This Little Piggy Stayed Home

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/23541925.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Supernatural RPF
Relationship: Alan Ackles/Jeffrey Dean Morgan
Characters: Alan Ackles, Jeffrey Dean Morgan
Additional Tags: Dirty Talk, Infidelity, Humiliation, Orgasm Denial, Barebacking,
Choking, Top Jeffrey Dean Morgan, bottom alan ackles
Language: English
Series: Part 4 of triggerfinger!verse, Part 9 of spn kink bingo 2020
Collections: SPN Kink Bingo 2020
Stats: Published: 2020-04-08 Words: 1,131 Chapters: 1/1
 This Little Piggy Stayed Home
by hellhoundsprey

Summary

Ackles doesn’t suck dick like someone who happily married their high school girlfriend.

2020 kink bingo square 12: dirty talk

Hard to tell when Alan is truly still asleep or only pretends. Bastard is practiced, Jeff’s gotta
give him that.

Jeff lies, “I know you’re awake,” with his fingers shoving into that mouth.

Weak stirring atop of Jeff’s chest, fluttering lashes. A sharp inhale as Alan comes to. Doesn’t
even complain. Raising three kids does that to you, Jeff guesses.

“Don’t think you came here for naps.”

Alan doesn’t gag upon Jeff fingering his uvula; not at first and not for a long while. Still
drifting and he smiles, eventually, and Jeff joins in on that.

“You with me, Ackles?”

Alan hums.

“Good.”

Jeff’s free hand pushes at the back of that head. The other slips from that throat and pets
along that face as Alan catches up and slides down.

Jared changed the sheets last night for obvious reasons. There’s a hint of crispness left in
them now and Morgan is confident they’ll take care of that. Still only, what, like, four PM?

Jeff tells him, “There you go,” and keeps petting that hair, all gentle because Alan is so easy
to boss around. Has his mouth on Jeff’s dick like it’s pure instinct, like his wife doesn’t
expect him back for Sunday Mass tomorrow morning.

Nuzzles and sighs and breathes in. Drags tongue and teeth and all Jeff’s gotta do is yank on
that hair a little and he’s let in, warm and cozy and welcome.

Jeff sighs the comfortable sigh of a bad, bad man.

“You go ahead and get that hard and I might let you come sit on it again.”

There are many dedicated souls in Jeff Morgan’s life. Some more distant than others and of
course there’s Jared, who is A Thing in itself, but out of everyone, Ackles is special. Not the
only closeted or married guy, absolutely not, just…something about him.

’Bout the way he’s always so sweet, so tender-looking. Still got a hard time asking for things
because, by god, he knows he doesn’t deserve any of it. Jeff’s always so fucking sentimental
for the ones he’s been The First for after decades of pretension, of wedding and bedding
women and fathering children and yet not being able to bury that side of themselves.

“You get her off like this, too? Eat her out and think of me?”

Alan’s eyes flash at him for the first time in what might be an hour.
Nothing in there but openness. Of willingness.

Jeff’s grin sharpens. “Oh, you’re definitely gonna do that tonight.”

A soft noise, deep from within where Jeff likes to think nobody but him can reach. Alan’s
cheeks hollow out pretty.

Alan’s the kind of devoted that gets you in goddamn trouble.

“Yeah, gonna give her the full deal while your sorry little dick gets nothing but the sheets.”

He feels that heat rushing into that head. Loves how much wetter the slide gets, immediately.
How cute the apples of those cheeks flush bright and how those hands stay in clear sight.

Jeff would call him a good boy if Alan was one and would crave the praise.

As things are, though, “All you’re good for, aren’t you,” dragged thumb along the slippery
corner of that mouth, the stretch of those lips.

Ackles doesn’t suck dick like someone who happily married their high school girlfriend. Like
someone who does the clerical work at an auto shop and gets into surprisingly heated
arguments with customers that don’t share his point of view on classic vehicles. Who bled his
heart out only last week about how his only daughter is starting to date a boy now and God,
Jeff, I don’t know what to do, she’s my girl, you know?

Hangs off of Jeff like it’s all he’s ever wanted, all sustenance he needs. Has to visibly hold
himself back from chasing what Jeff pulls him off of, pupils all blown and frothed spit
stringing from his chin; his face one giant sign screaming please and Jeff would never let him
have the illusion of him being a good man, ever.

“You don’t come,” he grits, yanking at Alan so brisk he nearly loses balance, “you come and
I’ll fucking tie you to the fucking chair out in the backyard.”

Alan straddles him, breathless already; and maybe Jeff shouldn’t threaten him with a good
time but then again Alan’s aware that he’s supposed to play along—be good and listen and
maybe, maybe you get to come. If I feel like it.

Remnants of come and lube successfully survived the intermission and Alan sinks down on
Jeff’s cock easily, stutter-y, knees wide and hands all sweet on Jeff’s stomach. Works himself
on it until he sits flush, until he sighs like relief and Jeff slaps his ass once before he steadies
a mean grip on those hips to use him right.

“Fuck me like you mean it,” grunts Jeff, and Alan groans before he settles, loosens, gets his
hands on the mattress instead to gather himself some leverage.

Alan is religious with his morning aerobics but still runs out of breath and composure so fast
once Jeff’s cock is involved. ’S like he forgets to walk and talk, all boneless.

Jeff pants, “What’s that, huh?” and his palm comes away wet with the strict smack to Alan’s
straining, ignored cock. Alan barely flinches—gasps, though, once Jeff holds him up and
secures a too-tight grip on his balls.

Whimpers, “Please,” and whines when he gets what he wants.

Feels good to pull, to crush. How tight Ackles snaps up around his cock, milks him stupid
and sobs pretty upon Jeff gritting, “Fucking keep moving,” with those testes still squished in
his fist, and Alan does, he really does.

Sniffs all pained now while he bounces in Jeff’s lap, works his already-overstimulated
prostate in tight-tight strokes, just like Jeff would demand it if he had to.

Drips weak ropes of precome on the hairy curve of Jeff’s belly, and Jeff reminds, “Don’t
fucking come, you fucking slut,” and Alan doesn’t.

Lets Jeff groan and come and fill him up further, lets his head droop so Jeff can lick into his
mouth, behind his teeth. Cuddles up tight while Jeff grinds him down on his still-twitching
cock, tells him, “This all you need,” without the hint of a question.

Jeff rolls them over, eventually, still kissing the wet breath out of that mouth.

Spreads his knees so he can roll his hips, can bury that dad bod underneath himself and put
his hands around that throat to feel his racing pulse as he bears down.

Reminds, again, “Don’t you come,” and Alan’s already reddening, eyes fluttering shut in
bliss and he gurgles a sound, something, uselessly, as he softly drapes his arms around Jeff’s
neck.
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