Oh, The Places You'll Go

Locked, Loaded and Ready to Roll

Notes: This could either be pre movie or some point in comics canon, either way. Or both. You choose! No spoilers.

Jensen doesn't know if Cougar loves dick because he loves his gun, or loves his gun because he loves dick. Either way, Jensen wins, so it doesn't matter.

The first time Cougar goes down on him he worships Jensen's dick
with the kind of reverence Jensen has only previously seen the guy lavish on his sniper rifle. He licks the length of it over and over again until Jensen wants to yell, "Fuck it, Cougar! Put your damn mouth on me. I don't need any more oiling up." Only he doesn't because, a) that would seem ungrateful and his Gramma brought him up to mind his manners and, b) it would wake the others and no way is he letting Clay put a stop to this even before it gets started.

And because Cougar is a cocktease, he takes to dismantling his gun and cleaning it right by Jensen, whether it's the most sensible place to be or not. He takes his time, his movements slow and languid and his eyes hidden under that no-right-to-be-that-fucking-attractive hat, and Jensen knows---he knows--that Cougar is showing him what his mouth wants to do. More than once they've been ordered to move fast and Jensen's had to use his laptop as an upgrade on the binder he kept permanently clamped in front of him through high school. It's either that, or pretend there's porn on his hard drive.

Sometimes they're on a clock and they have to be quick. Cougar never uses his mouth, then, just jacks Jensen off swift and brutal, hand shoved over Jensen's mouth. It's good--anything that's not his own hand is a bonus, Jensen figures--but it's not what Cougar wants. Not enough. There's always a dissatisfied roll to his shoulders and the tilt of his head when this is all they've got time for. Cougar always steps up the teasing after that. Jensen watches Cougar circle the head of the rifle barrel with a cloth-covered finger and swallows hard. He might as well already be naked, Cougar rimming the slit of Jensen's dick with his tongue. Man might say few words these days, but he can make his tongue talk all right. All night long if there's nothing pressing and they can shake the others. No matter how long it is, though, Cougar never wants the favor returned. Jensen would be concerned, but mostly he's too busy peeling himself off the ceiling, metaphorical though they sometimes are.

When Cougar starts cleaning the inside of the barrel with what Jensen can only describe as intent, Jensen's mouth dries in a way that has nothing to do with the desert temperatures. Cougar greases the metal rod with methodical care, gripping the gun barrel between his knees. He radiates quiet calm as he carefully inserts the rod into the barrel, controlling its drop under its own weight until it's all vanished except for the loop Cougar's trigger finger is crooked through. Then, excruciatingly slowly, he raises it up and lets it drop again. And again.

Jensen gasps. "Jesus, Cougar!" he explodes. "You can't...you don't want to...Oh, my god!"

Cougar smirks and looks at Jensen out of the corner of his eye. He shakes his head, shrugging. "Not clean enough here." He indicates the two-man tent they're currently calling home.

"Oh," says Jensen, unsure if he's relieved or disappointed. Color him for sure intrigued in that peeping-between-your-fingers-what-is-my-life? way. On the other hand...He crosses his legs. He's been to piss-burn hell before and that's just one of many places he's happy not to make a return trip to, not even for the sweet heat of Cougar's laser-sharp attention.

Cougar grins. It's not the quick, feral grin of something's-gonna-die-tonight, but the one that manages to be affectionate and filthy-as-fuck at the same time; the one Cougar keeps for Jensen alone. Jensen knows then, with gut-busting precision, that he'll let Cougar do anything he wants, as freaky as that might get. And if you trust a guy with the care and feeding of your dick...well, then. He uncrosses his legs.

"Oh," he says again, and Cougar's head jerks at the altered inflection. "Cougs," Jensen says, his throat dry and scratchy and not because it's a zillion degrees out. He reaches for his canteen as Cougar shakes his head, face tightened into a fierce expression. Jensen gets that, he does. Because thinking about kinky sex should not be the beginning of a great romantic revelation (not even an oh-shit-this-is-poorly-thought-out one either). That's not how the movies go. Or even if they do, it doesn't end well--Brando probably never looked at butter in the same way again.

Jensen wipes his lips with the back of his hand, resealing his canteen. "So I get that this is not the time or the place and my issues are, like, mine. And I totally get that I just changed the game and you know that and I know that you know that and it's like...well, you might like the National League rules better, but now I know about the designated hitter I just can't go back. American League all the way, you know?"

Every muscle and sinew in Jensen's body is yelling at him to get out of there, because Cougar's got his sniper face on and, okay, the rifle's in pieces in his hands but Jensen's pretty sure the guy has superpowers and could take someone out with a look if he wanted to. There's nowhere to run that won't land Jensen in a different world of hurt, though, so he's stuck. There's only one thing left to do.

"Okay, so I should probably tell you at this point that I am now, and have always been, a fervent supporter of your right to handle my dick in whatever way you have so far seen fit--and there have been a lot of good ways, I'm saying. And I'm not gonna lie, if there's no more you and my dick action because of my 'issues', I'm going to be one sad panda because no one has ever had me figured out the way you do, and let's take a moment right there to remember some highlights." Jensen pauses mid-babble, looking up at the roof of the tent as he flicks through some memories, mostly of the echoes of orgasms ripping through him and Cougar's mouth, panting, wet and shiny. "Good times," he says, pressing his hand into his groin. "But that's not...I'll be a whole platoon of sad pandas if I've fucked up whatever we had before the whole let's-suck-on-little-Jensen thing came into play. Can we go back to that, at least? Or I could try to, I don't know, like have a feelings lobotomy or something. I can totally do no-strings-attached sex. Trust me." Usually Jensen believes 99.9% of whatever bullshit he's sprouting--it's easier that way. Right now, he's working on a whole lot less than that. It's unnerving.

Cougar shakes his head, and Jensen is mostly okay with the whole not-talking thing, but sometimes--sometimes--he wishes Cougar would be more specific.

"Which part gets the no-no?" he asks. "The going back part? The no-strings part? The trusting me part? Because if it's that last one then I've got to say I'm a little offended, Cougs. I thought we were be-"

"Stop talking."

And, really, Jensen has to stop because Cougar kneels up, metal rod clattering in the gun barrel as it drops to the ground and--oh god! Cougar let his gun fall on the floor, has the world gone mad?--he advances on Jensen on hands and knees. There's no room in the tent to get up a good prowl, but Jensen sees the wildcat in him anyway, in the slitting of his eyes as he rises up to meet Jensen, hands on his shoulders, in the sleek black of his hair as Jensen tips off the hat, letting it, too, tumble to the floor. Cougar kisses Jensen's mouth for the first time, tongue and lips and teeth working it with the same intensity as Cougar usually applies to Jensen's dick. When he pulls away, Jensen might as well have been fucked, even though he's as hard as hell and twice as horny.

There's stuff, reams of stuff, ten page monologues even, that Jensen wants to say, but his heart is squeezing the life out of his throat and all he can do is stare at Cougar and pant, trying to claw the air back into his lungs. He lays his hand over Cougar's heart instead; it's beating steady, but fast. For Cougar, a man who can lower his resting rate until he could practically pass for dead, this is spinning out of control. Jensen presses his fingertips into Cougar's chest, feeling his own crazed heartbeat through them. It's a weird rhythm they're creating between them, but hey, they're Losers, they've always danced to their own drum. Cougar slides a hand down from Jensen's shoulder, copying Jensen's motion.

And Jensen should relax now, should understand that it's a whole in-this-together thing, but he still has to force himself to look away from his hand and meet Cougar's eyes, just in case this is some kind of twisted so long and thanks for all the fucks. He squeezes his eyes shut and lifts his head, opening one eye the barest amount so Cougar blurs around the edges. Jensen can see that Cougar's wearing the warm, familiar Jensen's-at-it-again expression, but there's something different about it. It's softer, more open, and that's even taking into account Jensen's current difficulties with vision. He opens both his eyes. Nothing changes.

"Oh, thank fuck," says Jensen, dropping his hand and fumbling with his belt. "Now we got that all figured out, how about we get back to our regularly scheduled programming?"

Cougar shakes his head again but it's not a no this time, and in two seconds Jensen is flat on his back with his pants tugged down around his thighs and Cougar mouthing his balls. Jensen twists a loose strand of Cougar's hair around his finger. "That's right," he says. "Gotta take care of the ammunition, too."

Cougar growls and Jensen feels it through his whole body. He shudders. Cougar drags his flattened tongue up Jensen's dick, tongue dipping into the slit and flickering side-to-side, licking up the precum pooling there. It should feel different, Jensen thinks, being out the other side of, like, clarity or whatever, but it doesn't, and that fact in itself is telling. Less of a revelation, then, and more of a mental Facebook poke. He shoves up his hips and Cougar pushes against him, holding him down with a strong grip. Jensen whimpers--pride is way overrated when you want your dick in someone's mouth--and, for once, Cougar relents, taking him in, lips tightening around Jensen's shaft as Jensen tugs at Cougar's hair with the shock of the connection.

Under his breath, Jensen sets up a chant of, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," as Cougar brings him closer and closer to the edge. It acts as a barrier against all the embarrassing things that he wants to say--just because you can do something doesn't mean you should. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck," he chants, struggling onto his elbows and watching Cougar swallow his dick, cheeks hollowed and eyelashes fluttering against the whites of Cougar's eyes. And Jensen would love to hang on, he really would, but apparently he's powerless against this degree of hot. "Cougs," he grits out, and that's all the warning he can give before his orgasm pulses through him, forcing him to throw his head back with the power of it.

"Oh god!" gasps Jensen. "Ho-ly fuck." And he collapses back onto the floor, grabbing Cougar's neck and hauling him up to kiss. This? This is what's different and Jensen likes it, tasting himself on Cougar's tongue, feeling the heat of Cougar's mouth in a new way. Cougar likes it, too, Jensen can tell, the hard length of him pressing against Jensen's belly. Different and good. So if they're already ringing the changes then maybe there are some shots Jensen gets to call.

Jensen takes Cougar's head in his hands and pushes it back, breaking the kiss. "You know," he says, with his very best smirk, "I'm pretty fond of guns, too."

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