tiiiiiiiiiiiiny ficlet

[longsufferingly]

I wrote this very short follow-up to "Numquam Iam..." for sadcypress a few days ago and wasn't planning to post it because it is barely real, but then I was reading The Invention of Love today and found this line I wanted to use as a title and then was like ...wait I already have a fic. SO.

OH YEAH ALSO I. Am really behind on comments again ._. SO I AM DOING MY STUPID SAD GIVING UP THING. I appreciate all the comments that I have been failing to respond to, and will be doing better starting with THIS POST.

Girls Who Kiss Don't Know Latin
340 words, R



"No, see," says Jared, "his interpretation of Petronius is just. Fundamentally flawed."

Jensen glances over at him. Jared is an expanse of long tanned skin and firm planes, and Jensen wants to be thinking about nothing but that. "We just had sex and you want to talk about Petronius scholarship?" He pads back over to the bed, and Jared scoots over to make room.

"You like Latin scholarship," says Jared.

"Yeah, you know, in class. It's not exactly pillow talk."

Jared snorts. "Come on. Half of Latin poetry is just pillow talk."

"Half of it is 'you're a whore you don't love me I'm going to rend my clothes.'"

Jared grins. "See? That's hot."

"I have no idea why I'm dating you."

"My sexiness. And awesomeness. And general, you know. Goodness. In bed."

"Petronius scholarship."

Jared smirks.

Which is unfair.

"Quid dicam," says Jared, low and gruff, "Gelli, quare rosea ista labella."

"You memorized that?"

"Hiberna fiant candidiora niue," says Jared, rolling on top of Jensen and straddling him easily. "Mane domo cum exis et cum te octaua quiete."

"This is not a sexy poem," Jensen says. "It was, you know. Insults."

"E molli longo suscitat hora die?" asks Jared, to Jensen's neck, which he's sucking.

Jensen hisses.

"Nescio quid certe est: an uere fama susurrat."

"Not a turn on," Jensen manages.

Jared smirks and trails his hand down Jensen's stomach to where his dick is definitely disagreeing.

"Grandia te medii tenta uorare uiri?"

"Jared--" says Jensen, as Jared wraps his hand around Jensen.

"Sic certe est: clamant Victoris rupta miselli," says Jared, sucking a
mark into Jensen's neck. "Ilia, et emulso labra notata sero."

And then, his poem finished, Jared rolls off.

"Jared!"

"So," says Jared, smirking. "Still think Petronius scholarship isn't sexy?"

"Have you noticed they way I'm--Jesus!"

"Say it's sexy."

Jensen tries to will his dick to--stop. But he's not really succeeding. "It's sexy," he grits out.

Jared smirks and moves his hand back to Jensen's dick.

Seriously, the kid is going to kill him someday.

*

Catullus 80:
What reason can I give, Gellius, why those ruddy lips
become whiter than snow
when you rise in the morning or the eighth hour awakes you
from your soft siesta in the long hours of the day?
Something there is assuredly: is the gossip true
that you swallow the big erections of a man?
So it is assuredly: poor Victor's ruptured thighs proclaim it,
and your lips marked by the liquid you have milked.