[FIC] Threaded Through

Supernatural RPS. Jeff/Jensen. NC-17. 850 words. Corsetry.

Jensen owns the room as he laces himself up, and all Jeff can think is this is a whole new sort of kinky.

Threaded Through

Jensen owns the room as he laces himself up, and all Jeff can think is this is a whole new sort of kinky.

The corset is simple black fabric with a slight sheen, threaded through with a subtle pattern that comes and goes with the light. Jeff wipes his palms off on his knees and takes in a long, slow breath.

If the lamp in the corner highlights the corset, it does fucking miracles to Jensen’s skin. The darker tan of his forearms blends beautifully into the freckled expanse of his shoulders. Soft-edged shadows curve and caress each muscle as Jensen’s arms twist to draw the laces into place.

Jeff leans forward, arms planted over his thighs. The plush of the hotel carpet tickles his feet as his toes dig into the pile. “Fuck, Jensen.” If the corset is already starting to winnow Jensen’s frame into vaguely feminine curves, the next sharp tug of ribbon shrinks his waist even more. “Can you even breathe in that thing?”

Jensen’s smile comes off as fucking coy. Jeff curses and shifts in the chair. This is a whole new sort of kinky all right, and he’s more than a little impatient to get his hands on Jensen. How long had it been since they’d had time together? Long enough that all he has left from the last is a vague sense memory that kicks up whenever the shadows swallow up Jensen’s eyes.

Jeff’s insides flip like he’s the one that’s on display. Maybe he is, ’cause somehow Jensen knew this would get him going. His lungs feel compressed, his head a little dizzy. It’s hotter than he can comprehend to imagine the same could be true for Jensen.

“Go tighter,” he says. There’s a split-second flash of surprise before Jensen’s mouth goes soft and he breathes this sexy fucking little moan that gets Jeff up on his feet.

“Tighter,” Jeff says, his hands hovering over the hourglass of Jensen’s waist. God, he might be able to wrap his hands around Jensen and get his fingers to touch. He doesn’t test it, not yet, settling his restless hands to the curve. Nudging Jensen’s head to the side with his cheek, Jeff brushes a slow, shivering kiss along Jensen’s jaw. “Going to fuck you deep. Deep and slow.”

Jensen moans, and Jeff can tell by the way he shudders and leans in that he’s fumbling at tying the laces. Not surprising, given that most of the blood can’t be up north with how hard his cock is, curving up dark and shining to nudge against Jeff’s thigh. Jeff reaches around Jensen, helps him tie a pretty little bow, and grudgingly takes a step back to eat up the way Jensen looks.

It surprises Jeff that what the corset does best is accentuate the parts of Jensen that he finds the most attractive. There’s the undeniably masculine features with the broadness of Jensen’s shoulders, his hands, and the sculpted angles of his chest and hips, and then everything in his face that softens all those hard edges. Jeff worships each in turn, lays a kiss to the flutter of Jensen’s lashes, the fullness of his lips, the thin, delicate skin on the insides of Jensen’s wrists.

Going slow always drives Jensen crazy. It’s not like he complains, but more that he feels everything so keenly that he’ll burst if he doesn’t get to come right away. Jeff knows this, and yet, what else is he supposed to do with Jensen before him like this, wrapped up like a fucking present. You can’t rush opening a present, especially one given with so much care.

Jensen’s breath is chopped to pieces, sliced up into soft panting sounds that catch and fade depending on where Jeff’s hands wander. He guides Jensen to the bed, step by step, pausing only once to groan when he feels Jensen try to suck in a deep breath and the taut fabric sliding under his palms strains even further against its stays. Jeff kisses Jensen’s next breath away, holds his mouth there longer than he should, but Jensen just takes it, the curl of his arms around Jeff’s neck saying everything his throat doesn’t have the air for.

“Shit,” Jeff says, and drags in a hard breath as Jensen takes a few shallow ones of his own. The next time his mouth seals to Jensen’s he breathes in, draws the air straight out of Jensen’s lungs and when Jeff forces the air back, Jensen pushes up against him, one long hot line of desire. Jeff shivers; it’s nothing like shotgunning a joint because this, this gets Jeff a lot more high, and fuck but it’s got to be exponentially more dangerous.

“No more of that,” Jeff says, for his own benefit as much as Jensen’s. His mouth quirks up at the way Jensen manages a breathy question, the way he shivers when Jeff says: “I want you conscious so you can ride me.”



2 thoughts on “[FIC] Threaded Through

  1. tabaqui

    Oooh, man.
    Known but rarely-found kink. I love the image of a nipped-in, greyhound waist and those hips and the flush of breathlessness along *those* fucking cheekbones….



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