2015-04-11 5:32:41 ¶ ● ⬈

## double dog dare ya

asthehero-blog:

> DARE MEME ( 6/?? ) __ //

> ( Wrinkles. His nose. Because this one also isn’t… much of a dare either. Who wrote these? )

> “Going right for the throat, eh?”
> Jack arches his brow, and stuffs his well-abused list of dares into his back pocket once more. He barely needs to look at it now, he’s memorized all the dares and their corresponding numbers. Young Hotness got the massage dare, which, really. It’s not much of a dare at this point. It’s more like a fucking excuse for him to get his hands all over himself. ( Like he even needs the incentive !! )

> “Still dogging at me, huh.” Jack sneers, heartily amused and more than a little endeared. He’s never going to let Young Hotness live that down now. He paces briefly, snagging one of the more comfortable looking lounge chairs with his toes, dragging it away from the end table it’s positioned by. Then, he’s got a hold on Young Jack’s upper arms, and physically encourages him to park his ass in said chair. Prop his feet up. Get cozy. If this is the dare, he’s going to indulge in it a little bit.

> Read More

“Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes, old man.” Jack’s grin is all teeth as he snarks at his future counterpart.

It pulls into a tight lipped scowl at the others jeer; he’s still pretty sore about the whole dog thing. He watches, interested and arms crossed, as his other pulls up a chair and makes an indignant noise when he’s pushed bodily into it. Having future Jack where he can’t see him always makes the hairs on his neck stand on end. He wonders just what the hell he’s gotten himself into this time.

The ghost of fingers on his skin makes him shiver, gives him goosebumps, and now he’s really concerned. He wants to ask what– to protest– but the arms draped over his shoulders cut him off. He’s suddenly very acutely aware of how close those fingers are to his throat and just how much damage they could do, depending on his other’s mood. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t one hell of a turn on, though.

“You relax–” He mumbles under his breath, sinking lower into the cushion of the chair. The hands in his hair make him pause, and suddenly it’s like other Jack is physically pulling all thoughts from his mind, each stroke leaving him blissfully blank. He makes a throaty noise and feels himself relaxing quickly to the touch, like those large hands have put him under some sort of spell and he wants to ask just when they got so good at this, but all that comes out is another low moan. Usually his hair would be off limits (excluding Nish’ and well, himself, he guesses) but the gentle push and tug was enough to make him swallow any protests lingering in his throat about messing up his image.

Pressing, searching fingers, knowing just where to squeeze, and he’s going slack-jawed, eyes closed. He lets Old Busted Hotness manhandle him where he pleased, despite whatever instinct yelling at him otherwise.
“Yeah, I’ll, uh… mmf–” grunts as the tougher knots in his shoulders are worked out, too distracted to even speak properly “-dooo that…” He was going to give whoever came up with this dare a friggin’ raise.