Entry tags:

fics, jensen/jeff, rps

Fic: Good Boy (1/1)
Title: Good Boy
Author: salixbabylon
Pairing: Jensen/Jeffrey Dean Morgan
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1976
Disclaimer: No offense meant at all to the real guys. This is just fiction, people.

Summary: Jensen likes being on his knees. And Jeff has a thing about seeing him in a collar. Written in honor of ladykatiewench's birthday.

Notes: Supergratitude goes out to both sarka, for "listening" while I wrote this and to heartofslash for both the super-beta and the confirmation that Yes, this *is* the kinkiest thing I've written in a long long time.

Good Boy

His submission starts off as a game, a suggestion, a raised eyebrow. A challenge. Because Jensen likes being on his knees. And Jeff has a thing about seeing him in a collar. Together - on his knees, wearing a collar – Jensen gets exactly what he needs.

The living room suite at Jeff's hotel is warm but Jensen shivers anyway. Anticipation literally makes his skin crawl; not knowing what's going to happen next makes him uncomfortable. Sometimes Jeff just sits and stares at him until he's about ready to jump up and run away. Sometimes not. It's never happened yet; Jeff's too good for that, knows exactly when Jensen's about to bolt and safeword out, pushes him right to that edge of what he's willing to put up with, to take, and then stops before he actually breaks.

Kneeling, naked save for a thin black collar, wondering what Jeff's going to do to him tonight, has every hair on Jensen's body standing on edge. And his cock, of course.

After an interminable silence, Jeff grins. "Go get it," he says, jerking his chin at a small brown paper bag on the coffee table.

Jeff's brow and mouth are both twisted into a smirk, but it's the affection in his eyes that makes Jensen decide to obey the order after a slight pause. He hesitates, instinctively almost standing, but then makes the conscious decision to crawl over to the table and pick up the paper bag with his mouth.

Like a dog.

The thing about Jeff is that he never assumed Jensen would sub for him or even bottom. He didn't ask exactly, not with words at first, but he did ask, and that makes it so much easier for Jensen to do. Jeff doesn't treat him like "less than" for it. Sure, the insults and dirty words sound fucking perfect in that whiskey-thick voice, but it's pretty goddamned clear that he doesn't think less of Jen once the sun comes up. No matter how many bruises and teeth marks he's left on Jensen's thighs and ass and chest, Jeff still treats him the same.

Somehow any tension that lingers between the two of them translates onscreen to a strained father-son relationship pretty goddamned well. Which seems fucked up beyond words but isn't, once you start thinking about obedience and loyalty and love. It just works.

Jeff takes the bag from Jensen's mouth with one hand and pats him on the head with the other. His fingertips press through short spiky hair, the weight of his hand comfortable on the back of Jensen's neck. Jeff doesn't need words to know when Jen's feeling conflicted about being submissive. He doesn't need them to simultaneously reassure and put Jensen in his place, either.

His hand is withdrawn after a moment, opening the bag, pulling out a nylon dog leash. It's colorful and cute, embroidered with the phrase, "One of Us Comes When Called."

When Jensen sees what the leash says he almost gets pissed off and ends everything. His body tenses, hands and feet shifting to take his weight, to run away, to punch Jeff in the face. He takes a deep breath, deciding whether he wants to get angry or if he wants to go along with it, take this, let Jeff make fun of him. Swallow his pride, the one thing that always gets his hackles up in these kinds of games.

He's not really a good sub. But he'd like to be.

He glances up and sees the edges of Jeff's mouth struggling against a grin, and opens his mouth to object, safeword out. But his eyes flicker up to Jeff's and see the emotions mixed together there - concern, patience, softness - which Jensen didn't expect. A question, and possibly an apology.

All right. He'll do it, for Jeff.

He bows his head, takes another deep breath, and rests his forehead on Jeff's knee.

"Good boy."

He can hear the smile in his lover's voice, and lets himself relax into the hands that stroke his head, shoulders, and back. Petting him. He almost doesn't flinch when his collar is tugged to the side and the leash is clipped on.

He closes his eyes, waiting.

"You gonna be my dog tonight, Jen?"

He's shaking, caught between defiance and the desire to surrender. All it took tonight were seven words and he's angry, sweating, humiliated, and hard as a fucking rock.

Jeff tugs lightly on the leash, impatient.

"Yes, sir," he mumbles.

Crawling around the carpet, "heeling" while Jeff makes unpredictably-paced figure-eights around the furniture, isn't as easy as Jensen thought it would be, and he nearly chokes himself when Jeff comes to a sudden halt, he was concentrating so hard on just keeping up.

He's out of breath and complies easily, without hesitating, when Jeff says "Sit" in a firm voice.

Too easily, a voice whispers in Jensen's head. That inside voice is the one that makes it so fucking hard for him to submit, to be good, to let go and give someone else control for a while. But he needs it, needs this, and Jeff gives it to him with no strings attached. It's hard to remember how they even got here and the feelings he feels for Jeff are confusing, but Jensen knows for sure that he wants to make him proud. Jeff's approval means a lot to him and he'll go further than he ever has for anyone else to get it.

His heels dig into his ass, hands resting on his thighs. Not quite a dog's position, but he isn't sure how much Jeff wants him to act like a real dog, and this is comfortable for him. Mentally, and physically too.

"Good boy," Jeff says, reaching out to trace the curve of his ear in a gesture both pleasant and mocking. "You kept up real good; deserve a treat for that." He smirks, moving the hand holding the leash to the front of his jeans and giving himself a rub.

It's Pavlovian, the way Jensen's mouth waters.

His tongue traces the ridges and contours of Jeff's cock, sloppy and wet and all Jensen wants to do is take it into his mouth and suck. Every time he starts to, opens his mouth wide, Jeff pulls back and stops him.

He gets it, he does; dogs lick, and tonight Jensen is a dog.

He pushes down his frustration, his humiliation, and goes to work, licking with a vengeance. Determined to be good at this, as good as he is at cocksucking. It's sloppy and wet – slobbery, even. He's drooling and Jeff's leaking salty precome and it's smeared all over his face and tongue - and suddenly Jensen's breathless and empty inside and fucking aching to suck that cock inside his mouth. And he whimpers.

Like a fucking puppy.

Jeff's fingers clench on his skull in response, then relax and trail down to his face, pressing into his jaw, opening his mouth. There's no hesitation - he closes his eyes and feels the object of his desire slide past his lips and press against the back of his throat. Bliss.

Fingernails digging into his own knees, Jensen risks taking back enough control to suck, to rub with his tongue and lips, rather than just passively let Jeff fuck his mouth. That seems to be okay, if Jeff's guttural moan is any indication, and he can't stop his own muffled noise in response. He's shaking, so turned on as the voice in his head finally shuts the fuck up, the taste and smell of Jeff filling his senses, his own dick leaking onto his thigh. Suddenly Jeff surges forward, an aborted movement that doesn't quite choke Jensen, and comes hard against the back of his throat.

It makes swallowing easy, and Jen doesn't usually swallow. He doesn't much like the taste of spunk, truth be told. So he can't explain why, then, he pulls back and watches the last of it trickle out of Jeff's cock; he just lunges forward, tongue out, and laps up every bitter drop. He's in a daze, mindless, following some strange impulse, instinct, that he didn't even know he had.

With a pleased noise, Jeff relaxes back against the arm of the sofa he's been leaning on and pets Jensen's head, tracing the contours of his ears. It's a combination of arousing and annoying and degrading. It makes Jensen's dick ache.

"You're sure good at that," Jeff says, a touch of a drawl he borrowed from Texas coloring his voice.

Jensen's so turned on that he goes over easily when Jeff manhandles him down onto the floor, rearranging his limbs until he realizes that he's laying on his back and side. He flinches slightly, starts to move, to sit up, but a warm hand on his stomach holds him down.

"Don't you want a belly rub?" The mischievous look in Jeff's eyes is somehow twisted into something a slightly threatening by the sharp whiteness of his teeth. He looks almost feral.

Whereas Jensen is apparently quite domesticated, because one stroke of Jeff's hands down his torso and he's relaxing and holding himself open, feeling both vulnerable and so goddamned excited.

Jeff takes his time, petting him. He might be trying to soothe Jensen, but it's not fucking working because he's so riled up at this point that he's not going to calm down until after he comes. Fingertips tickle lightly at his nipples, wander the trail of hair down his belly, and skip his erection completely to stroke his tight balls. He's going to go out of his mind if Jeff doesn't hurry up and Jensen has no idea what he's fucking waiting for.

Without really meaning to, he whimpers again. It's an embarrassingly high noise, small and plaintive. Needy.

And it was exactly what Jeff was waiting for, it seems, since a strong hand curls around his dick and jacks him off in slow, firm strokes. "Come, now," Jeff growls and in less than a full second Jensen is groaning his way through an orgasm that feels like it's turning him inside-out. And Jeff keeps stroking him through it until he's made a mess all over himself. It almost hurts from too much sensation by the time Jeff lets go.

Arms and legs sprawl across the carpet, and Jeff just kneels there, watching him, letting him breathe for a moment. A finger idly traces through the cooling fluid on his chest, then nudges at his lips. Jensen doesn't have to open his eyes to know what he wants.

When he's licked his own come off Jeff's fingers, he actually feels a touch of pride when his lover rewards him with a "Good dog" and a pat on the head.

He opens his eyes when hands fumble at his throat, removing the leash. When they go for the collar, though, Jensen stops him.

"No; leave it for a while. Please?" He's not sure what's prompting him to ask and the uncertainty comes through in his voice, but he's too tired to either mask it or try to figure out what's going on inside his head.

Jeff quirks an eyebrow. "Sure." He pause a moment and again his lips twitch with a suppressed smile. "Want a cookie?" he asks in the same tone that makes his dog Bisou dance around like a mad thing.

Jensen laughs, more relaxed than he's felt in days. "Sure. How about after dinner?"

"You want that wet or dry?"

He can't let that go, so Jensen smacks him, and they wrestle, rolling around on the floor for a few minutes, ending with a long kiss. They break apart on a contented sigh and Jensen goes to wash up for dinner.

The collar stays on all night, though, reassuring him that he is a Good Boy.

~end~




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