This motivated me to study. Thanks tiny cactus.
THE TINY CACTUS IS BACK
Jensen learned a long time ago not to bite his lip. Too many makeup artists and directors complaining about the odd indentations and chewed up flesh on what are supposed to be his perfect, marketable lips taught him that lesson. So he learned to bite on his hand or arm. Anything to keep himself quiet. He hates to hear himself groaning with abandon and grunting with pleasured effort. And most of all he hates hearing himself whimper in ecstasy and desperately begging for more. It’s not befitting of a man to lose himself so utterly to carnal joy. So he bites his hands. He bites his arms. He buries his face in the sheets.
That’s why sometimes Misha has to take a little initiative. Getting Jensen on his back is the easy part. Even getting his ass up on Misha’s lap so he can fuck into him at nice downward angle that kills his thighs but drills Jensen’s prostate is pretty easy to finagle. Getting Jensen’s hands under his control is little more difficult, but once he’s got their fingers threaded together, he can slide them up the smooth sheets and pin them to the mattress just above Jensen’s head. When he leans forward to put his weight on Jensen’s hands so he can’t move them—he’s got him.
Jensen struggles a little at first. He strains to pull his arms free, but quickly learns he can’t. He pushes back with his lower body, but all that accomplishes is firmly settling Misha balls deep in his ass and eliciting a loud moan from them both. He immediately bites down on his lip to cut off the next groan that comes from spreading his legs wider for Misha.
Misha leans down and kisses his abused lip. “Careful. Careful, Jensen.” He licks the tender line where his teeth dig into that beautiful, plush lip that’s already swollen from Misha’s kisses.
Jensen squeezes his eyes closed and turns his head to the side as he bites out a sharp, “Fuck.”
Misha smiles and increases his pace, tightens his grip on Jensen’s hands.
“Let me hear you.”
It only takes another minute or so of hard thrusts, gentle rolling of his hips, and whispered coaxing for Jensen to let go.
His voice pours out of him unrestrained and uncensored. It’s rough and deep and primal. Every time he growls an approving obscenity, Misha’s cock throbs with the need to come. And then it changes. His voice becomes smoother, almost melodic, and Misha moves his body in his lover to make him sing. Finally, his voice becomes a sweet, high pitched whimper. An incessant appeal for more, for release, for love. He comes so close to crying when he gets like that. And Jensen’s voice, thick with tears and needy devotion, is Misha’s undoing.
He bites his lip to stifle his own exultant cry (who would notice any damage on his chapped lips anyway?) so he can better hear Jensen’s voice as he shouts and hums and gasps and grunts through his orgasm. Every sound he makes causes Misha’s cock to twitch again inside him.
They still, only capable of focusing on evening out their breathing and heart rates. When Misha’s confident he won’t pass out, he gingerly uncurls his fingers from Jensen’s and they both wince at the painful stiffness their orgasms induced. Jensen looks up at him, and then manages a partial frown.
“You fucker,” he grouses and looks away.
Misha laughs and gently pulls out so he can lie beside him. He nuzzles his nose against Jensen’s still flushed cheek.
“Sing for me.”
Jensen doesn’t reply. They lie in silence as the house settles around them and dust motes dance in the late evening sunlight.
Then softly, almost like it’s a secret, Jensen’s voice begins to sing.
This week on Tumblr:
It’s a metaphor. You’re a metaphor. I’m a metaphor. Your keybord is a metaphor. Everything is a metaphor. The universe is turning into one giant metaphor on a molecular scale. Run. It’s too late.
"fight like a girl" is meant to imply weakness, but some girls don’t play nice.
♥ available for a limited time only ♥
I NEED THESE
spn office AU……………..
Dean is their boss, Cas and Sam are friends & co-workers.
We live in a world full of deception.
I don’t even know why tumblr is so addicting like all you do is look at pictures and click a button
|I HATE TO BE A MASSIVE DISAPPOINTMENT LIKE RLLY I AM A PIECE OF POO but I don't think I have time to watch the film today ;-; I've only just got home and it's 9pm and I have a hell of a lot of revision to do and I'm trying to get a healthy sleeping pattern so I don't have time I'm sorry I'm so rubbish :(( so we could watch another day?? Or if u wanna watch without me I understand <3 sorry hsm anon|
It’s ok! I completely understand. It’s important to take care of your health and other stuff. don’t feel bad for not having time to watch a movie with a complete stranger online lol. We’ll figure it out! Whenever you can is fine by me
Growing up, my dad had a rule. “You can’t get a tattoo. If you do, I will make you get it removed. Unless, that is, you join the army and can shoot a seagull in the eye from a mile away, or you have a near-death experience.”
On July 12, 2011, I rode my bicycle to the camp I worked at. On my way home, I rode down a hill, and stopped at the bottom. I looked both ways, and there was no car coming. I started to turn left when I got hit by a car going ~55 miles per hour. I completely shattered the windshield, and when the driver stopped, I was ejected back onto the road. The doctors in the emergency room were absolutely perplexed when I arrived, because they all agreed that I should have died, and they were amazed to release me 4 and a half hours later with only 16 stitches, a concussion, and a chipped tooth. During my recovery, I was angry and confused. A couple if days after my accident, I received cards from my eight year old campers. One of them drew a giant paper crane, and said, “if you fold a thousand paper cranes, you’ll get better”.
Not being able to read, ride a bicycle, or put stress on my body, I cut up an old sudoku puzzle, went on YouTube, and learned how to make a paper crane. By the end of the day, I had a laundry basket full of black and white paper cranes.
I kept making paper cranes, even after I made a thousand, and I ran into a dilemma. What do you do with paper cranes once you’ve made them? A girl in my class had committed suicide the same day I had my accident, and I brought a purple crane to her wake. Her family could not have been happier the moment I presented them with this crane. Something clicked in my head right there. I started giving them to people and hiding them in random places for people to find. I started making art with them, and they became a major part of who I was.
This tattoo is symbolic of my accident, and could not represent me any better.
Feminism is like the red pill in the Matrix.
Suddenly you’re watching everyone walk around in this delusion and reality is terrifying.
There’s a reason this exists:
HOLY SHIT I HAD NO IDEA THIS GEM EXISTED.
THIS IS SO.. WOW. I CANT