![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kathierif_ficTitle: Love, Never To Be Spoken Of
Author: Kathie/![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kathierif_fic
Fandom: The Losers (movieverse)
Pairing/character: Jensen/Roque
Rating: FRM
Prompt & Prompter: Well this is awkward. (bysilentflux over at ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
rounds_of_kink)
Kink: Pretending to be gay, accidental stimulation
Disclaimer: not mine.
Notes/Warnings: Figures that this didn't turn out the way I wanted it to, hope it's okay nonetheless! Takes place pre-movie. 2337 words. Also, new fandom, hey! :)
Summary: For once, it wasn't his big mouth that had gotten him into hot water – but Jensen figures that this time, it can get him out of it.
It's not Jensen's fault they couldn't make it out of the maze-like complex on time, before their window of opportunity closed and the next security sweep takes place.
And okay, there is a reason why they can joke around about fifty dudes with AKs, because they are The Losers and fifty guys don't really faze them anymore, not after all the things they have seen and done in the line of work, in the line of duty, but stealth is paramount and of utmost importance in this mission. The bad guys aren't supposed to know that they are here and they aren't supposed to find out until days later, when the damage is done and the Losers are out of the country.
So, while Clay has the merchandise and hopefully is out of the building and on his way to wait in the van with Pooch, and while Cougar is holed up in a high place on the other side of the complex to cover their exit, an exit that isn't worth shit right now, Jensen finds himself in an enclosed space with Roque.
They are locked into a tiny closet filled with cleaning supplies together, waiting for their next window of opportunity. It sounds more exciting and like a cool, slick action-flick in his head than it really is, Jensen thinks. It's hot, dusty, the smell of chemicals is biting his eyes, and he is nervous, his ears straining to hear the alarm that tells him they are made, that Clay has been caught, that something, anything went wrong and to hell in a cute little hand basket.
Probably with a nice little ribbon tied to it, as well.
Also, every shift of his weight from one foot to the other makes him brush against Roque. The rasp of fabric between them is unnaturally loud, and Roque's growl is dangerously close to Jensen's ear. From up so close, it it sounds even more menacing. Jensen freezes and tells himself not to do it again, but it is hot, the air hums around them, and Jensen starts fidgeting again. He's a trained soldier, he knows how to keep still and silent, at least to an extent but this, this right here, this is torture in a tin can, and he shifts and brushes against Roque again.
Sometimes, he really wishes he had Cougar's gift for keeping still.
He shifts again, slowly from one foot to the other. His movement is accompanied by the drawn-out rasp of clothes, and almost hidden by that, the soft sound of Roque's breathing shifts, almost unnoticeable. The only reason why Jensen picks up on it is because of the way they are pressed up against each other.
Instinctively, he starts to turn around, to look at Roque's face and to gauge how pissed the other man really is, but he miscalculates by just a fraction of an inch, and this time, it's not his hip or his ass brushing against Roque, but the back of Jensen's hand.
And what he brushes against is unmistakeably hard and hot through the thick cloth of Roque's pants. For a split second, Jensen tries to tell himself that it's just one of Roque's many knives, the metal blade warmed by Roque's body heat, but he is too smart to lie to himself like that. A knife would feel different, the edges sharper, the blade itself more unforgiving, more unyielding.
He's not stupid. He knows exactly what he just brushed against.
“Well.” His hand flies up, to push his glasses back up his nose. “This is awkward.”
He doesn't realize he's spoken out loud – well, in a whisper, but still – until he twists his head around to look at Roque's face, too busy trying to figure out what he's supposed to do now, how to prevent ending up with one of Roque's psychopathic knives stuck between his ribs. He's not sure he can explain that it was an accident, him brushing against Roque like that, him reaching back, without sounding like he's mocking Roque. And then, there's the simple fact that Roque is hard and Jensen doesn't know if it's the situation they're in, if the danger they are in and that makes him sweat and fidget has its own effects on Roque, or if it's something else, if it's him.
There is only a thin stripe of light falling into the closet and when Jensen moves, it falls on Roque, crossing his dark face like a second, pale scar. Roque is glaring at him, but Jensen thinks there is more in his expression than just that.
The thing is, Jensen loves his team. He loves every fucking member of his team, in a deeply platonic, heterosexual, maybe even bromantic way, and he loves them more than it's possibly healthy. There are only two people he loves more than his team, or maybe he just loves them as much as his team, and that's his sister and his niece. He's smart enough to realize how fucked up that is, but he is not smart enough to have prevented or to stop it.
But, he thinks, there lies the problem. Heterosexual. He's straight, and Roque reacted to him. And that, in turn, means if Jensen mentions that he is straight now and Roque isn't, if Roque is really attracted to him and not the danger, he might feel even more mocked and Jensen ends up with that knife in his lungs.
Or his throat.
Or somewhere where it really hurts.
Cold sweat breaks out all over his body, especially with the echo of his carelessly spoken words still hanging in the small space between them. He half expects Roque to growl “Shut up, Jensen” any time now, at least as much as he expects cold steel against his skin.
Think, he orders himself. He's a soldier, he's trained to think on his feet, in the field. There is not chance that he will get saved by the bell – there is still a lot of time until the regularly scheduled security sweep is done – or by the cavalry – Clay ordered them to stay put before the radio silence, unless something goes really wrong, and Jensen doubts that this here counts as something going really wrong – so he's on his own.
And then, an idea hits him.
It's as crazy as Roque sometimes claims him to be, but once it's there, it's not going away again, and Jensen quickly gives in to what his brain tries to tell him is an awesome idea.
For once, it wasn't his big mouth that had gotten him into hot water – but hey, he figures it can get him out of it.
For once.
He doesn't know how he manages to turn around and where he finds the space to fold his body down, to his knees. Somewhere to his left, a shelf rattles when it gets kicked by his boot, but Jensen doesn't pay too much attention to it beyond making sure that he doesn't get showered by cleaning fluids – or at least, he tries not to.
“Keep an eye out,” he tells Roque and then, he reaches out and pulls Roque's pants open.
It's dark and he doesn't see what's in front of him, and maybe, he figures, that's a good thing. If he can't see Roque's dick, he can't get intimidated by it.
His brain attempts to prove the opposite, and before it wins against his resolution to go through with this, and before Roque can come to his senses and do something stupid, like stab Jensen for attempting this, he closes a dry hand around Roque's erection and blindly feels for it with his mouth.
Roque hisses. “Jensen, what are you...”
His words trail off when Jensen's mouth actually closes around him. Instead, he hisses again.
Jensen has never sucked dick in his life. He never thought that there would be the day when he does, but here is is, on his knees, voluntarily. The dick in his mouth feels big. It tastes like soap and like something else, salty and alien.
He knows what he likes in a blow job. He also knows what Cougar likes, due to stumbling in on him in an alley behind a bar once or twice. He thinks he can figure out what Roque likes.
He wraps his lips over his teeth and experimentally bobs his head. The heavy weight of Roque's dick slides over his tongue, and Jensen moves it against Roque's flesh, slowly and carefully exploring ridges of skin and flesh.
Roque groans quietly. “Should've known you're a tease,” he murmurs roughly and reaches down, to tangle dark strong fingers in Jensen's spiky hair.
Jensen expects him to grip him tight and set a rhythm, probably something hard and punishing that will make him gag, but Roque defies all expectations by just petting Jensen.
It's weird and unexpected. Jensen has never before thought that Roque was even capable of so much gentleness, especially toward him, and it throws him a little, but then he catches himself and he starts moving with intent.
After a while, he realizes that he should have taken off his glasses, but he doesn't stop now. He manages to keep a rhythm, his hand moving over Roque's flesh where his lips can't reach, and soon, saliva and something else eases his slip and slide.
This isn't so bad, he thinks while pulling back, to tease the slit at the tip with his tongue and move his hand over the rest of Roque's flesh. He just needs to pretend it's some kind of gigantic lollipop, or, even better, that he finally succeeded in sucking his own cock.
A salty wave of taste coats his tongue and he slurps Roque's dick back into his mouth, a little faster and a lot messier than before.
Roque's breathing hitches and Jensen's shoulders tense slightly, expecting him to finish, but nothing happens. Roque continues petting him gently.
Jensen shrugs mentally and continues.
After a while, his knees start getting numb and his jaw aches. He attempts to get into a different position, but he only succeeds in kicking a broom over and almost hitting himself in the head with it if not for Roque's hands. The petting stops for a moment, just long enough for Roque to deal with the broom, and then he continues.
Jensen closes his eyes and moans softly around his mouthful. He doesn't pay attention for a split second, and his teeth scrape slightly against Roque's dick.
Roque's hip stutter slightly, and Jensen gets it – Roque likes it. So he does it again.
And again, until Roque growls deep in his chest, tightens his fingers around Jensen's skull and bucks his hips slightly.
Jensen gets the hint.
He realizes that it's his weird, sick love for his team, forged by all the things they have gone through together in all these years that made him go down on his knees the first time, that makes him pick up the pace now, that makes him pretend he likes dick.
Roque freezes, yanking Jensen's hair. The pinpricks of pain bring tears to his eyes, but he manages to blink them away, and then, the dick in his hand twitches slightly and Roque floods his mouth, hot and salty and weird and Jensen has to struggle not to gag, not to let the mess run out of his mouth and onto their clothes.
He sees no other option but to swallow. If he spits and someone finds out, they could be in big trouble. After all, they aren't supposed to be there, not now and not ever.
The taste is icky, the consistency slimy, and he doesn't understand how anyone can really like it. If he's completely honest, he very much prefers to be on the other end of a blow job.
They remain frozen in their spots for a long moment, then Jensen shifts away and lets go of Roque's dick, now softening again. Roque's fingers slide out of his hair.
Roque doesn't say a single word as he fixes his clothes, pulls up the pants and underwear tangled around his thighs. Jensen focuses on his watch, his equipment, everything but Roque. It's almost time to leave.
Almost time to leave all of this behind.
“Let's go,” Roque finally growls. He yanks Jensen to his feet and pushes him out of the closet, into bright light. The irony of this isn't lost on Jensen, but he clamps his teeth together and doesn't say what's on the tip of his tongue. He stumbles a little at first, but there is no time, their window of opportunity to get out isn't getting any bigger, and now isn't the time.
He follows Roque's broad back to their exit. He still has that weird taste in his mouth, his lips feel swollen and puffy, and he desperately wishes for his toothbrush or gum or something, but all together, he considers himself lucky and congratulates himself for his creative thinking.
They are military. Roque won't ask him anything about what just happened, and there is nothing to tell. Jensen loves his team, in a crazy, platonic, heterosexual way.
They slip out of the complex and into the van. Pooch gives him a worried look but starts the engine. Five minutes later, Cougar climbs in and takes his usual spot between Jensen and Roque.
Jensen barely looks up from his laptop. He's already busy trying to hack into the portable hard drive they stole.
He loves his team. He would maybe consider doing this, pretending to be gay, for any of them, if really necessary, even for Clay.
Because he loves these crazy fuckers.
He really does.
He doesn't notice the thoughtful look Roque has on his face as he watches Jensen.
Years later, Jensen will wonder, about causes and effects, about Roque being a little more tolerating toward him, and how much his little act had to do with the decisions Roque made.
He will never get a satisfying answer.
Author: Kathie/
kathierif_ficFandom: The Losers (movieverse)
Pairing/character: Jensen/Roque
Rating: FRM
Prompt & Prompter: Well this is awkward. (by
silentflux over at rounds_of_kink)Kink: Pretending to be gay, accidental stimulation
Disclaimer: not mine.
Notes/Warnings: Figures that this didn't turn out the way I wanted it to, hope it's okay nonetheless! Takes place pre-movie. 2337 words. Also, new fandom, hey! :)
Summary: For once, it wasn't his big mouth that had gotten him into hot water – but Jensen figures that this time, it can get him out of it.
It's not Jensen's fault they couldn't make it out of the maze-like complex on time, before their window of opportunity closed and the next security sweep takes place.
And okay, there is a reason why they can joke around about fifty dudes with AKs, because they are The Losers and fifty guys don't really faze them anymore, not after all the things they have seen and done in the line of work, in the line of duty, but stealth is paramount and of utmost importance in this mission. The bad guys aren't supposed to know that they are here and they aren't supposed to find out until days later, when the damage is done and the Losers are out of the country.
So, while Clay has the merchandise and hopefully is out of the building and on his way to wait in the van with Pooch, and while Cougar is holed up in a high place on the other side of the complex to cover their exit, an exit that isn't worth shit right now, Jensen finds himself in an enclosed space with Roque.
They are locked into a tiny closet filled with cleaning supplies together, waiting for their next window of opportunity. It sounds more exciting and like a cool, slick action-flick in his head than it really is, Jensen thinks. It's hot, dusty, the smell of chemicals is biting his eyes, and he is nervous, his ears straining to hear the alarm that tells him they are made, that Clay has been caught, that something, anything went wrong and to hell in a cute little hand basket.
Probably with a nice little ribbon tied to it, as well.
Also, every shift of his weight from one foot to the other makes him brush against Roque. The rasp of fabric between them is unnaturally loud, and Roque's growl is dangerously close to Jensen's ear. From up so close, it it sounds even more menacing. Jensen freezes and tells himself not to do it again, but it is hot, the air hums around them, and Jensen starts fidgeting again. He's a trained soldier, he knows how to keep still and silent, at least to an extent but this, this right here, this is torture in a tin can, and he shifts and brushes against Roque again.
Sometimes, he really wishes he had Cougar's gift for keeping still.
He shifts again, slowly from one foot to the other. His movement is accompanied by the drawn-out rasp of clothes, and almost hidden by that, the soft sound of Roque's breathing shifts, almost unnoticeable. The only reason why Jensen picks up on it is because of the way they are pressed up against each other.
Instinctively, he starts to turn around, to look at Roque's face and to gauge how pissed the other man really is, but he miscalculates by just a fraction of an inch, and this time, it's not his hip or his ass brushing against Roque, but the back of Jensen's hand.
And what he brushes against is unmistakeably hard and hot through the thick cloth of Roque's pants. For a split second, Jensen tries to tell himself that it's just one of Roque's many knives, the metal blade warmed by Roque's body heat, but he is too smart to lie to himself like that. A knife would feel different, the edges sharper, the blade itself more unforgiving, more unyielding.
He's not stupid. He knows exactly what he just brushed against.
“Well.” His hand flies up, to push his glasses back up his nose. “This is awkward.”
He doesn't realize he's spoken out loud – well, in a whisper, but still – until he twists his head around to look at Roque's face, too busy trying to figure out what he's supposed to do now, how to prevent ending up with one of Roque's psychopathic knives stuck between his ribs. He's not sure he can explain that it was an accident, him brushing against Roque like that, him reaching back, without sounding like he's mocking Roque. And then, there's the simple fact that Roque is hard and Jensen doesn't know if it's the situation they're in, if the danger they are in and that makes him sweat and fidget has its own effects on Roque, or if it's something else, if it's him.
There is only a thin stripe of light falling into the closet and when Jensen moves, it falls on Roque, crossing his dark face like a second, pale scar. Roque is glaring at him, but Jensen thinks there is more in his expression than just that.
The thing is, Jensen loves his team. He loves every fucking member of his team, in a deeply platonic, heterosexual, maybe even bromantic way, and he loves them more than it's possibly healthy. There are only two people he loves more than his team, or maybe he just loves them as much as his team, and that's his sister and his niece. He's smart enough to realize how fucked up that is, but he is not smart enough to have prevented or to stop it.
But, he thinks, there lies the problem. Heterosexual. He's straight, and Roque reacted to him. And that, in turn, means if Jensen mentions that he is straight now and Roque isn't, if Roque is really attracted to him and not the danger, he might feel even more mocked and Jensen ends up with that knife in his lungs.
Or his throat.
Or somewhere where it really hurts.
Cold sweat breaks out all over his body, especially with the echo of his carelessly spoken words still hanging in the small space between them. He half expects Roque to growl “Shut up, Jensen” any time now, at least as much as he expects cold steel against his skin.
Think, he orders himself. He's a soldier, he's trained to think on his feet, in the field. There is not chance that he will get saved by the bell – there is still a lot of time until the regularly scheduled security sweep is done – or by the cavalry – Clay ordered them to stay put before the radio silence, unless something goes really wrong, and Jensen doubts that this here counts as something going really wrong – so he's on his own.
And then, an idea hits him.
It's as crazy as Roque sometimes claims him to be, but once it's there, it's not going away again, and Jensen quickly gives in to what his brain tries to tell him is an awesome idea.
For once, it wasn't his big mouth that had gotten him into hot water – but hey, he figures it can get him out of it.
For once.
He doesn't know how he manages to turn around and where he finds the space to fold his body down, to his knees. Somewhere to his left, a shelf rattles when it gets kicked by his boot, but Jensen doesn't pay too much attention to it beyond making sure that he doesn't get showered by cleaning fluids – or at least, he tries not to.
“Keep an eye out,” he tells Roque and then, he reaches out and pulls Roque's pants open.
It's dark and he doesn't see what's in front of him, and maybe, he figures, that's a good thing. If he can't see Roque's dick, he can't get intimidated by it.
His brain attempts to prove the opposite, and before it wins against his resolution to go through with this, and before Roque can come to his senses and do something stupid, like stab Jensen for attempting this, he closes a dry hand around Roque's erection and blindly feels for it with his mouth.
Roque hisses. “Jensen, what are you...”
His words trail off when Jensen's mouth actually closes around him. Instead, he hisses again.
Jensen has never sucked dick in his life. He never thought that there would be the day when he does, but here is is, on his knees, voluntarily. The dick in his mouth feels big. It tastes like soap and like something else, salty and alien.
He knows what he likes in a blow job. He also knows what Cougar likes, due to stumbling in on him in an alley behind a bar once or twice. He thinks he can figure out what Roque likes.
He wraps his lips over his teeth and experimentally bobs his head. The heavy weight of Roque's dick slides over his tongue, and Jensen moves it against Roque's flesh, slowly and carefully exploring ridges of skin and flesh.
Roque groans quietly. “Should've known you're a tease,” he murmurs roughly and reaches down, to tangle dark strong fingers in Jensen's spiky hair.
Jensen expects him to grip him tight and set a rhythm, probably something hard and punishing that will make him gag, but Roque defies all expectations by just petting Jensen.
It's weird and unexpected. Jensen has never before thought that Roque was even capable of so much gentleness, especially toward him, and it throws him a little, but then he catches himself and he starts moving with intent.
After a while, he realizes that he should have taken off his glasses, but he doesn't stop now. He manages to keep a rhythm, his hand moving over Roque's flesh where his lips can't reach, and soon, saliva and something else eases his slip and slide.
This isn't so bad, he thinks while pulling back, to tease the slit at the tip with his tongue and move his hand over the rest of Roque's flesh. He just needs to pretend it's some kind of gigantic lollipop, or, even better, that he finally succeeded in sucking his own cock.
A salty wave of taste coats his tongue and he slurps Roque's dick back into his mouth, a little faster and a lot messier than before.
Roque's breathing hitches and Jensen's shoulders tense slightly, expecting him to finish, but nothing happens. Roque continues petting him gently.
Jensen shrugs mentally and continues.
After a while, his knees start getting numb and his jaw aches. He attempts to get into a different position, but he only succeeds in kicking a broom over and almost hitting himself in the head with it if not for Roque's hands. The petting stops for a moment, just long enough for Roque to deal with the broom, and then he continues.
Jensen closes his eyes and moans softly around his mouthful. He doesn't pay attention for a split second, and his teeth scrape slightly against Roque's dick.
Roque's hip stutter slightly, and Jensen gets it – Roque likes it. So he does it again.
And again, until Roque growls deep in his chest, tightens his fingers around Jensen's skull and bucks his hips slightly.
Jensen gets the hint.
He realizes that it's his weird, sick love for his team, forged by all the things they have gone through together in all these years that made him go down on his knees the first time, that makes him pick up the pace now, that makes him pretend he likes dick.
Roque freezes, yanking Jensen's hair. The pinpricks of pain bring tears to his eyes, but he manages to blink them away, and then, the dick in his hand twitches slightly and Roque floods his mouth, hot and salty and weird and Jensen has to struggle not to gag, not to let the mess run out of his mouth and onto their clothes.
He sees no other option but to swallow. If he spits and someone finds out, they could be in big trouble. After all, they aren't supposed to be there, not now and not ever.
The taste is icky, the consistency slimy, and he doesn't understand how anyone can really like it. If he's completely honest, he very much prefers to be on the other end of a blow job.
They remain frozen in their spots for a long moment, then Jensen shifts away and lets go of Roque's dick, now softening again. Roque's fingers slide out of his hair.
Roque doesn't say a single word as he fixes his clothes, pulls up the pants and underwear tangled around his thighs. Jensen focuses on his watch, his equipment, everything but Roque. It's almost time to leave.
Almost time to leave all of this behind.
“Let's go,” Roque finally growls. He yanks Jensen to his feet and pushes him out of the closet, into bright light. The irony of this isn't lost on Jensen, but he clamps his teeth together and doesn't say what's on the tip of his tongue. He stumbles a little at first, but there is no time, their window of opportunity to get out isn't getting any bigger, and now isn't the time.
He follows Roque's broad back to their exit. He still has that weird taste in his mouth, his lips feel swollen and puffy, and he desperately wishes for his toothbrush or gum or something, but all together, he considers himself lucky and congratulates himself for his creative thinking.
They are military. Roque won't ask him anything about what just happened, and there is nothing to tell. Jensen loves his team, in a crazy, platonic, heterosexual way.
They slip out of the complex and into the van. Pooch gives him a worried look but starts the engine. Five minutes later, Cougar climbs in and takes his usual spot between Jensen and Roque.
Jensen barely looks up from his laptop. He's already busy trying to hack into the portable hard drive they stole.
He loves his team. He would maybe consider doing this, pretending to be gay, for any of them, if really necessary, even for Clay.
Because he loves these crazy fuckers.
He really does.
He doesn't notice the thoughtful look Roque has on his face as he watches Jensen.
Years later, Jensen will wonder, about causes and effects, about Roque being a little more tolerating toward him, and how much his little act had to do with the decisions Roque made.
He will never get a satisfying answer.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2011-08-23 02:48 am (UTC)Like, enough, that she's pretty sure her comments show up and cause eyerolling to the extent or thought of: doesn't she ever just fucking shut the hell up???She comments on fandoms she doesn't know. Unlike the previous two where she cursed you out and got into it or then lied but left unintelligable clues that no one got about it, this one I really don't know or have any idea about.Nevertheless, what came through for an impartial reading was ....
I love the dynamic between Jensen and Roque and their situation. It was hot and great and the ending with the uncertainty was just perfect. You did good. More than good.