InsaneJournal

FIC: Uncertainty Principle
So. Yeah. *looks shifty* Alex wrote RPS.

See, thenyxie wrote this incredibly hot D/s teacher!Jensen/student!Jared fic, But Then My Homework Was Never Quite Like This. And it was gorgeous, and mind-meltingly hot, and it hit just about every button I have. Have I mentioned the 'makes-you-stupid' level of hot?
And if that wasn't enough, SHE DEDICATED IT TO ME!
So, once I recovered enough, I just couldn't resist. I opened Word and promptly wrote a Jensen interlude, to follow Part 2 of thenyxie's fic.
Go and read those first, because not only will this make a lot more sense once you do, but, you know - HOT.


Title: Uncertainty Principle
Author: OMFG, cormallen wrote RPS.
Pairing: Jensen/Jared, Jensen/FC
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1,212 words
Summary: Jensen goes over lesson plans.
What else, let's see, D/s. And, thenyxie, you are a vile enabler and ILU.



The lesson plans are on the table, neatly typed pages, stapled and stacked in order. He’s giving a quiz in third period Tuesday, so Monday’s review, Bernoulli, Boltzmann, Gibbs and Joule, state the four laws, match the theory to the scientist, briefly outline the differences between chemical, statistical and classical thermodynamics.

The kettle whistles, releasing a thick puff of steam; the kitchen floor tiles are cool under his bare feet. Jensen turns off the gas, sets out mug and sugar bowl, measures loose tea in precise spoonfuls.

It fills the whole room, sharp, spicy cinnamon smell as the tea leaves steep in the water; he shifts his weight from foot to foot as he counts, three minutes before he stirs sugar in.

Three minutes to think of Jared’s mouth, sugar-sweet, lips shiny-red the first time he kissed him, the cinnamon gum he kept chewing in class. Jensen remembers getting detention for chewing gum in school, not that long ago, wasn’t it, but already too different. Jared’s different. Watching him, grinning bright and sure, nothing like Jensen’d been at eighteen, seventeen, sixteen. Nothing like him.

"Hold still. I can see it all over your face, Jensen. Everything you want, everything you’re thinking. No control. No discipline. Are you always like this?" "No," he wants to snap, wants to tug against the rope wrapped around his wrists, crisscrossing over his chest, his belly, row of knots he can feel at the small of his back, "not always like this, naked and trussed up and on display in your living room." He doesn’t, but she smiles anyway, soft pads of her fingers trailing warmly down his cheek. "What you’re thinking, all over your face, Jensen. We’re going to have to work on that."

Three minutes; eyes open, he picks up the spoon and stirs the tea. The advanced class doesn’t take their quiz till Thursday, and Jensen pulls the half-finished review sheet from the pile, stares at the hand-written notes in the margins as he sips from his cup, fingers clutching at the hot rim.

Define the following fundamental concepts. Duality. Uncertainty. Entanglement. Irreversibility, the letters neat and precise except for where they slant and dip, repeating the angles of Jared’s shoulder blades, the bend of his spine, the soft hollow at his waist before the muscle flares out into taut curves. Jared spread out on his desk, still and obedient except for the little looks he kept sneaking through his bangs, letting Jensen touch him like that, pen gliding over skin and paper.

Jensen adds a quick in your own words to the review sheet, each letter lining up straight and neat, but it looks wrong, strange. He takes another taste of his tea; still too hot, cinnamon steam hitting his lips, his tongue, tingling and scalding that almost feels good. Familiar. He holds the paper down, palm pressing hard into the solid wood of the table, writes a sample definition of duality, a concept he's explained and reworded time and time again, particles acting like waves and waves acting like particles. He decides not to ask for examples; examples make him feel like it's back to elementary school, d-u-a-l-i-t-y; now use it in a sentence. Good boy.

"Good boy," he whispered into Jared's ear, lesson learned, dragging his nails over the swell of Jared's ass, skin flushed pink. Tan lines on Jared's thighs, suddenly pale and velvety soft under his hands as he teased his fingertips up up up, in slow, deliberate circles. Jared's legs sliding apart, hips pushing up into Jensen's hand, so eager for anything Jensen chose to give. A hoarse whisper of "Want it," as he popped the bottle cap, lube dripping meaningless patterns onto heated skin. The flat of his finger tracing around, smoothing the slick into the crease, stroking over Jared's hole, just a slight hint of pressing in.

Jensen almost wanted him to ask again, beg for it, please, please, please, voice hitching and desperate, but Jared only shivered and spread his legs further, body relaxing, giving way. He presses his mouth to the teacup again, the smell still intense, red-hot, but the liquid on the verge of blandly warm, thinks of Jared turning to look at him over a sharp muscled shoulder. His face, relaxed, contented as Jensen slid a finger in all the way past the knuckle, then another, stretching him wider, fucking him with sudden bursts of sharp movement that had to burn even through the pleasure. "Ask me," Jensen hissed, leaning in, their breaths mingling, sweet, tight pressure of Jared stretched around him. His other hand heavy on the small of Jared's back, holding him down as he crooked his fingers, felt the tremor shake through his entire body. "Can't follow instructions, so you have to ask for permission, Jared."

"Ask for it, Jensen. Ask me," she murmurs into his ear, gentle pressure of teeth closing over the lobe, scraping into the skin, harder and harder until he moans, hips snapping desperately against the air, her small hand so close to his hard, straining cock. "Need this, don't you? Look at me." "Can't," he whimpers, eyes on the floor, cheeks red, burning, "can't," but god, he wants it, whole body aching, on the edge. "Ask for it," she whispers again, palm brushing over his cockhead, maddening, not enough, nowhere near enough. "Please," he keens, still unable to look her in the eye, "please, ma'am, please, can I?" Her fingers squeeze around him, hard; he can't, he can't stop now, stunned, shivering. "Come," she says, and he does, thick white streaks over her wrist, her pale pink forearm, dripping down into the plush carpet. He slumps against her, drained, exhausted, feels her steady, rhythmic heartbeat reverberate through his skin.

His tea is cold; Jensen pushes the cup aside and writes entanglement on the sheet, stumbling over the definition for a moment. A phenomenon in which the quantum states of two objects become linked together so that one can't be fully described without describing the other; he tries to let the words slant and dip like they did with the curves of Jared's body, but they just look like crooked letters, awkward and careless.

He dumps the cold tea in the sink, one last taste of cinnamon swirling through the air and then gone, and leans heavily on the counter. His cock is hard, pressing into the buttons of his jeans, but he ignores it, wills his pulse to stop pounding in his ears, his chest. Counts his breaths, slowing down one by one as he pads back over to the table and sinks into his chair. The quiz review is still unfinished; Jensen runs his fingers through his hair and closes his fist, tangling and pulling on the short strands until it hurts. Sighs and grabs the advanced class textbook from the stack, opens it and copies the last definition out of the glossary, word for word, without thinking.

Irreversibility.

The buttons of his fly give way easily, worn, stretched denim sliding apart under his hand. Jensen closes his eyes, runs a hesitant finger down the length of his cock through his underwear, feels the drag of cloth, beads of precome dotting the soft cotton.

The knock at his door is not entirely unexpected.