ht_murray | A Little Drab'll Do Ya...

Mostly I've been editing my bigbang, but I had a few minutes of battery left on my comp when I finished the scene I was working on, so I whipped this up for ya. Just 420 words of Watermelon juice pre-porn. Rated PG-13. No real porn as of yet.

“Jay, I’m not licking my fingers.” Jensen kicks out at Jared’s deck chair, lifting it a couple inches off the patio on one side before it crashes back down again. “Just get off your ass and go get some napkins.” He’s poised to kick the chair again when Jared grabs him by the ankle, pressing hard behind the bones with his thumb. “Ow.”

“We’re out.”

“Of napkins? You’re kidding, right? With the drool patrol on duty, we’ve gotta at least have paper towels.” Jerking his foot free with a sideways, what-the-fuck grimace, he rubs out the soreness, and adds, “You know what. Never mind. I’ll get ‘em myself.”

His arm’s half-extended to the door handle when Jared says, “Don’t touch that. You’ll get fingerprints all over the glass.”

Jensen huffs, shoulders slouching. “Well, I can’t reach it with my toes, and since I can’t unzip my pants like this, my one other opposable limb is out of service. So, here’s a thought, why don’t you open it for me?”

If he could only see himself, chin and nose all sticky and glistening with watermelon juice, looking for all the world like some giant lollipop, Jared knows Jensen would see what’s going on here. But right now, he’s so not getting it. Not at all. That’s all right though. Teasing... foreplay... not much difference in his book.

“You’re not walking through the kitchen like that either.”

“So what’m I supposed to do, then?”

“There’s some towels in the garage, above the washing machine.” Jared’s not actually sure there are any left, but what he has in mind definitely needs to be taken behind closed doors.

“Fine.” Jensen stalks over to gate so he can go through the side door and into the garage.

“Don’t touch the gate, either. You’ll draw ants.” Jensen’s pressing the border between annoyed and downright pissed off, shoulders set and tight as his jaw, when Jared slides up behind him and reaches around, undoing the latch himself. There’s a half-second of frustrated tension as Jensen shrugs him off and ducks a shoulder to the gate, but Jared wraps his arms around tighter, presses up so close behind him that there’s absolutely no mistake about what he has in mind. “You’re really... not getting this... are you?” Each phrase rasps against Jensen’s ear, Jared’s hips rolling for emphasis. He punctuates with a long lick up the side of Jen’s neck, sweet and sticky with a tangy base of sweat. Watermelon never tasted so good.