[untitled]

storm_petrel

Jensen could honestly say that he had never actually seen this coming, but he has to admit he's not really within shouting distance of rational thought right now.

Cougar's mouth is hot as a brand against his collarbone, and this is as many words as he's heard out of him in as two days.

"So gorgeous, ah god, so gorgeous under me. Keep you here, right here, where you belong."

Jensen thinks maybe ordinarily he might have a devastating comeback for this, but it'll have to wait for a night when he's not flat on his back on a sagging mattress in a steaming-hot hotel room in Bugfuck, Bolivia, with his shirt tangled around his arms and his legs hitched up over Cougar's shoulders while he gets his ass professionally pounded.

Jensen half-heartedly tries to flip them, since every twitch is making Cougar's dick light up new sparks along his nerves, but he's got no leverage in this position, and Cougar's eyes flare as he solidifies the pin, slamming down with his arms bracketing Jensen's, still caught in his Captain Octopus t-shirt.

"Stay *down*." Cougar fucking *growls* the words, and oh god, Jensen can really, *really* follow orders sometimes, because with the new angle, Cougar's dick is hitting his prostate on every hard stroke, and Jensen almost howls, bites it back to a moan because Clay's right on the other side of the fucking *wall*, and he's lost his train of thought because this is so good, Cougar's so fucking *hot* against him, and he's so close-

And then Cougar fucking *bites* him on the long tendon of his neck, and Jensen loses it, coming hard and helpless on Cougar's stomach without even a hand on his dick. He can hardly get enough air, just pants and shivers as the aftershocks course through his muscles. It's enough that it sets Cougar off, who thrusts once, twice more before he drops his head forward and comes inside Jensen, a quick hot flood before he slowly pulls out. Jensen drops his thighs off Cougar's shoulders and for a second, he can only shake a little before he gets it under control.

Cougar goes perfectly sniper-still against him, his head still down like he's waiting for something important, but Jensen thinks it's entirely reasonable to spend just a few seconds adjusting his worldview, especially considering he feels like every neuron in his brain's been *fried*, and he's still got Cougar's come leaking down his thighs. Cougar. Jesus *Christ*.

His ass feels raw, and there's the usual lineup of aches where every bite and bruise is suddenly clamouring for attention, but it's not what's important here. So he hooks his arms over Cougar's neck, draws him up and forwards until Jensen can rest his chin on top of Cougar's soft dark hair.

"Goddamn toppy bastard, next time you better remember to get a hand on my dick or I swear to god I'm telling every girl at the factory you don't talk because you lost your tongue in a bizarre sexual accident involving a wheat thresher, got it?"

He can't see it, but he feels Cougar's slow smile against his shoulder.

It's the night after Jensen swiped the drive algorithms and they're holed up in a ratty hotel room a few miles from the docks. Roque's disappeared somewhere, Pooch went to pick up Chinese, and Clay and Aisha-

-well, that doesn't bear thinking about.

Cougar's perched on a chair by the window, cleaning the glass-bedded action on the Parker-Hale C3A1 he picked up for a song on the Vancouver mission two years back. A bit old-school, it just needs a delicate touch-

The bathroom door slams open, and Jensen flies out, a towel wrapped around his waist-Cougar's towel-and he sighs and sets down the rifle as Jensen throws himself down in the second chair and disengages his brain-to-mouth filter.

"Cougar, man, thanks for the save today, that must be-jesus, eight? Eight I owe you now? I totally waved, did you see? Whatever man, thanks. Even though I could have taken 'em."

This last statement is delivered in the same rattling tone, so it takes Cougar a moment to raise an eyebrow. To compensate for his lapse and the angle of his hat, he raises it an extra millimeter.

Jensen, who's always been weirdly perceptive when it came to Cougar's facial expressions, nods vigorously. "Oh, you think I couldn't have? You underestimate my skills, friend, a drastic underestimation, but I forgive you-" here Jensen waves a hand magnanimously, "-because I am a *master* of disguising my true identity."

Since there's only so much entertainment you can get from calibrating the scope of a piece mass-produced for the Canadian military, and Cougar's about hit that point for the evening, he quirks one corner of his mouth upwards, which Jensen interprets as a signal to continue.

"Well, the truth is, I'm actually a government super soldier from 1945, and I was genetically modified to fight Nazis!" Jensen beams, bounds to his feet and spread his arms wide. "Behold a nearly perfect human being!"

The towel, never hanging too well in the first places, drops to the floor.

Jensen just rolls with it, striking a pose that Cougar had once heard him call "Staring. Nobly. For justice." and which Pooch called "White boy. With. Astigmatism."

Cougar can't help it, tips his head back and just laughs. Jensen takes advantage of his moment of distraction to straddle his lap, tips his hat back and kisses him.

Cougar smiles up at him, his own idiotic crazy genius with a hero complex. "Captain America, hmm? Am I supposed to start calling you that when we're in bed?"

"Respect the shield, man," says Jensen, and leans in to kiss him again.