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stephanometraTitle: Rings of Smoke (Through the Trees)
Pairing: Carlson/Rosenbaum. AGAIN WITH THE NOT JUDGING. Also Jensen/Chris.
Rating: NC17
Summary: In which there are a road trip, a concert, and porn.
Warnings: Pretty tame stuff here, actually
Notes: This is completely![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
unperfectwolf's fault, and I honestly don't know whether to love or hate her. Follows this ficlet, maybe a few weeks later and my brain wants to write those weeks, too. Also in the scheme of cosmic weirdness that is the CWRPS Krew, this counts as twincest. And the title's from Stairway, guys. 1700 words.
***
Jared calls after they're all back in Vancouver, a couple of weeks into Smallville's production season. "Heard from one of our PAs that you've got a noon call tomorrow."
He does, actually; he was looking forward to sleeping in and then being a total dick about it to Tom and Allison. "The incestuousness of the CW's production staff astounds me more each day," he says.
Jared laughs. "Yeah. Anyway, we're driving to Seattle this afternoon. Want to come?"
"Why the hell would I want to drive several hours in the rain to visit a city I don't like?"
"Because Steve's band is playing," Jared replies. The sly smile in his voice comes through loud and clear.
"Oh," Mike says, because he can't think of anything else to say.
"So we'll pick you up in twenty, then." It's not a question, and Jared hangs up before Mike has a chance to respond anyway.
Two hours later, Mike is cranky as hell because he hates long car trips, and really hates taking them with Jared, because the fucker never shuts up, and Jensen is obviously deranged because he's practically encouraging him. Plus the fact that Jared is a giant means that Mike is stuck in the backseat like a six-year-old.
I'd better get a goddamn blowjob out of this, he thinks, and then winces. Shit, even his inner monologue is pissed off.
But really, he's too old for this -- too old to be crammed into the backseat of Jensen's SUV, too old to keep up with Jared's constant chatter about people Mike doesn't know and bands he doesn't care about, and definitely too old to be driving three hours to see a guy he doesn't even know that well for no reason in particular.
He's pretty sure he's too old to fit into the crowd at the club where Steve's band is playing, too, although his age has nothing on his clothes, his shaved head, and the fact that he's drinking Stella instead of Bud Light, Jaeger instead of Cuervo. Jared and Jensen pretty much just melt into the scenery, which isn't something Jared should even be capable of; Mike just pulls up a corner of the bar and stays there, tuning out the opening band and waiting for Steve's set to start.
Someone bumps his shoulder, says, "Hey, man," and he turns to see Christian Kane knocking back a Maker's Mark and water, picking up a Corona to chase.
"Kane," Mike says, tapping his bottle to Chris'. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, you know." Chris half-turns in his seat, looks fondly at Jensen, who's talking to a couple of smiling girls on the other side of the club. "'Bout the same thing you are."
"Oh God, is it really that obvious?" Mike groans, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.
"Yeah, it really is. But it's okay." He takes a long pull on his beer. "Vancouver's a lot closer than LA, right?"
Mike laughs. "Undoubtedly. Thanks for that, it'll help me sleep tonight."
Chris grins. "Don't reckon you'll be getting much sleep, Rosey. Enjoy the show; Steve's about ready to come on."
"Yeah, I will."
***
After the show they all sit around for a few minutes, talking shit with the bartender. Jared's totally gone and talking a mile a minute about nothing in particular, and Jensen and Chris are leaning against the bar and sucking face like teenagers.
Steve offers Mike a cigarette, and then smiles when their fingers touch as Mike takes the pack. "Thanks," he says, lighting up and sucking down the taste of good tobacco. He doesn't think he knows anyone else who actually smokes Dunhills, can't remember the last time he had one.
"Anytime," Steve says, flicking his cigarette. "I'm glad you guys could make it down."
"It's not that far --" Mike starts, but Jared cuts him off.
"Dude, it was, like. Jensen really wanted to come!"
Steve smiles, looking past Mike at the way Jensen and Chris are wrapped up in one another. "Yeah, I bet he did."
Jared nods earnestly. "He totally did. Been talkin' about about it for weeks. Even called Jeff to see if we could stay with him!"
"Oh, is that where you're staying?" Steve isn't talking to Jared at all, which Jared would know if he could see the heat in the look Steve gives Mike.
Mike takes another drag, smiles back, and Jared just keeps running his mouth. "Oh yeah. Jeff's out of town but he's got this, this great place in the U District, and Jensen got the keys and stuff."
"Sounds cozy."
"Yeah, kinda. 'Cept I'm going to be not sleeping on the couch," -- and his voice gets purposefully louder as he addresses Jen and Chris -- "because those assholes are going to be up all night and Jensen is fucking loud, okay."
Jensen mumbles something against Chris' mouth, and Chris flips Jared off without pausing in his efforts to kiss Jensen completely stupid.
Jared totally cracks up at that, slapping the bar, and Steve takes advantage of the break in the chatter to lean closer to Mike, laying a hand on Mike's thigh. "Come back to my hotel with me," he says, his voice low.
Mike brushes his fingers over Steve's, puts out his cigarette. "Thought you'd never ask."
***
"Fuck, this is nuts," Mike says when they finally manage to make it to the bed in Steve's hotel room.
"Don't care," Steve says, grinning, and Mike can't help but kiss him again, licking the taste of laughter and bourbon and smoke from Steve's lips.
They're both wearing way too many clothes, and it takes way too long for them to get out of them because they're so intent on devouring each other. Mike cries out when Steve sucks bruises into his throat, and Steve shudders when Mike traces whorls on Steve's callused fingertips with his tongue.
It's just so fucking good, so easy, and Mike can't get enough.
Steve pulls back a little, panting into Mike's neck. "Want to fuck you, God."
"Yeah, yeah," Mike says, rolling his hips, feeling Steve's dick pressing hot and hard into his hip.
Steve's hand wanders over Mike's belly, stroking the crease between his hip and thigh, pressing behind his balls. "I don't -- fuck, I don't have any lube." He groans in frustration.
Mike laughs, low and breathless. "I do," he says, and rolls out of bed, digs through his hastily-packed overnight bag.
He settles back on the bed, presses the bottle into Steve's hand and spreads his legs, and Steve grins, slowly, sinfully. "Regular fucking Boy Scout, aren't you, Rosenbaum?"
"No," Mike says. He curls a hand around his cock, slicks his thumb through the smear of precome on the head. "Just know you're easy."
They kiss again, messy and wet, as Steve gets him ready, wet fingers circling his hole and pushing in. Steve clips Mike's prostate as he stretches, gentle and steady, and it's good but it's not enough.
"Fuck, come on," Mike moans, thighs twitching, head dropping back on the pillow. His hips shift, restless, fucking back on Steve's hand.
Steve shudders, twists his fingers and pulls them out. "Okay, just." He tears open a condom packet, slicks up. "You want it?" he asks.
"Shit yeah, I want it," Mike says, and then Steve pushes in, a little too fast, a little too much, and it feels fucking awesome.
Steve manhandles him a little, spreads him a little farther, pushes Mike's thigh up towards his chest. Gets Mike exactly where he wants him. Then it's all fast and deep, skin and sweat and Mike feels raw with the pleasure of it.
"Jesus, so tight," Steve says into Mike's mouth. He looks down, watching his cock work in and out of Mike's ass, watches Mike's hand working his own dick. "So hot inside."
Mike arches, makes a breathy, inarticulate sound in response; he's so close.
"Love how you open for me, Rosey, so pretty around my cock. God, had to fuck you tonight." He stops, dips his tongue into Mike's mouth, and then keeps going. "Glad you brought the lube, yeah. Would have had you without it, would have eaten you open until you were begging for it. Maybe made you come first, used that to get inside you --"
"Oh fucking Christ," Mike groans, and he comes all over his chest, his hand. Steve only lasts a few more seconds, mutters a few more little obscenities, before he stills and pulses inside Mike's ass.
They ditch the condom, clean up, and Mike falls asleep with Steve's steel-roughened fingers tracing ditzy patterns on his hip.
***
Mike's phone rings at 7:30. It's Jared telling him to get his ass up, so he doesn't miss his call time.
Steve watches him sleepily as he showers and gets dressed. Lucky bastard. Mike briefly thinks that he should have been a musician instead of an actor.
He puts a knee down on the bed and leans in for a quick kiss on his way out the door. They both taste sleep-sour, and Steve's tongue is lazy and languid against his.
"Call me next time you're going to be in LA, yeah?" Steve asks.
"I can do that," Mike replies. He hesitates, wanting to say something else, but the words aren't there. He grins instead, tells Steve to go back to sleep.
Jared whistles low when Mike meets them at the curb. "Man, makeup's gonna love you today," he says.
Mike gives him a dark look, throwing his bag into the car and clambering into the stupid backseat as Jensen says, "Shut up, Jared," and wordlessly hands back a cup of coffee.
Blessedly, Jared decides to nap almost all the way back to Vancouver.
***
"Somebody got lucky," Allison declares when Mike arrives on set. He's buttoned up to hide most of the bruises Steve left on his neck, but there are a couple that are unrepentantly uncoverable, peeking up over his collar.
"Luck had nothing to do with it, babe," he says, flashing his best cocky grin, but he feels off-balance somehow.
He's been trying all morning to forget the feel of Steve's eyes on him as he moved around the room, the shape of the words he didn't get a chance to say before he left, and he isn't really sure what that means.
***
I AM A DEVIANT WHO REQUIRES VALIDATION IN THE FORM OF COMMENTS FOR MY SOCIALLY UNACCEPTABLE HOBBY.
Pairing: Carlson/Rosenbaum. AGAIN WITH THE NOT JUDGING. Also Jensen/Chris.
Rating: NC17
Summary: In which there are a road trip, a concert, and porn.
Warnings: Pretty tame stuff here, actually
Notes: This is completely
unperfectwolf's fault, and I honestly don't know whether to love or hate her. Follows this ficlet, maybe a few weeks later Jared calls after they're all back in Vancouver, a couple of weeks into Smallville's production season. "Heard from one of our PAs that you've got a noon call tomorrow."
He does, actually; he was looking forward to sleeping in and then being a total dick about it to Tom and Allison. "The incestuousness of the CW's production staff astounds me more each day," he says.
Jared laughs. "Yeah. Anyway, we're driving to Seattle this afternoon. Want to come?"
"Why the hell would I want to drive several hours in the rain to visit a city I don't like?"
"Because Steve's band is playing," Jared replies. The sly smile in his voice comes through loud and clear.
"Oh," Mike says, because he can't think of anything else to say.
"So we'll pick you up in twenty, then." It's not a question, and Jared hangs up before Mike has a chance to respond anyway.
Two hours later, Mike is cranky as hell because he hates long car trips, and really hates taking them with Jared, because the fucker never shuts up, and Jensen is obviously deranged because he's practically encouraging him. Plus the fact that Jared is a giant means that Mike is stuck in the backseat like a six-year-old.
I'd better get a goddamn blowjob out of this, he thinks, and then winces. Shit, even his inner monologue is pissed off.
But really, he's too old for this -- too old to be crammed into the backseat of Jensen's SUV, too old to keep up with Jared's constant chatter about people Mike doesn't know and bands he doesn't care about, and definitely too old to be driving three hours to see a guy he doesn't even know that well for no reason in particular.
He's pretty sure he's too old to fit into the crowd at the club where Steve's band is playing, too, although his age has nothing on his clothes, his shaved head, and the fact that he's drinking Stella instead of Bud Light, Jaeger instead of Cuervo. Jared and Jensen pretty much just melt into the scenery, which isn't something Jared should even be capable of; Mike just pulls up a corner of the bar and stays there, tuning out the opening band and waiting for Steve's set to start.
Someone bumps his shoulder, says, "Hey, man," and he turns to see Christian Kane knocking back a Maker's Mark and water, picking up a Corona to chase.
"Kane," Mike says, tapping his bottle to Chris'. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, you know." Chris half-turns in his seat, looks fondly at Jensen, who's talking to a couple of smiling girls on the other side of the club. "'Bout the same thing you are."
"Oh God, is it really that obvious?" Mike groans, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.
"Yeah, it really is. But it's okay." He takes a long pull on his beer. "Vancouver's a lot closer than LA, right?"
Mike laughs. "Undoubtedly. Thanks for that, it'll help me sleep tonight."
Chris grins. "Don't reckon you'll be getting much sleep, Rosey. Enjoy the show; Steve's about ready to come on."
"Yeah, I will."
After the show they all sit around for a few minutes, talking shit with the bartender. Jared's totally gone and talking a mile a minute about nothing in particular, and Jensen and Chris are leaning against the bar and sucking face like teenagers.
Steve offers Mike a cigarette, and then smiles when their fingers touch as Mike takes the pack. "Thanks," he says, lighting up and sucking down the taste of good tobacco. He doesn't think he knows anyone else who actually smokes Dunhills, can't remember the last time he had one.
"Anytime," Steve says, flicking his cigarette. "I'm glad you guys could make it down."
"It's not that far --" Mike starts, but Jared cuts him off.
"Dude, it was, like. Jensen really wanted to come!"
Steve smiles, looking past Mike at the way Jensen and Chris are wrapped up in one another. "Yeah, I bet he did."
Jared nods earnestly. "He totally did. Been talkin' about about it for weeks. Even called Jeff to see if we could stay with him!"
"Oh, is that where you're staying?" Steve isn't talking to Jared at all, which Jared would know if he could see the heat in the look Steve gives Mike.
Mike takes another drag, smiles back, and Jared just keeps running his mouth. "Oh yeah. Jeff's out of town but he's got this, this great place in the U District, and Jensen got the keys and stuff."
"Sounds cozy."
"Yeah, kinda. 'Cept I'm going to be not sleeping on the couch," -- and his voice gets purposefully louder as he addresses Jen and Chris -- "because those assholes are going to be up all night and Jensen is fucking loud, okay."
Jensen mumbles something against Chris' mouth, and Chris flips Jared off without pausing in his efforts to kiss Jensen completely stupid.
Jared totally cracks up at that, slapping the bar, and Steve takes advantage of the break in the chatter to lean closer to Mike, laying a hand on Mike's thigh. "Come back to my hotel with me," he says, his voice low.
Mike brushes his fingers over Steve's, puts out his cigarette. "Thought you'd never ask."
"Fuck, this is nuts," Mike says when they finally manage to make it to the bed in Steve's hotel room.
"Don't care," Steve says, grinning, and Mike can't help but kiss him again, licking the taste of laughter and bourbon and smoke from Steve's lips.
They're both wearing way too many clothes, and it takes way too long for them to get out of them because they're so intent on devouring each other. Mike cries out when Steve sucks bruises into his throat, and Steve shudders when Mike traces whorls on Steve's callused fingertips with his tongue.
It's just so fucking good, so easy, and Mike can't get enough.
Steve pulls back a little, panting into Mike's neck. "Want to fuck you, God."
"Yeah, yeah," Mike says, rolling his hips, feeling Steve's dick pressing hot and hard into his hip.
Steve's hand wanders over Mike's belly, stroking the crease between his hip and thigh, pressing behind his balls. "I don't -- fuck, I don't have any lube." He groans in frustration.
Mike laughs, low and breathless. "I do," he says, and rolls out of bed, digs through his hastily-packed overnight bag.
He settles back on the bed, presses the bottle into Steve's hand and spreads his legs, and Steve grins, slowly, sinfully. "Regular fucking Boy Scout, aren't you, Rosenbaum?"
"No," Mike says. He curls a hand around his cock, slicks his thumb through the smear of precome on the head. "Just know you're easy."
They kiss again, messy and wet, as Steve gets him ready, wet fingers circling his hole and pushing in. Steve clips Mike's prostate as he stretches, gentle and steady, and it's good but it's not enough.
"Fuck, come on," Mike moans, thighs twitching, head dropping back on the pillow. His hips shift, restless, fucking back on Steve's hand.
Steve shudders, twists his fingers and pulls them out. "Okay, just." He tears open a condom packet, slicks up. "You want it?" he asks.
"Shit yeah, I want it," Mike says, and then Steve pushes in, a little too fast, a little too much, and it feels fucking awesome.
Steve manhandles him a little, spreads him a little farther, pushes Mike's thigh up towards his chest. Gets Mike exactly where he wants him. Then it's all fast and deep, skin and sweat and Mike feels raw with the pleasure of it.
"Jesus, so tight," Steve says into Mike's mouth. He looks down, watching his cock work in and out of Mike's ass, watches Mike's hand working his own dick. "So hot inside."
Mike arches, makes a breathy, inarticulate sound in response; he's so close.
"Love how you open for me, Rosey, so pretty around my cock. God, had to fuck you tonight." He stops, dips his tongue into Mike's mouth, and then keeps going. "Glad you brought the lube, yeah. Would have had you without it, would have eaten you open until you were begging for it. Maybe made you come first, used that to get inside you --"
"Oh fucking Christ," Mike groans, and he comes all over his chest, his hand. Steve only lasts a few more seconds, mutters a few more little obscenities, before he stills and pulses inside Mike's ass.
They ditch the condom, clean up, and Mike falls asleep with Steve's steel-roughened fingers tracing ditzy patterns on his hip.
Mike's phone rings at 7:30. It's Jared telling him to get his ass up, so he doesn't miss his call time.
Steve watches him sleepily as he showers and gets dressed. Lucky bastard. Mike briefly thinks that he should have been a musician instead of an actor.
He puts a knee down on the bed and leans in for a quick kiss on his way out the door. They both taste sleep-sour, and Steve's tongue is lazy and languid against his.
"Call me next time you're going to be in LA, yeah?" Steve asks.
"I can do that," Mike replies. He hesitates, wanting to say something else, but the words aren't there. He grins instead, tells Steve to go back to sleep.
Jared whistles low when Mike meets them at the curb. "Man, makeup's gonna love you today," he says.
Mike gives him a dark look, throwing his bag into the car and clambering into the stupid backseat as Jensen says, "Shut up, Jared," and wordlessly hands back a cup of coffee.
Blessedly, Jared decides to nap almost all the way back to Vancouver.
"Somebody got lucky," Allison declares when Mike arrives on set. He's buttoned up to hide most of the bruises Steve left on his neck, but there are a couple that are unrepentantly uncoverable, peeking up over his collar.
"Luck had nothing to do with it, babe," he says, flashing his best cocky grin, but he feels off-balance somehow.
He's been trying all morning to forget the feel of Steve's eyes on him as he moved around the room, the shape of the words he didn't get a chance to say before he left, and he isn't really sure what that means.
