Sex on props probably breaks some kind of rule of their contracts. (Written for the paragraph porn-a-thon, prompt: illicit.)
And a gorgeous remix of this was written by ithlien22 here!
This door, this fucking door, it’s not even a real door. It’s the back door to the farm set, and God, what are they doing? Sex on props probably breaks some kind of rule of their contracts, and even this late at night someone, anyone, could walk in, could find them like this, Van’s legs wrapped around Jake’s waist as Jake groans into him, pounds him against the wobbling structure that, shit, they’re going to have to walk right past tomorrow like this never happened.
Jake vaguely remembers that Noah’s going to be standing in this very spot for his next conversation with Holden, and it makes him gasp-laugh against the crook of Van’s neck. But for that scene, his pants won’t be halfway off his ass, sliding lower the closer he gets to Van, and he won’t be scrabbling to keep his hold, the sweat slick on his palms as he cup’s Van’s ass. It’s making it hard to keep up the rhythm, which wasn’t all that smooth to begin with, stuttering desperation in each thrust that punctuates his dragged-in breaths.
Fuck, even if someone did come in now, he wouldn’t be able to stop, wouldn’t be able to let go, because Van’s mouth is open like a plea, bottom lip jutting out, eyes blown wide, and Jake just needs—fuck, he needs, just a little more, just a little more right there, the fucking slide in and in and in, trembling all over from the strain and pushing and just a little more, fuck, God, just, Van, oh, fuck, yes.
Somewhere in the periphery of his vision he sees a shift in the light, feels his body change directions as Van’s thighs clench on his waist, hears a muffled thud and a string of curses choked out near his ears, Van bearing down on him, and suddenly, whoomph, all the air is pressed out of his lungs, head spinning.
As he’s floating in the pleasant and glow-tinted aftershocks, he opens his eyes to find that they’re on the floor, the door stretched out like a parody of a bed beneath them, Van’s head thrown back, his throaty laugh filling the air, dude, Silbermann, could you have fucked me just a little harder? Jake rouses just enough to stick his tongue out at Van before letting it fall onto Van’s chest, because you know what? He probably could have fucked Van a little harder. He’ll just need a few minutes to get ready for it, and closing his eyes to the smell of Van and sweat and sex seems like a really good way to do that right now, and if he accidentally happens to rest his eyes too hard while doing that, well, whatever. When he wakes up he’s going to fuck Van so hard they take down the whole goddamn Snyder barn.