[untitled]

storm_petrel

Jensen's vacillating between terror and brain-obliterating lust, and he's not sure whether he wants to find whoever threw that weird-ass gas grenade and fucking shoot him, or maybe just drag him into the tangle of limbs on the motel bed. Thank god for Pooch and his inhumane self-control, not to mention his ability to drive while blitzed out of his brain on—

“Fuck—“ Jensen yelps, abruptly yanked out of his head when Cougar bites his neck hard and thrusts in even harder. They’ve been at it for what seems like hours, and Jensen’s starting to shake, every muscle in his body humming taut like a live wire. Cougar hauls him back against his chest, their skin slick together, his dark hair loose with a few strands clinging damply to Jensen’s cheekbone. Jensen moans, and he sounds like bad porn, and he’d be dying of embarrassment if he wasn’t so hot right now, so painfully turned on. He turns his head, mouths at Cougar’s jaw, twines one arm back so he can drag his fingers through Cougar’s hair.

Cougar growls, an honest-to-god feral sound, and kisses him, hot and wet. Jensen just groans into Cougar’s mouth and goes to reach for his dick, which is bobbing hard and angry-red, begging for a stroke—

--and gets his hand knocked away by Pooch, whose refractory time should definitely not be that fast, especially when Jensen can still practically feel Pooch’s dick, hard and hot against the back of his throat. “Jesus Christ, Jensen,” says Pooch, his eyes wide and hot, and he starts working his fist mercilessly over Jensen’s dick, running his thumb over the slick head and Jensen’s just gone, comes hard all over Pooch’s hand, tipping his head back over Cougar’s shoulder as he pants his way through it. It’s fantastic, and intense and oh-fucking-Christ he’s still hard.

Cougar leans forward over Jensen’s shoulder and kisses Pooch, their mouths working slick and wet together. On the floor, somewhere outside Jensen’s sightline, Aisha is making beautiful, dirty noises, and Jensen really, really wants to see what Clay’s doing to her, but Cougar digs his fingers into his hips and starts a new, brutally fast rhythm that’s hitting his sweet spot with every stroke, and Jensen has to focus on clenching down and trying to breathe. “Cougar, Cougar, holy fuck—“

Cougar bites him on the tight cord of his shoulder when he comes, and Jensen’s got hot bruises blooming all over his neck, his shoulders and his hips, doesn’t care because the deep, throbbing need is still crawling under his skin. Part of it’s the drug, but it feels like some crazy positive feedback loop, like every touch keeps driving him higher and higher. So the second he’s got a modicum of fine motor control back, he rolls off the bed and drops onto the floor next to Aisha, who, for once, looks pretty happy to see him. Her pupils are blown wide and her hair’s a mess, her mouth looking hot and swollen. “Hi,” says Jensen, rubbing his face over her bare skin, down between her beautiful, fantastic breasts, and the rational fraction of his brain is screaming danger close! danger close! while the rest is too absorbed in how good she smells. "Come here often?"

She grabs his head, running her fingers over his hair because it’s too short to pull, and starts steadily pushing him downwards. “You want to put that mouth to better use for once, huh?”

She’s hot and wet and he tongues her clit, eats her out while she moans and digs her heels into the cheap motel carpet. She tastes like Clay, and god, that just makes it hotter—

And then someone fits his fingers into the ten perfect bruises Cougar left on his hips, and Clay rumbles, “Don’t let me distract you,” and slides home in one long stroke. Jensen’s still loose from Cougar, still has Cougar’s come dripping down his thighs in wet streaks, and fuck it feels good. “Still fucking slick,” Clay says, rolling Jensen’s balls in one hand while Jensen latches onto Aisha’s perfect thighs, buries his face against her and moans.

Pooch is draped over the edge of the bed, looking fucked-out, for the moment, and Cougar drops to the floor next to Jensen. He frames Jensen’s jaw with his big hands, lifting his face to kiss him hard and lick at Jensen’s slick mouth. Aisha makes an incoherent sound, then grabs the back of Cougar’s neck, pulling him down to kiss her.

Clay grabs his hips, pulls him suddenly up onto his hands and knees and slides back in while Jensen tries to get enough air to shout, and ends up just hanging his head between his braced arms and taking it, panting. He gets his head up, sees Pooch plant one hand on the floor and lean over the edge of the bed, mouthing along the line of Cougar’s neck while Aisha licks at the head of his dick, and that’s so hot he has to keep his eyes up, watch Cougar throw his head back and shout in Spanish until Pooch kisses him quiet, one hand palming his jaw.

It’s ridiculously hot, and then Clay shifts his angle, and Jensen has to close his eyes again and just yell for a bit. “Ah god, Clay, right there, like that, like, oh fuck—” as Clay’s big hand starts working Jensen’s dick, and when Jensen comes, shooting hard all over Clay’s fingers and the carpet, his arms buckle and he thinks he maybe sees God. Then he passes out for a bit.

It’s later, and the sun’s slanting through the closed blinds at a late-afternoon angle. Jensen’s on the floor, his head pillowed on Clay’s stomach, Cougar lying between his legs, and Pooch curled under his left arm. Aisha’s somehow made it to the bed, and is watching them all from over the edge, her chin propped on her fist.

Jensen’s sweaty, sticky and he’s got carpet burn, stubble burn and bruises which are all suddenly clamouring for his attention, especially because Clay’s still a little residually handsy, and is stroking his fingers along the bite marks on Jensen’s shoulders. Jensen winces.

“My wife,” says Pooch, staring at the ceiling with the practiced calm of a man who’s faced death before, “My wife is going to kill me.”

***

Jolene doesn’t kill Pooch, but it looks like she might be thinking about it for a second or two. “Sex grenades?” she asks, one eyebrow arched, and okay, it does sound pretty fucking ridiculous two weeks later and three states away. “I think your bad guys are just fucking kinky bastards.” Pooch just clutches his kid a little tighter and looks really relieved to be alive.

Jensen’s been trying to avoid her, the way any not-crazy guy would avoid the woman whose husband’s dick he’s been recently and intimately acquainted with. But she corners him in the kitchen while the others are in the backyard with the barbecue, a dangerous look in her eye. Jensen backs into the refrigerator door and prays for death.

Jolene plants one forearm next to his head. “My husband ever gets hit with one of those things again, baby, you make sure you get a camera running first.” Then she gooses him, and Jensen jumps, and a quarter-million dollars of military training isn’t enough to keep him from landing ass-first on the floor.

He stares up at her, speechless for the first time that he can remember, and Jolene just laughs and laughs.