Title: Over and Out
Word Count: 1000
Notes: written for this prompt over at spn_masquerade. It's a silly little thing. Many thanks to the original prompter.
Summary: In which there is a road trip and walkie-talkies and dirty talk.
"Boring. So fucking boring." Jared shifts, tries to work out the kinks in his spine, lets go of the wheel for a long stretch of time and counts the seconds it takes for the SUV to drift close to the center line. "How many corn fields do we actually need?"
"You're supposed to say 'over' when you're done talking, and anyway, this country was built on agriculture." Jensen pipes through the walkie-talkie resting against Jared's thigh, his voice cut across with static. After a beat he says, "Over."
Jared glares at the back end of Jensen's truck, tries to time it according to landmarks and figure out if he's following the five-second, safe distance rule. Screw it. He's never kept a safe distance between the two of them, no real point in starting now.
"I don't think that's entirely true," Jared points out, "and even if it is, I don't think that corn had a lot to do with it."
It had all been Jensen's idea, and therefore also his fault. Knock off the interstate, he'd said. Get a taste of backroads America. A genuine Sam and Dean operation, he'd called it. After ten years playing a Winchester, Jared kinda thought that a foray into method acting was pretty much overkill, but had agreed anyway. When Jensen smiled like that, Jared said yes, every single time.
So here he is, staring down a flat expanse of two-lane blacktop, corn everywhere, punctuated by the occasional distant barn. Big news happens whenever they pass a car going in the opposite direction.
"Hey now," Jensen says, "I think that we drove by some soybean a while back. Over."
"Soybean is still boring."
"Sure beats corn." A rustling sound comes across the radio and Jared tries to figure out what Jensen's doing up there, wishes that he had Jensen sitting shotgun. So he's a little codependent. It's not a crime. "Anyway, we only have another hundred miles of it to deal with today. I'll make it up to you tonight. Over."
Jensen's voice has dropped a register, taken on a gritty quality that has Jared sitting up straighter in his seat.
"How?" Jared asks, and when Jensen pointedly clears his throat, he tags on a quick, "Over, okay? Over."
Jensen's low chuckle skitters up Jared's spine, hits him like a jolt of electricity. "You sucked me off last night. Maybe I'll return the favor tonight."
Jared hums, presses his thighs together. "You forgot to say 'over'," he says, but his heart isn't really in it. He's thinking about the scuzzy carpet in that thirty dollar a night hotel, the one Jensen had insisted on, talking about authenticity or some shit. How he'd sunk to his knees and the way Jensen had cupped the back of his head in his hands, urged him to go deeper.
"So goddamn hot," Jensen's saying. "Love it when you just take it like that, let me fuck your mouth, so deep you can hardly breathe. Pretty lips of yours wrapped so tight around my cock. And the sounds you make."
"It feels so fucking good," Jared says, more like a groan, "your cock down my throat. Want it. Wanna choke on it." He palms his cock, already thickening and damp. Foot on the gas, Jared erases some of the distance between them and now he can see Jensen's silhouette through the back window of his truck, the quick glances he keeps shooting into the rearview.
"Maybe I'll eat you out instead." There's another rustle, then Jensen's voice sounds closer somehow, more intimate. "Let you sit on my face so I can make you all wet and sloppy. Shove my fingers in there, lick inside. Taste you, make you squirm, beg for it."
"Unbutton your pants," Jared tells him, fumbling one-handed with his own belt and shoving inside. He gets his fingers wrapped around his leaking, aching cock.
"Already there, brother," Jensen whispers. He sounds wound up, voice tight.
"As soon as we stop, I'm gonna lay you out, open you up on my cock. Fuck you hard and good, make you take every inch of me." Jared's hand speeds up, really getting into it now, a small twist on the upstroke, that neat little trick that Jensen taught him. "Want you to ride me, bounce that sweet ass of yours up and down. You'll feel it for days. Make you think of me every single time you move."
There's the unmistakable sound of skin on skin over the radio. Jensen's truck had slowed down, but now it abruptly speeds up, as if Jensen only now remembered what he's supposed to be doing.
Jensen moans. "Fuck, Jared. I already think of you every time I move, but yeah. Yeah."
Jared's cock leaps in his hand, a flash of pure adoration cutting through all the heat. He pumps his hips into his hand, swerving erratically, ass coming clear off of the seat as he shoots.
"Did you just come?" Jensen sounds amazed, amusement threaded through all the heat in his voice. After a few moments of silence, he tries again, "Jared? Did you just come?"
"No." Jared swerves again, reaching for the glove compartment. Receipts everywhere, two pairs of sunglasses, and there's never a napkin in a car when you need one.
"Pull over." Jensen steers to the shoulder, so Jared doesn't really have a choice. The second his truck stops, Jensen spills out of it, his walk a little stilted as he rushes toward Jared's car, the bulge at his crotch obvious. He yanks the door open and grins.
Jared's pants are still pushed down past his hips and he's got come drying on his fingers and there's not a tissue or a napkin in the universe as far as he can tell.
"Liar. You totally just came." Jensen pulls Jared out of the driver's seat, shoves him into the back then crawls in after him. "My turn."