This story is rated NC-17 (for mature readers). It includes explicit male/male sex. If this is what you came for, scroll down. If it isn't, hit the Back button.
























by Resonant

"The hell was that?"

"I know, right?" Jensen said. "He just went off on me out of nowhere. Ow, ow, easy on my handsome profile, Pooch!" He took the ice pack out of Pooch's hand and settled it more gently over his eyebrow, where it continued to hurt like nostril-fucking hell.

"I don't get it," he said. "Clay says, 'Go charm your way into the computer at a gay bar,' so I was all set to be charming as hell. I used reference and everything. I must have watched 'La Cage Aux Folles' five times."

Pooch exchanged a look with Cougar. Jensen did not like that look. That was the look of people who thought they knew something Jensen didn't know. "What?"

"Let's get you another movie," Pooch said.

"All right," Jensen said as Val Kilmer vaulted over something while wisecracking out of the side of his mouth. "This dude kicks ass, undeniably. But he's just acting like a regular guy." Then he blinked at the screen. "OK, other than kissing Robert Downey. I could totally do that if verisimilitude required it." Pooch elbowed him. "But if all I have to do to fit in is show up and be my own special self, then how am I going to persuade the bartender that I'm hot for his bod so he'll let me into the office?"

Pooch and Cougar exchanged another look.

"He's not ugly or anything," Pooch said, looking Jensen over critically, like he was an air filter. "But I don't think he's so hot he's gonna get what he wants by just showing up and looking pretty."

Cougar gave Jensen a long look that made him squirm, and then looked at Pooch and shrugged.

"You've gone clubbing with the boy. He any good at flirting?"

Cougar shrugged again.

"I am very flirtatious," Jensen said. "You can ask anybody but Cougar, who is a turncoat and a fink."

"This operation," Pooch said, "is doomed. Doomed."

Jensen still maintained that he had seductive powers of which Pooch was ignorant, but it never hurt to get a little practice before an impersonation.

So the next time he caught Pooch's eye across the warehouse they were squatting in, he winked slowly at him in a way that had seemed pretty seductive when he'd watched Cougar do it to that girl with the legs in Omaha.

Unfortunately, Jensen was carrying nine quarts of oil and a filter at the time, and he ran into a wall and dropped them all, mostly on his bare feet.

Pooch laughed so hard he banged his head on the underside of the hood, which served him right, and Cougar said, "Smooth."

There wasn't much to do. Cougar cleaned his guns, Pooch messed around with the van, and Jensen practiced his role. Clay and Aisha were three hundred miles away waiting for Jensen to get hold of the decryption key and the dongle, while probably doing hot and dangerous things on every horizontal surface in suburban Houston, but until Jensen could get into the office of that bar and pocket the stuff, they were at loose ends.

"Dongle," Pooch said, snickering.

"What? It's a security device. To unlock the data, Clay needs a key for the software plus a physical object that fits in a hardware slot."

"Just sounds kind of -- you're going to steal a dongle from a gay bar and stick it in Clay's hardware slot," Pooch said.

"If you make me think gay thoughts about Clay, I'm gonna come wake you up when I have nightmares."

He looked up and saw Cougar watching him out from under the brim of his hat. Jensen held his eyes for a long moment, and then let a smile start to form.

"How was that? Was that better?"

"Kinda looked like you farted," Pooch said.

He wasn't going to set foot in the target bar until he was sure he could get what he wanted, but he went out to other places for research. Then he came back and he practiced everything, even standing still: standing with one foot on a bar rail (or on a box of spark plugs), leaning on a wall with his arms crossed or his thumbs in his belt loops, striking poses that pulled his clothes tight and drew attention to his ass or his chest or his package.

He couldn't tell whether Cougar was looking at him or not, but Pooch hit him on the side of the head with an oily rag. "Quit GQing up the place and come help me pull this power steering rack out."

Cougar came, too, and they each took one end. "I can see advantages to going gay, actually," Jensen said. "I mean, these guys have, like, a whole subculture around the anonymous hookup, and I for one salute them."

"Jay, nobody gonna hook up with you because you got your head up your ass," Pooch said, and tossed a socket wrench at him.

"Aw, Pooch, no. You've taken the whole van apart and put it back together. You've probably shined up all the clamps with silver polish. Enough already."

"Might as well do something useful, stead of wait for your big gay enlightenment." Pooch waved the upholstery shampoo at him again. "What else were you gonna do?"

"Cougar has the right idea. Take it easy, relax a little." Cougar had his chair tipped back against the wall of the warehouse and his brim over his eyes, but he wasn't sleeping. Jensen went and squatted beside him. Then he moved closer, till his shoulder was almost touching Cougar's leg.

"You could blow Cougar. That would be good practice for you," Pooch called.

"You could bite me. Don't listen to him, Cougar. He's jealous of my special skills." Though it was true that they were almost in blowjob position. "See, gay guys have the right idea. Blow job from a guy's bound to be better. One, a guy's mouth is bigger, and, two, a guy knows what feels good to a guy, am I right?"
 Cougar just sort of grunted. He didn't say anything, but Jensen felt rejected.

"Yeah. You tell him, Cougar," Pooch said. "Anything that requires a guy to quit talking, you could do much better than him."

It couldn't be that difficult. Lots of guys did it, and some of them were bound to be dumber than Jensen. Maybe he just needed to want what they wanted.

So he put himself in the mindset.

He tried imagining Pooch first, because he was pretty sure Pooch wouldn't shoot him, but once he went there in his head, he discovered that he was pretty sure Jolene would shoot him. So his imagination was going to have to chance it with Cougar.

And Cougar was pretty cool, anyway. If Jensen was going to give himself gay thoughts, he could do much worse than to have them about Cougar.

He pictured it. Cougar's strength, his taut stillness, his mouth, his eyes, the muscles of his back flexing under his shirt. He remembered the tat he knew was there over his heart. Imagined touching him.

Imagined being touched -- that was harder. Sitting -- lying -- still while that laser-beam gaze focused on him, swept over his body. Letting Cougar watch his face that way he had, like the big predator he was, perfectly still and expressionless and yet passionately interested at the same time, while he put his hands on Jensen's body and found all his places.

Did Cougar have places, too?

Oh, now, that -- that did something to him. The thought of Cougar, not skillfully taking Jensen apart but lying back, hair a mess, not even able to keep his eyes open, breathing hard. Jensen watched in helpless fascination as his mental camera panned down all that bare golden skin to, jesus, that was Cougar's cock right there. Probably not cut like Jensen, but it wouldn't matter that he didn't know what to do, because Cougar would be so hot for it that it wouldn't take much, just a good firm grip on that hot handful and --

Jensen opened his eyes and looked down at his own cock in his hand and the mess it had made of his favorite T-shirt. OK. Fine. Fine. It was the twenty-first century and he wasn't any less of a man if he was a little bit gay.

It should have made his assignment easier. After all, now he wasn't posing as gay; some part of him (he estimated about 28%) actually was gay, and it should have been a simple matter of being himself.

When he tried it next morning, though, Pooch said, "I'm glad you dropped the stalker act. That shit was getting creepy," and when he went out to a club for practice, he stood there for two hours without making eye contact with a single guy, including the bartender.

He was never going to get himself invited behind the bar like that, and it was professionally embarrassing to boot. Jensen prided himself on being able to impersonate whoever the situation called for. He was constantly working on his craft. "This is a dream assignment, and I am not going to fuck it up just because my teammates aren't secure enough in their masculinity," he said to Pooch.

"You ever nibble on my earlobe again, they will find your body in eight places," Pooch said, but Pooch didn't share Jensen's commitment to self-improvement.

Cougar was leaning on the wall, hat tipped back, smirking like Jensen was getting shot down for real. Jensen went over and braced his elbow on the wall beside Cougar's head. "How you doin'?" he said in a low voice.

Cougar shrugged, still smirking. He had a mouth pretty much made for smirking -- Jensen had noticed this before -- but at least he didn't run home to Mommy when you flirted with him the way Pooch did.

Jensen dropped his other hand to Cougar's hip, feeling the layers of long shirt and waistband separating him from skin. "Wanna dance?"

Cougar showed teeth. "I don't dance."

It was true. Cougar should have been a natural, graceful as he was, but he was always way too cool to dance. Still, it irritated Jensen now. It was out of character, because if a guy didn't want to dance, what would he be doing in a dance club, huh?

"Wanna fuck?" Jensen said. That would teach him.

He held eye contact. Cougar's nostrils flared, and his chest rose and fell.

Jensen leaned closer. He had to duck his head to get it under the brim of the hat.

Cougar, ever so slightly, tipped his chin up.

Ha! Victory! "Yes! I've got it! I'm ready -- let me at 'em!"

Pooch stood up, wiping his hands. "You got it?"

"Hell, yeah, I've got it!" He turned to Cougar, ready to include him in the impromptu endzone dance even though he was a bad sport and wouldn't dance, but Cougar tipped his hat down over his eyes and slunk away.

"Hate to see you leave, baby, love to watch you go," Jensen called after him, because he was hot and deserved a salute even when he was being pissy.

"Yeah, all right, I guess you're ready," Pooch said.

"Thank you for that faint praise, my friend," Jensen said, and ran Pooch through about three turns of a waltz before Pooch succeeded in kicking him in the shin.

How could you say Cougar was being too quiet when he'd hardly said a dozen words since Bolivia? Still, ever since Jensen's triumph that morning, it seemed like his silence had an ominous edge to it.

"Like a haunted house, you know?" Jensen told Pooch as they pulled out a brake line even though it looked brand-new. "Not the silence of the swamp as the man in the mask slinks through it, but the silence in the house that fools the girl into thinking it's over, so she strips down to her bra and panties and runs a bubble bath, only little does she know that the attacker is still inside the house just waiting for her to let her guard down. See what I mean?"

"Sure. You're a girl in a bra."

Jensen threw down his wrenches in disgust. "I'm gonna go get some air. Either the fumes or your ignorance is making me dizzy."

He squeezed out the window of the upstairs business office, swung himself over the railing, and climbed the fire stairs onto the roof of the warehouse. It was maybe half an hour after sunset, and he could smell rain. He walked in and out on the roof between squat structures like outhouses that were there for God knew what purpose, thinking of nothing in particular, trying to get in character for tonight.

When his trailing hand touched fabric, he nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Sweet Christ on a unicycle, Cougar you nearly gave me a heart attack." With his black-clad back against the wall and his hat pulled down over his face, the guy had blended right in with the tarpaper. "What the fuck are you doing up here all alone?"

Cougar pointed his chin at the view. "Same as you."

"Yeah." It was kind of nice to stand on the roof and feel the breeze pick up. Tonight he was going to put it all on the line; if it went well, they'd be on their way to Texas with the key and the dongle before the sun came up. He set his back against the warm tarpaper next to Cougar, side by side like always, mellow and happy, while the light faded out of the east.

He rolled his head lazily to the side, knowing he was grinning a big stupid grin but feeling too relaxed to give a shit. "Hey, buddy," he said. "Seems like forever since we got to hang out. Good to see your face."

Cougar somehow went stiff without moving. "Fuck off," he spat, and stalked off to the top of the fire stair and flung himself over.

"OK," Jensen said out loud to no one, "what the hell just happened?"

It went well. It went so well. He just had to wear clothes that had shrunk in the wash, remember that his name was Josh, and plug into that energy he'd felt when he'd pinned Cougar to the wall.

"Hey," he said to the bartender, voice naturally dropping into the low register, "appreciate it. It's not everybody that can master a Sloe Screw," and he held the guy's eyes as he tasted and swallowed and sighed like it was the most satisfying experience of his life and not bottled orange juice and the disgusting cough-syrup aftertaste of sloe gin.

He leaned back on the bar, showing off his pecs (which were awesome pecs, thank you; there was more to Jensen than his amazing skills), and when the bartender said, "Ready for more?" he smiled slowly and said, "Always."

Poor guy was new and didn't have the kind of practice bartenders usually got in deflecting people who were hitting on them. Plus probably nobody had ever hit on him before. Bad posture, bad skin, shifty around the eyes -- Jensen had been worried that maybe he'd have to compete with other guys, but Andrew "Call me Drew; nobody else will" was all his.

By midnight he was behind the bar, drying glasses and making sure to give Andrew a full-body brush-by every now and then. By closing time it was a hand on the poor guy's ass while he wiped down the bar. "Go get the tables, baby. I'm gonna mix you something special," he said, and put grenadine and a maraschino cherry on top of a vial of something illegal that he'd sourced when he first got into town, topping up with vodka -- top-shelf stuff, because it was the least he could do.

By two-thirty he was arranging the poor unconscious fool on the floor, putting the bottle of vodka in his hand, and washing the incriminating glass in with the last batch in the dishwasher. He popped his Livestrong bracelet to reveal the flash drive inside it, set his favorite decryption program working, pulled loose the dongle from its slot, gave poor Andrew a smacking kiss on his greasy forehead, and set the burglar alarm on his way out, singing, "We've got to live by science alone, yeah," while he looked around for the van.

Which wasn't there.

He had about thirty seconds to panic before he heard tires squealing and turned to see Cougar and Pooch in a Mister Freezy Ice Cream Truck.

"Got it?" Pooch said.

"Pooch, the van, man, what the fuck?"

Pooch grimly shoved the truck into gear. All the ice cream treats shifted in their freezers as he floored it out of the parking lot. "Don't even ask."

Two blocks of silence were all he could stand. "How was my night, you ask? My night was good. My night was very good. Fucking Oscar-worthy, if they gave an Oscar for Best Performance In Subterfuge, which I may suggest to the Academy."

"Jesus," Pooch growled, muscling the truck down the narrow downtown streets with a sour expression. "Are you gonna make us listen to the story of your Best Undercover Brokeback all the way there? Give it a rest, man."

"If you'd rather talk about what happened to the van -- yeah, thought so." He turned to Cougar, perched between them. His hat was down over his eyes, but he wasn't asleep. Jensen could always tell. "I wish you could have been there, Cougar. You woulda been proud. I totally had that little Bieber believing I was into him, and I'm not even gay."

Cougar, without raising his head, reached out and pushed a button. The tinny notes of "The Entertainer" came on overhead at deafening volume.

"This kind of professional jealousy," Jensen shouted, feeling around for the button, "undermines team-building, you know what I'm saying?" It was three hours to whatever shithole Clay and Aisha were waiting for them in. Pooch sulked all the way through town, but when he got out on the freeway and opened up the throttle, the ice cream truck responded so sweet that his normal cheerful spirits came right back.

Cougar's smile probably fooled Pooch, but to Jensen's eye it looked brittle and false.

Cougar caught him looking. "What," he said flatly.

Pooch glanced over from behind the wheel. "Aw, Jay's afraid if he eats all this ice cream it'll wreck his girlish figure and the boys won't come flocking around no more."

"Fuck you, I'm lactose-intolerant," Jensen said.

By the time the sun was up good and hot, Jensen had been awake for thirty hours and was not in good control of his brain. Cougar rummaged around in the freezer and came out with something on a stick that was supposed to be Spider-Man, with two big scary gumballs for eyes. Cougar ate like a cat, neat and precise, and even in a hot truck in July he would never let a Spidersicle melt, but Jensen imagined it anyway, Cougar licking melted ice cream off the point of his wrist.

Holy fuck, it wasn't fluke. He wanted Cougar.

When Cougar caught him looking, he gave him the hat brim and wouldn't meet his eyes. Either he was still pissed about whatever he'd been pissed about on the roof, or he could read Jensen's mind and wanted none of it.

Not that Jensen could blame him.

Cougar spotted the first surveillance vehicle about fifteen minutes from the rendezvous point. By the time they hit the city limits, there were copters like pigeons and suspiciously alert bums on every corner. It wasn't a town, just one of those bedroom communities that sprang up like mushrooms in ugly rings outside the city, and Max's people were outnumbering the local population.

Pooch started muttering under his breath.Clay and Aisha were safe holed up in one of these spec houses that no one had ever bought. But Clay and Aisha were expecting the van, and there was no reason for them to pay attention to a Mister Freezy truck. "How the hell are we gonna get the stuff to them?" Pooch said, wiping sweat off his forehead.

"Well, a speeding ice cream truck isn't suspicious at all," Jensen said. Pooch glared at him and slowed way down.

"Here," Cougar said, and turned the music back on again so that poor Scott Joplin vibrated their fillings in their heads.

They were creeping slowly along the winding suburban streets, watching guys in dark suits duck behind three-car garages, getting closer and closer to 12356 Whispering Pines Avenue, when they first heard the voices.

"Mister Freezy! Mister Freezy!" "Get me a Push-Up!" "Hey, wait up, ice cream man!" "Where's your hat?"

"Shit, what do I do, how do I shake this?" Pooch's eyes were wide. He nudged the gas.

Jensen looked in the side mirror. There was a little girl standing by the curb with a dollar bill in her hand. "Pooch, stop the fucking truck."

When they opened the window, she ran, flip-flops slapping the pristine empty sidewalk. Three guys in trenchcoats moved into view from behind a poolhouse. "Quick," Jensen said. "Find her a Push-Up!"

Cougar, with an alarmed expression, pressed a stick into his hand. Jensen smiled big: "There you go, sweetie." The girl took a step back, and Jensen quickly toned it down from child molester to happy small-business owner. "A dollar."

"Jay, we gotta get out of here," Pooch hissed.

"No, wait, I have an idea. Cougar, take this." He handed Cougar the Mister Freezy hat and got down on the floor where the music player interface was. Of course it wasn't an interface, not really, just a thing like a calculator with numbers and a couple of function buttons, but there wasn't anything electronic that wouldn't dance to Jensen's tune eventually.

Vaguely he heard Cougar sell two Drumsticks and a Spidersicle. He went on pushing buttons and changing the music -- "Pop Goes the Weasel" to "Greensleeves" to "Yankee Doodle." "Come on, baby, unlock the custom mode for Uncle Jensen, that's a good kid -- ah!"

"What are you doing, man?" Pooch said, and then, to Cougar, "What, strawberry? I thought you said chocolate."

"Sending up a signal," Jensen said, scrolling and scrolling. Different code for every damned note, taking forever, but twenty-six notes was enough -- "There," he said, hitting the last button, and sighed in relief as "Head, Shoulders, Knees, and Toes" gave way to the opening bars of "Stairway to Heaven."

That was the best he could do to get their attention. Nothing to do now but wait and help Cougar serve. Three ice cream sandwiches to the same boy, who looked like he was going to resell them at a profit. A Dove bar to a mom with shiny hair who made sure to touch Cougar's hand as she took her change. "Thomething chocolate" for a scowling girl in a tutu and a fireman's hat ...

"The eagle has landed," Jensen said as a woman in jeans and a headscarf approached with a bundle in her arms that was probably supposed to look like a baby. "Vanilla," said a familiar voice, and Aisha's eyebrow stud poked out from under the black cloth.

"Yeah, you look just like vanilla." Jensen slipped the dongle and the flash drive into the wrapper of a Dora The Explorer bar and handed it to her with a wink.

Of course there were four little kids still waiting, and one of them wanted something that was, like, under the spare tire in the back, but finally the coast was clear. "Drive two miles under the limit until we are out of this cul-de-sac," Jensen said through his teeth, turning the music off. "Don't make eye contact, don't slow down, and get the fuck out of town."

But they were out on the freeway before he could figure out how to shut the fucking music off.

"Oh, my god." Jensen could feel a giggle starting up before they had even split up with their keys at the cheap motel two suburbs over. "Oh, my god, we did it." He plucked the Mister Freezy hat off Cougar's head and put it on his own.

"Jay, you better get some sleep," Pooch said, backing out the door. "Your room's further from the elevator and everything."

"Yeah, right," Jensen said to his back. Cougar was giving him that wide smirk that was almost a grin, eyes crinkled, and god it was good to see him smile again.

Jensen grabbed him by the arm and squeezed and shook him a little and pulled him a little closer, wheezing with laughter. "Cougar, my man, you kick ass as an ice cream man."

Hand to god Jensen didn't mean anything by it but the thrill of a job well done, except that when he looked up, he was a couple of inches from Cougar's face, and the hair at his temples was curling into ringlets, and Jensen's heart kicked up. All of a sudden Cougar's arm under his hand wasn't just a neutral handhold but warm and muscular flesh, and Jensen kept hold of it when he needed to let go.

Without his volition, he found his neck bending, his forehead coming to rest against Cougar's temple.

His back hit the wall and the ice cream hat went tumbling. Cougar pinned him at arm's length with a hand against his shoulder and gritted, "What are you playing at?"

Jensen gulped. "Not playing." But Cougar wasn't stopping to listen. His fending grip on Jensen's shoulder softened and he stepped in, closer, seriously in Jensen's personal space bubble, until Jensen could swear he could feel the heat of him all up and down his body. He held Jensen's eyes with the intensity of his gaze until he was blurry through the lenses. His voice dropped lower still, into a quiet growl that raised the hair on Jensen's neck: "Am I made of stone?"

Cougar's knee brushed Jensen's, and Jensen abandoned pretense and let his head fall back against the wall and closed his eyes. "Oh, god, Cougar, please."

For a minute he hung there, bracing for a curse, hoping for a kiss.

When neither happened, he opened his eyes.

Cougar was standing very still, just looking at him. There was a wrinkle between his eyebrows. His lips were working in a way that Jensen knew meant he was working out a puzzle, but it was very distracting at such close range. Jensen wanted to lick them.

"This is what you want?"

Jensen swallowed. "Yeah. This. That stuff you guys think I've already done just because I'm not scared to show my face in public in a pink shirt."

The shirt he was wearing now wasn't pink -- it was a perfectly normal white shirt with a perfectly normal picture of a panda cub with an AK. But when Jensen said, 'shirt,' Cougar's eyes dropped to his chest, and his hands quickly followed, running up his sides and testing the span of his pecs and doing this magical thing where he stared at Jensen's nipples, and Jensen looked down at Cougar's hands just inches away from them and not touching them, and they popped up on on their own. Cougar had amazing hands, beautiful hands, like some kind of artist or musician or something, and as if Cougar followed his thought, he plucked them with his thumbs like they were strings, like Jensen could clearly hear the two notes they played (a minor third) in perfect harmony with him saying, "Fuck."

Cougar leaned all the way into Jensen's space, body to body, and when Cougar's cock laid itself out all nice and comfy next to Jensen's through two pairs of jeans, Jensen figured he was probably allowed to take his hands off the wall.

Cougar felt strong and hot in his arms, and when Jensen said, "Aw, fuck, Cougar, yes," Cougar folded gracefully to his knees.

"Oh, jesus," Jensen said intelligently. Cougar grinned up at him, undoing buttons without looking, and about the time Jensen began to get his brain around the level of expertise this implied, Cougar tugged his jeans and shorts halfway down his thighs and went to town.

"Holy fucking octopus balls," Jensen breathed, looking down on the top of Cougar's weirdly bared head.

Cougar sucked cock. Like, OK, Cougar was sucking Jensen's cock right this minute, but holy fuck, this was something Cougar did. Something he'd had a hell of a lot of practice at.

It was so hot, the way he tightened his mouth and then drew back, like he knew Jensen wanted to see his cock moving out of Cougar's mouth and back in again. He caught Jensen's rhythm and went with it for a bit, and then he stopped and waited, holding Jensen's cock in the wet heat of his mouth while the urgency built and built until Jensen had to move, had to, couldn't have kept still at gunpoint, and Cougar pulled back and tightened his mouth and tapped Jensen's hip with one hand while holding the other one with the other -- like telling him he could move, but not very much.

"If you let me do that, I'm gonna come," Jensen said hoarsely, and with Jensen's cock in his mouth Cougar still managed to give him that eyebrow that meant how could a grown man be that much of a moron.

"Cougar," Jensen said, and pistoned his hips within the range of Cougar's restraining hand, and came like crazy.

Right, OK, OK, he was going to open his eyes and see about meeting Cougar's manly needs any second now, really, as soon as he could catch his breath, as soon as he could feel his fingers again.

There they were.

He opened his eyes and almost shut them again, because there was Cougar, resting quietly on his knees with his hands spread out on his thighs and a fucking obvious tent in his jeans and his mouth all red, and jesus.

Jensen put out his hand, which, fuck you, did not shake, and touched his thumb to the hot center of Cougar's lower lip. "So. That's -- that would be one more of the things you do really, really well."

Cougar bowed his head, a mocking salute. He wasn't looking like a guy who was in the middle of sexy fun times with his friend and teammate. More like a guy who was on his knees in front of somebody who might or might not be nice to him. Hurt Jensen's feelings a little.

"Yeah, I'm thinking you like doing that, actually."

Cougar shrugged. Nonchalant, almost expressionless. Fuck, were they back to this?

Jensen pulled his pants up and went down on his knees beside him on the carpet. "You think I'd like it too?"

Cougar turned his head. He had a puzzled look again, which was at least better than that blankness.

"I mean, most things to do with sex I like pretty good, even the messy ones. Especially the messy ones, actually, now that I think about it."

Cougar tipped his head to one side, and then he reached out slowly and pulled Jensen's glasses off his face and laid them somewhere far enough away that they weren't going to get sat on. Then he tipped his head to one side again, looking at Jensen's face, and took him by the back of the head and brushed a kiss onto his mouth.

Well, fuck, he was good at that, too.

It was pretty different from kissing a woman. It was pretty different from kissing anybody other than Cougar, what with the weirdly arousing tickle of his scraggly goatee and that leather-and-cloves Cougar smell that Jensen would know anywhere. Jensen opened his mouth, wrapped his arms around Cougar, and licked out to taste him, and Cougar made this soft gut-punched noise like just that was enough to get him going.

Well, but he was already going, wasn't he?

Jensen pushed, and when that didn't budge him, he pulled instead -- pulled him down onto the carpet, kissing and kissing, and then rolled him onto his back and went for his belt, already getting turned on again himself just from the thrill and terror of what he was getting ready to do. "Help me," he said, licking Cougar's lower lip, sucking it into his mouth before he could make himself let go, "come on, Cougar, teach me how," and Cougar actually took two tries before he could get his belt loose from the buckle.

Between the two of them, they managed to haul his pants and shorts out of the way, and then Jensen was closer to another guy's cock than he'd ever expected to be. Cougar was taking him seriously about the teaching thing, because he got up on one elbow and put his hand on his own cock and thumbed the foreskin back and presented it to Jensen, and Jensen's mouth watered as he curled his tongue around the flushed and shining head.

In porn, the girl always seemed to go tonsil-deep right off, but Cougar's hand was still there, like he was telling Jensen what to concentrate on, so Jensen did. Felt almost fragile, for all Jensen had one of his own and knew exactly how much it could take. It tasted like sweat or tears only more so.

It wasn't like anything else except maybe a little like kissing. Yeah, it was like kissing, and so he explored. Some suction, some soft swirl, some poking his tongue into various places --

Under his left hand, Cougar's belly tightened, bringing him back into the big picture, which was that he was on a motel room floor sucking Cougar's cock, holy fuck, and Cougar's breath was a rough pant with a soft background whine in it. Did that mean Jensen was good at this?

It did, because everything was a little saltier all of a sudden. He was good at it, he was blowing Cougar's mind, he ruled. He twisted his head awkwardly so that he wouldn't lose his hold while he looked up to catch Cougar's eye, grinning as much as he could without losing his hold.

Cougar breathed a soft mouthful of breathtakingly blasphemous Spanish. Fuck, very much of that and Jensen was going to have to have another go before he let him up off the floor. He shut his eyes and gave Cougar some of his best, and Cougar got him by the hair and dragged him off.

"What? Wait, I want -- oh." He bent his head to watch Cougar's hand stripping out the last couple of strokes, Cougar's cockhead all wet with Jensen's spit, Cougar coming all over himself.

"Oh, holy fuck, that's hot. Let me taste it, Cougar, come on," and Cougar hissed and let go of his hair, and Jensen put his tongue out delicately -- about like his own spunk, maybe sweeter -- but he got more than he expected, because apparently Cougar had one more spasm in him.

"Fuck." Jensen wiped his face on his forearm and looked up. He could see Cougar's hand slowly unclenching, but he couldn't see Cougar's face clearly, not without his glasses. Where had his glasses ended up, anyway? Cougar was tugging his jeans back together, tucking all that beautiful skin away out of sight again.

Jensen belly-crawled up beside him. He hadn't thought this part through. What if Cougar had only wanted to do that anonymous hookup thing? That would suck, because Cougar's lips were bitten and red, his hair coming loose and curling in wisps around his face, and Jensen already kind of wanted to do it all again.

"Coug?" He propped himself up on his elbows. Cougar looked at him. He looked kind of alarmed, actually. "I don't want to -- I mean, whatever, yeah, you have your own ideas about how -- but, seriously, that was awesome, you can't tell me it wasn't awesome, and -- shit. I'm doing this all wrong."

He ducked his head and rubbed both hands over his hair, unable to say anything this pathetic and still keep eye contact. If Cougar wanted to say any letting-him-down-easy types of things, he was going to have to say them to the top of his head. "I don't care if it's stupid. I want to keep doing this. If you do. I want to be, like, boyfriends or whatever. OK?"

Cougar's hand came down on the back of his neck. "Smooth," Cougar said, and there was a smile in his voice, and he pulled Jensen's head up and kissed him.

If Jensen wanted to nuzzle him, then Jensen was going to nuzzle him. If he wanted to kiss his cheek and his flexing eyebrow and the tip of his nose, nobody could stop him.

"Yeah," Jensen said happily ten minutes later. "Yeah, I knew you'd say yes."











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May 2, 2012