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Jan. 21st, 2007 @ 02:33 pm It Ain't Over 'Til It's Over
Current Mood: satisfiedsatisfied
"Burn all the candles out
Make a wish but not aloud"
-- Foo Fighters

[Immediately follows this]


"One of these days, you're going to fucking finish me off," Josh complains as he flops on his back, trying to draw ragged breaths, but there's no heat behind it. Hard to feel anything other than a lazy sense of satisfaction as hard as he'd come, Joaquin's muscular legs wrapped tight around him, urging him to thrust harder, faster until all restraint had completely flown out the window.

Ben's bed had gotten quite the workout. The thought's enough to have Josh chuckling.

"Think it's gonna be mutual." Joaquin laughs a breathless little laugh and blinks at the ceiling. Jesus, but that was a hell of a way to end off this particular tryst of theirs.

He looks over, grins, idly wonders how long it'll take Josh to zero in on the boytoy once they go back out to the party. "We should get dressed."

"Yeah, I guess." Even if Josh doesn't much feel like moving. If they linger too long, Ben might just catch them, and while that would provide it's own brand of amusement, it'd be better to hold the knowledge close and spring it on Ben (and possibly Matt) at a later date.

"One for the road," he says, crooking his finger for Joaquin to come closer.

( No harm, no foul, no problem )
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Jan. 21st, 2007 @ 02:27 pm Don't Believe The Hype
Current Mood: accomplished
"Can you go another round?
I will follow you down and out"
-- The Foo Fighters


(Los Angeles -- July 2002)


Drew hangs up the phone, still chuckling to herself at Ben's persuasiveness. She tightens the towel around her breasts, pushing wet strands of hair from her face as she goes in search of Jake. She follows the salivating scent of sautéed mushrooms and beef to the kitchen, pausing in silent admiration of Jake's naked back and thighs, accentuated by the most faded, worn pair of cut-offs she's ever seen. However, they do frame his rather spectacular ass rather well, so she can't complain too much.

"Smells wonderful," she says, stepping gingerly into the kitchen, trying not to drip too much on the floor. It's a hopeless cause.

"Hmm?" Distracted, Jake looks up. He smiles when he sees her. Adjusting the temperature on the burner (don't want dinner to burn, after all), he steps away from the stove. Fuck, she's hot like this, still wet from the shower, strands of hair clinging to her neck and shoulders. "Not as good as you," he murmurs as he wraps his arms around her and bends to nuzzle her neck.

"Mmmm..." Drew tilts her head back obligingly and drapes her arms around his shoulders. "Maybe I'll just keep you here after all."

( It's not a party if there isn't drama )
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Apr. 8th, 2006 @ 06:16 pm Exploring Limits
Current Mood: accomplished
[Takes place right after this]


(Los Angeles -- late June, 2002)


"You lied," Joaquin mumbles into the pillow before he rolls over to peer at Josh. Smug bastard, he thinks fondly, as Josh stretches.

Josh stops in mid-stretch, wrinkles his nose in confusion. "About?"

"Said you'd wash my hair." Josh's expression is priceless, and Joaquin has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. "But did you? Noooo. You were too impatient to get me flat on my back again."

"Didn't hear you complaining." Josh reaches behind him and thwaps Joaquin with one of the pillows before flopping back on the bed. Nothing in the world like relaxing after a good, hard fuck, he thinks, and gives Joaquin an affectionate grin. "Really have missed you, man."

"Fuck, don't get all mushy on me just 'cause you're still in the afterglow." Joaquin steals the pillow and plumps it under his head. He lets the grin out then, and rolls to his side to give Josh a quick, hard kiss. "Missed you, too."

"I know." Josh gives him one of his patented, arrogant grins, and scoots closer, drawn to Joaquin's warmth. "And if you remind me later, I'll definitely still wash your hair. Didn't know you had your heart set on it."

"Should talk to Summer, then," Joaquin murmurs. He curls around Josh, tangling legs and arms together with an ease born of long familiarity.

( Wherein everyone tries something a little different )
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Mar. 12th, 2006 @ 09:59 am Old Friends And New Acquaintances
"I can be your liar...
So shame on me for the ruse"
-- The Foo Fighters


(Los Angeles -- late June 2002)


Josh glances around the darkened yard before rapping sharply on the door. He's practically vibrating with energy, excitement, something, man, he's not sure what to call it. Missed the crazy fucker, he thinks, and rocks back on his heels, hands tucked into his back pockets as he waits for Joaquin to open the damn door already.

"Yeah, yeah," Joaquin calls, making his way to the door. Damn it all, he just got back into town. And his arrival was pretty low key. So who the hell...

"Why am I not surprised," he says with a grin after he pulls the door open.

"Who else, man?" Josh's grin widens as he looks Joaquin over. "Looking good. Guess the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania agreed with you."

"Not looking too bad yourself." Another grin, then Joaquin steps back, shutting the door when Josh steps inside. "Wasn't expecting to see you this time around."

"Yeah?" Josh stops, turns, ducking his head as his brows furrow. "Why not?" They haven't seen each other in almost six months and this is the welcome he gets...fucking Joaquin, man, always on about something.

Leaning against the door, arms crossed over his chest, Joaquin watches Josh. "Heard you were making serious time with Jake Gyllenhaal," he finally says. "Sounded like someone had finally managed to reel you in."

Jake. Of course. Why is Josh not surprised that the rumors had managed to hit even Joaquin? "Shouldn't believe everything you hear," he replies with a shrug. "It's nothing serious. He's a great fuck."

One eyebrow lifts, and Joaquin fights to keep from smiling. "Oh, so that's all it is?" He nods, surprised that he's managed to keep a straight face this long. "Thought there might be something to this one, seeing as how often you've been spotted around with him."

( Joaquin's back in town... )
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Dec. 28th, 2005 @ 02:01 pm Puppy Love
Current Mood: happyhappy
"Did you find some happiness with me?
Now I know the way true love should be"
-- Foo Fighters


(Minneapolis, Minnesota -- Christmas Morning, 2004)


Trying hard not to giggle, Jake creeps back up the stairs. His feet, snug in warm socks (courtesy of Josh, who'd gotten tired of Jake's 'icicle' toes), make no noise, and he hopes Josh is still asleep. "Shhh," he whispers to the bundle in his arms, biting his lip to keep from laughing. Reaching the bedroom, he peeks around the partially open door.

Good. Still asleep. Now...to wake him up.

Tip-toeing across the floor, Jake kneels by Josh's side of the bed and places the bundle on Josh's chest. And smiles to himself when a little black nose inches closer to Josh's sleepwarm cheek.

It's a good dream, and Josh is less than pleased at the interruption to it. Fucking Rita Hayworth, man, in all her 40's glory, just standing there, nude, like in "Gilda", and Josh can practically taste her skin. He bats at the cold intrusion on his neck, wondering who the hell decided that it could invade his dream.

( Guess I'm not the only one that thinks you have sexy feet. )
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Dec. 10th, 2005 @ 03:12 pm Fic: "Packing" - 1/1
Packing
written by Jo
Jake Gyllenhaal/Josh Hartnett
NC17

( They were supposed to be packing, ferfucksake )
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Jake - sex appeal
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Dec. 9th, 2005 @ 08:01 am Personal Jesus
Current Mood: accomplished
"Your own personal Jesus
Someone to hear your prayers
Someone who's there"
-- Depeche Mode


(Minneapolis, Minnesota -- December 19, 2004)


There's snow on the ground outside, coating everything in a blanket of hazy white. Frost on the windows, on the power lines, icicles hanging from the trees. Flakes continue to drift lazily from the sky in brilliant bursts, and Josh thinks if the weather holds, it'll be a nice, white Christmas.

Perfect for his first one with Jake and his family.

Josh glances out the bay windows one last time before turning to the refrigerator. Breakfast would definitely go over well right about now. He tugs his loose t-shirt (some dingy faded to hell thing that he thinks he bought at some cheesy tourist stand while filming, um, something or another) over his boxers, and flicks on the radio.

Still mostly asleep, Jake rolls towards Josh's side of the bed, expecting to encounter a warm body. When he finds nothing but cool sheets, his eyes open and he peers out. "Josh?" No answer. Grumbling to himself, he rolls out of bed and yelps when his feet encounter the cold, bare floor.

"Christ!" Still grumbling, he drags the comforter from the bed and wraps it around his body before stumbling downstairs, following the music since he's still not entirely sure of where everything is yet, even if they have been here for three days.

( You get my body and a handjob, and breakfast...Sounds like a sweet deal to me... )
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Oct. 4th, 2005 @ 10:44 am It's Only A Game (As Long As No One Gets Hurt)
Current Mood: accomplished
Current Music: "Low" -- The Foo Fighters
"Me and you
Going nowhere
I'm right beside you"
-- The Foo Fighters


(Los Angeles, early April 2002)

Josh shudders into his orgasm, biting Jared's sweat-slick shoulder to muffle the moan spilling from his lips. Jared's ass is still so tight it should be illegal, even though Josh has already had him tonight. Glazed eyes sweep down, and Josh sees Selma lick her lips as she lifts her head from Jared's cock.

"Missed a spot," Josh murmurs, and she leans over Jared's shoulder, sharing a sticky-bitter kiss with Josh that tastes of come and sweat.

"You two're gonna kill me," Jared moans, letting his head drop forward.

"Not tonight we're not," Josh quips. He reluctantly slides out of Jared's body with a sigh of regret. "I need to scoot."

"Meeting the boytoy later?" Selma asks. She sprawls on the messy sheets, a pale-skinned goddess, and reaches on the nightstand for Jared's pack of cigarettes.

"Something like that."

Josh can feel Jared's eyes on him as he wanders into the small bathroom to wash up. Doesn't surprise him when Jared follows, taking the washcloth from Josh's hands without a word. Josh allows Jared to wash him off in silence, pausing only to share lazy kisses and fleeting touches.

"Still on for Sunday?" Jared finally asks, worrying his lower lip between his teeth.

Josh licks his tongue across the spot, soothing it. "Of course," he murmurs, breathing the words into Jared's open mouth. "But I really do need to leave."

"Alright."

***

Once again, Jake finds himself outside, pacing. Unable to help himself, he looks at his cellphone. Fuck. Josh is late.

And not by just a few minutes, either.

Looking up the street, Jake fishes the pack of cloves out of his pocket. Just one, he thinks, to calm him down. Because he doesn't think he needs to stretch his imagination to figure out where Josh is.

After all, Jake's not stupid. He's heard the rumors. Too many rumors from too many sources that are all saying the exact same thing. And it's enough to piss him off, even though he keeps telling himself that this is nothing.

This is just fun. Just a thing, y'know, because the two of them are bored. Well, if that's true, why d'you feel like putting your fist through the wall?

( Tell me you didn't fuck them to see if you could get away with it... )
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Aug. 14th, 2005 @ 10:43 am Coming Home
(Los Angeles, late August 2004)

"I've got another confession
My friend
I'm no fool
I'm getting tired of starting again
Somewhere new"
-- Foo Fighters

Home sweet L.A.

Alright, so that's not exactly true, but Josh'll take it. It may not be home, exactly, but L.A.'s where Jake is, and that's close enough.

Getting all fucking soft in his old age, man. All fucking soft. Not that he can really bring himself to care.

The pilot turns off the seatbelt sign, and Josh grabs his bag from the overhead compartment. The flight attendant gives him another radiant smile as he departs, and he returns it. Lightly flirting with her had passed the time on the flight from New York well enough.

LAX is just like he'd left it -- filled with tourists and businessmen and various entertainment folks on their way to Vegas or wherever the fuck else out of town. Josh says a simple prayer of thanks that he doesn't have to wait in baggage claim as he makes his way to the curb to hail a cab.

Home. Jake.

Yeah, he's a fucking sap. There are worse things in life.

Jake's spent all morning agonizing over this decision. Should he go to the airport to pick up Josh, or should he just wait until Josh gets to the house? It had taken a good two hours before he'd finally said fuck it and snatched up the keys to the Mustang.

Which is how Jake finds himself at the airport, parked in the passenger pick-up lane, leaning against the front fender of Josh's car. Dark sunglasses hide his eyes, and the new haircut (which he still isn't used to, despite having had it for almost three days now) keeps anyone from recognizing him. Amazing what being almost bald will do for you.

Long fingers tap the fender beside his thigh, and Jake checks his watch again. The plane should be on the ground by now. Hell, it should be over fifteen minutes on the ground if the arrival board had been correct. Which means that Josh should be coming out any minute now.

(  I meant what I said back there. You walk out without even trying, and we're done. )
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Jun. 27th, 2005 @ 03:27 pm First Date
(February 2002, Off Vine's Restaurant, Hollywood)


Jake slides out of his car, takes the ticket from the valet. Rubs his hands down the front of his jeans, and wonders, for a moment, if the shirt's okay, or if he should've dressed a little different. Too late to change his mind now.

Stupid to be nervous. But it's Josh, and they haven't seen each other for several weeks. Damn commitments, Jake thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. Outside commitments are the bane of any Hollywood relationship, and he knew that going into this. That what this is, then? A relationship?

Before he has time to pursue that line of thought, he hears a familiar engine and looks up with a broad grin.

Jesus, the kid looks good enough to eat. Josh walks up the stairs, resisting the urge to smooth his hand through his hair as he meets Jake's wide smile. The sight of Jake's long-limbed body, carelessly attired in jeans and a sweater, hits him like a punch to the solar plexus. Fucked, man.

He shouldn't be so addicted already. This is just sex.

"Hey." He raises his hand in an awkward gesture of greeting, a little lost on protocol. They supposed to hug or what?

(  Free to fuck whomever, whenever, remember? )
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hot tattoos are hot!
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