s hair. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
“Because they’re there,” Misha says, voice humming across Jensen’s skin. One of Misha’s hands slides against Jensen’s cheek, Misha’s fingers slipping into Jensen’s hair and gently tugging his head until Jensen turns to the side. He nips at Jensen’s earlobe. “And I want to.”
“You’re—” Jensen gasps when Misha’s fingers find a nipple through his shirt. “You’re insane.”
“Be that as it may,” Misha answers, sounding entirely too reasonable, “you have freckles on your neck and I intend to taste every one of them.”
Jensen’s fingers tighten against Misha.
“And then I’m going to strip you naked and taste the rest.”
Misha’s eyelashes brush Jensen’s skin, a whisper of contact as Misha presses against him, butterfly wings that cause hurricanes in Jensen’s belly. Unhooking his fingers from the waistband of Misha’s jeans, Jensen slips them under his shirt, wants to feel the glide of muscle beneath skin as Misha finally, finally moves downward, mouth slick and hot on Jensen’s throat.
Teeth grazing Jensen’s skin, Misha licks and sucks, nips at the curve of Jensen’s Adam’s apple. Pulls back to watch the mark Jensen knows he left bloom there. Jensen turns to watch him, finds Misha’s eyes dark and intent. Misha shifts, bringing a hand up, his thumb rasping against Jensen’s stubble as his fingers brush Jensen’s cheek.
Jensen shivers, and swallows, and feels like he’s shaking apart.
“What’re you looking at?” he asks, voice rough, heart pounding.
Misha stares a moment longer. “You,” he says finally, and then he’s leaning back in, tongue tracing patterns that Jensen can’t follow. It dances across Jensen’s skin, and Jensen hooks a leg around Misha’s calf, slides his arms tighter, pulls Misha closer.
They fit together easily, perfectly, Misha tucked between Jensen’s thighs, Jensen tucked in the corner of the couch. There’s no place Jensen would rather be than here with Misha’s hands roaming his sides, Misha’s mouth traveling the length of his neck. The tip of Misha’s tongue skips over Jensen’s pulse, connecting the freckles on his skin, and Jensen sighs, throat bared, waiting for Misha to map him inch by inch.
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(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-22 10:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-02-26 02:31 am (UTC)<3