FIC: Best Intent (1/1)
Oct. 26th, 2006 10:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: Best Intent
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This never happened. I'm not claiming otherwise.
Fandom: CW RPS; Jeffrey Dean Morgan / Jensen Ackles.
Summary: Sequel to No Hard Feelings. Jeff wonders when the hell he started taking this seriously.
The store was dimly lit, and the air tasted bitter from all the chemicals. Jeff's head was pounding. He couldn't tell if it was olfactory overload or the freaking Yanni they were playing over the loudspeakers.
This way lead madness. And on his damn day off, too. He could be walking his dog. He could be sleeping. Instead, where the hell was he? Shopping at the mall for candles. On purpose. This might beat singing Judy Garland to his dog for the gayest damn thing Jeff had ever done. If you disregarded the anal sex with guys, anyway.
At least it was dark in here. He'd been made at the mall across town, and getting IDed as the late great Denny Duquette at a girly smell boutique was now officially the lowest circle of hell. He was a patient man, goddamn it, but if he had to keep trying to delicately explain that he was getting candles for a booty call...
The cashier was eyeing him.
Jeff looked at the display and tried to discretely sniff at one of the darker candles. In the bizarre language of psychotic chemists, dark wax seemed to equal masculine. Or, alternately, enough patchouli to make Jeff flash back to his graphic artist days, burning incense to try to cover the aura of pot that clung to his furniture and his clothes. Jeff wanted to know when the hell patchouli became goth chic. Probably about the same time Jeff became the hottest guy who ever wandered in early to find his one-true-maybe in their bed taking it in both ends from the neighbors.
(Not that he was still a little bitter. No, Sarah could go off and be happy. He wished her all the best, the bitch.)
And hey, since he was already wondering about things, when the hell did it start to matter if there were candles in his apartment? Why did he even care if they smelled good, if he could imagine the scent curling around them, the light shining off sweat on the line of Jensen's shoulders as Jen ground back on Jeff's fingers?
He promised Manilow. He promised candles. Seemed like Jensen had already caught the wrong end of too many promises. Jensen was too young to act so damned old, wrecked up inside long before Jeff got there. It wasn’t like Jeff could fix it. Hell, Jeff wasn’t sure he even wanted to try.
The candle was heavy and thick in his hand.
"I must be out of my mind," Jeff muttered. The candles stayed aggravatingly silent on the matter. Jeff picked up a brown one, sniffed it. Sandalwood. Sandalwood was perfectly manly.
Yeah. Jensen was going to mock him over this. Jeff was going to deserve every damn second.
But that'd be all right. This would be worth it, once he had Jensen on his stomach, spine arched, desperate and wrung-out from begging for Jeff's fingers. Jeff would make him work for every one. Jen's plane would be getting in soon, and then-
And then what?
Dinner, maybe. Jeff intended to feed the boy, anyway. He usually went in with the best of intentions. He’d be gentler this time, or maybe crueler. He’d keep the lines clear in his own head, if not Jensen’s. He wouldn’t leave marks this time. He’d go slower. He’d wear Jensen out, until he couldn’t be out of bed and out the door before Jeff caught his breath.
He’d tell Jen to stick with Jared. He’d tell Jen to leave Jared the fuck alone. He’d put Jensen across his lap, wind him up and leave him hungry. He’d give him whatever he wanted, whatever he needed, whatever it would take for Jensen to stop taking life so damn seriously. He’d get Jensen so high he forgot to be a fifty year-old pervert in a twenty-something body, make Jensen laugh and relax, get him flushed and open and lazy so Jeff could slide in and take him slow. So that Jensen would let him stay.
Jeff’s money was on Jensen being gone by the end of the night, leaving a few cigarette butts and a wet-spot to go with the ache in Jeff’s bones.
Jensen didn’t linger. And he didn’t fuck nice guys.
When it came to Jen, Jeff wasn’t a nice guy.
"Excuse me," came the hesitant murmur. The cashier flitted nervously at the edge of Jeff's line of sight. "Um, aren't you...?"
Damn it. Jeff plastered on the charming smile, the Denny smile. If there were too many teeth in it to be strictly friendly, she didn't seem to mind. "Nope. But I hear I look just like him."
Unfortunately, that worked about as well as it usually did.
Elsewhere, Jensen's plane was touching down.
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This never happened. I'm not claiming otherwise.
Fandom: CW RPS; Jeffrey Dean Morgan / Jensen Ackles.
Summary: Sequel to No Hard Feelings. Jeff wonders when the hell he started taking this seriously.
The store was dimly lit, and the air tasted bitter from all the chemicals. Jeff's head was pounding. He couldn't tell if it was olfactory overload or the freaking Yanni they were playing over the loudspeakers.
This way lead madness. And on his damn day off, too. He could be walking his dog. He could be sleeping. Instead, where the hell was he? Shopping at the mall for candles. On purpose. This might beat singing Judy Garland to his dog for the gayest damn thing Jeff had ever done. If you disregarded the anal sex with guys, anyway.
At least it was dark in here. He'd been made at the mall across town, and getting IDed as the late great Denny Duquette at a girly smell boutique was now officially the lowest circle of hell. He was a patient man, goddamn it, but if he had to keep trying to delicately explain that he was getting candles for a booty call...
The cashier was eyeing him.
Jeff looked at the display and tried to discretely sniff at one of the darker candles. In the bizarre language of psychotic chemists, dark wax seemed to equal masculine. Or, alternately, enough patchouli to make Jeff flash back to his graphic artist days, burning incense to try to cover the aura of pot that clung to his furniture and his clothes. Jeff wanted to know when the hell patchouli became goth chic. Probably about the same time Jeff became the hottest guy who ever wandered in early to find his one-true-maybe in their bed taking it in both ends from the neighbors.
(Not that he was still a little bitter. No, Sarah could go off and be happy. He wished her all the best, the bitch.)
And hey, since he was already wondering about things, when the hell did it start to matter if there were candles in his apartment? Why did he even care if they smelled good, if he could imagine the scent curling around them, the light shining off sweat on the line of Jensen's shoulders as Jen ground back on Jeff's fingers?
He promised Manilow. He promised candles. Seemed like Jensen had already caught the wrong end of too many promises. Jensen was too young to act so damned old, wrecked up inside long before Jeff got there. It wasn’t like Jeff could fix it. Hell, Jeff wasn’t sure he even wanted to try.
The candle was heavy and thick in his hand.
"I must be out of my mind," Jeff muttered. The candles stayed aggravatingly silent on the matter. Jeff picked up a brown one, sniffed it. Sandalwood. Sandalwood was perfectly manly.
Yeah. Jensen was going to mock him over this. Jeff was going to deserve every damn second.
But that'd be all right. This would be worth it, once he had Jensen on his stomach, spine arched, desperate and wrung-out from begging for Jeff's fingers. Jeff would make him work for every one. Jen's plane would be getting in soon, and then-
And then what?
Dinner, maybe. Jeff intended to feed the boy, anyway. He usually went in with the best of intentions. He’d be gentler this time, or maybe crueler. He’d keep the lines clear in his own head, if not Jensen’s. He wouldn’t leave marks this time. He’d go slower. He’d wear Jensen out, until he couldn’t be out of bed and out the door before Jeff caught his breath.
He’d tell Jen to stick with Jared. He’d tell Jen to leave Jared the fuck alone. He’d put Jensen across his lap, wind him up and leave him hungry. He’d give him whatever he wanted, whatever he needed, whatever it would take for Jensen to stop taking life so damn seriously. He’d get Jensen so high he forgot to be a fifty year-old pervert in a twenty-something body, make Jensen laugh and relax, get him flushed and open and lazy so Jeff could slide in and take him slow. So that Jensen would let him stay.
Jeff’s money was on Jensen being gone by the end of the night, leaving a few cigarette butts and a wet-spot to go with the ache in Jeff’s bones.
Jensen didn’t linger. And he didn’t fuck nice guys.
When it came to Jen, Jeff wasn’t a nice guy.
"Excuse me," came the hesitant murmur. The cashier flitted nervously at the edge of Jeff's line of sight. "Um, aren't you...?"
Damn it. Jeff plastered on the charming smile, the Denny smile. If there were too many teeth in it to be strictly friendly, she didn't seem to mind. "Nope. But I hear I look just like him."
Unfortunately, that worked about as well as it usually did.
Elsewhere, Jensen's plane was touching down.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-10-26 11:13 pm (UTC)This might beat singing Judy Garland to his dog for the gayest damn thing Jeff had ever done. If you disregarded the anal sex with guys, anyway.
Sorry Jeff, the candles are gayer than the buttsex. ;-)
no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 07:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-26 11:17 pm (UTC)This might beat singing Judy Garland to his dog for the gayest damn thing Jeff had ever done. If you disregarded the anal sex with guys, anyway.
LOL!
no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 07:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-26 11:43 pm (UTC)This is fantastic. Jeff's inner monologue makes me want to hug him. And also to tie Jensen to his bed.
I'm assuming there'll be more. A lot more. Of this in particular:
He’d put Jensen across his lap, wind him up and leave him hungry. He’d give him whatever he wanted, whatever he needed, whatever it would take for Jensen to stop taking life so damn seriously
Please can we see that? Not that I'm begging or anything.
Damn it. Jeff plastered on the charming smile, the Denny smile. If there were too many teeth in it to be strictly friendly, she didn't seem to mind. "Nope. But I hear I look just like him."
I love your Jeff so very much.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 07:14 pm (UTC)Heh. I have to admit, that was kinda a love-on reference to your awesome JA/JP/JDM spanking fics. Which, yeah. Worlds of yay!
Jeff would certainly not object to having a Jensen of his very own, tied to whatever furniture happened to be readily available. ;)
no subject
Date: 2006-10-27 12:09 am (UTC)Your Jeff voice is quite something, I love the hesitation in chosing the RIGHT scent of candle, lol
no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 07:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-27 01:09 am (UTC)*puddle of happy goo*
Perfect, just perfect.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 07:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-27 03:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 07:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-27 04:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 07:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-27 09:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 07:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-28 03:47 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 07:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-28 03:37 pm (UTC)Anyway, that was awesome.
no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 07:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 07:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-10-29 08:16 pm (UTC)You write Jeff in such a wonderful way and I simply adore it.
Hope you don't mind me friending you?
no subject
Date: 2006-10-30 07:19 pm (UTC)