Title: By Dawn’s Early Light.
Word Count: 610
Summary: Jared wakes up early one morning and considers how the world sees Jensen and how he sees him.
Warnings: None, well perhaps enough schmoop to rot teeth.
Disclaimer: These gorgeous men are not mine, no matter how many bloody crossroads I stand at. It’s got to the point where I’m greeted with “Oh hell, not you again!” So in the spirit of sheer bloody mindedness I’ve set up a tent and sit waiting patiently for the day it the demon gives in and hands them over.
Notes: So I got bored at work and this was the result, really I need another job. As usual many thanks go to bigj52 my wonderful beta, plus here is my poor attempt at a banner.
I wake up early today. It’s typical - one of the few days we have a late call and I wake up before the alarm. I know I’m not going to go back to sleep as I lie in the dawn’s pale light, so I turn on to my side and look at the man sleeping next to me.
I think about the way you look. Between us I think we’ve either read or heard everything that has been said about our appearance. It has ranged from gorgeous to sexy. We’ve been called hotties and beautiful, of course. I’m always fascinated that even your ‘flaws,’ your freckles and bow legs, which occasionally make you blush when they are mentioned, are considered an enhancement to your beauty rather than detracting from it.
I begin thinking about what has been said about the sum of all your parts as it were. For instance, take your eyes. I’ve seen them described as everything from forest green, to jade to emerald, even golden-flecked windows to your soul. But nowhere in those poetic descriptions do they even come close to capturing the way you look at me, as if I’m the most amazing man you’ve ever seen. Nor do they describe that when you look at me like that, I want to be that man for you.
Last but not least, my eyes are drawn once more to your lips. Oh, the things that are said about those! Full, luxuriant, pouting and, of course, cock sucking from which the most amazing sounds can be wrung. Soft pleas for more, whimpers of pleasure, the way you say my name when we make love. I fight the urge to reach over and touch your lips, preferring to let you rest while you have the chance, allowing me this opportunity to just drink in the sight of you. And I realize that the sweetest sound I have ever heard fall from your lips is “I love you, Jared.”