Fic: Pretending Is Who We Are (Jensen/Jared)

[bewaretheides15]

Fandom: J2 Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17 -- Wordcount: 8,800 (exactly!)
Warnings: first time D/s, breathplay, comeplay, lots of talk of kinks, pierced!Dom!switch!Jared and toppy!serious!Jensen
Notes: Oh boy. Well, I've been having this problem (when am I not?) of getting three quarters of the way through a fic and then deciding it's too boring/ridiculous/kinky to post and I'm sick of it, so this is me just sucking it up and posting. This was inspired by a prompt on the Working Hard for the Money comment fic meme but is probably in no way what the OP had in mind. It's really not what I intended to write for this either, but then the Kink Fairie showed up and my door and attacked me. Sorry. See the original prompt here

Summary - Jared may be one of the most renowned Doms at the escort service, but he has needs nobody would suspect, least of all his roommate.


Of all the directions Jensen imagined his life heading, becoming a professional escort was definitely the least expected. It had started out as a quick-cash thing as he was finishing grad school; show up, smile, be polite and attentive and get paid. And by paid, he meant ludicrously, over the top, pay-off-those-student-loans-in-under-a-year paid. Once he’d hit that echelon of the on-demand talent pool, it seemed pointless to forget about the whole thing and go looking for some entry-level position in a shitty job market when he was making the kind of cash most people could only dream of on a very lenient, self-controlled schedule. It was the perfect job and Jensen wasn’t stupid enough to walk away from that.

While, true, he’s still telling his family that he’s a ‘consultant’, he doesn’t actually have a problem with his job. Despite what the movies would have one believe, being an escort - especially top-tier guys like Jensen - isn’t nearly as much like hooking as it would seem. In fact, Jensen’s never had to lay a hand on any one of his clients outside of the professional capacities outlined in his contracts - kissing, some PDA, etc. Jensen is a ‘boyfriend experience’ guy; he takes care of himself, dresses well, and makes pleasant, intelligent conversation at the cocktail parties and galas his clients want him on their arm for. At the end of the night, they both go their separate ways, as per the agreement, and while he’s had more than a few very enthusiastic offers for more, he always turns them away. It’s not even that the idea of sex for money bothers him - as far as he’s concerned, the kind of personal care he’s providing, the window into people’s lives he gets, is significantly more intimate than many sexual relationships are - it’s just a rule that he set up for himself when he started this, and if he were ever to cave on it, then he’d know the job had gotten to him and he’d have to quit.

The money is great and he’s grown fond of some of his regular clients, but if he’s being honest, his number one reason for staying on with the service is the house the agency has put him up in for the last several months. If he’s being really really honest with himself, as much as he loves the house - the granite countertops, the hardwood floors, the restaurant-quality kitchen, the Jacuzzi tubs, the freaking infinity pool - the reason he hasn’t walked away is because of his roommate.

Moving in, Jensen would have never guessed that Jared would become such a big part of his life. Naturally, he’d expected the man would become a part of his life, they would be living together after all, but, he’d doubted very much that they were going to become close friends. Jensen had never been particularly good with people - he could schmooze with the best of them when he was getting paid for it, but on a basic, personal level, he tended to be more of a loner - and once he’d found out what kind of services his new roommate provided that kept him in such high demand, Jensen had questioned whether they’d even be able to find something to talk about.

It probably hadn’t helped that his introduction to Jared Padalecki had come in the form of walking out onto his new back patio to take in the view of the pool and finding the man sunbathing. Naked.

Looking at him, his new roommate had certainly lived up to the reputation the receptionists at the service had whispered about; dark ink swirled over a body that seemed entirely too big to be allowed, steel glinting in the sun from ears and nipples and the tip of his soft - but still sizable - cock.

Jensen had been sorely tempted to back away slowly and go call up the agency to tell them that this wasn’t going to work - living with the service’s resident BDSM expert had seemed a lot less intimidating before he’d realized the guy was an incredibly well built giant - when he’d noticed one perfectly arched eyebrow quirked at him over the rim of his new roommate’s designer sunglasses. Jensen had many fine qualities, but demurely backing down from a challenge was not one of them, so instead he’s straightened his shoulders, stood up as tall as he could and said dryly, “I hope you used sunscreen, because I am not listening to you bitch if your balls start peeling.”

For a solid minute, Jared hadn’t moved a muscle, and then very slowly the corners of his mouth had twitched upward into a broad grin. From that moment on, Jensen had been adopted into Jared’s strange little world, even if sometimes it felt like being kidnapped.

Despite their differences, they’ve meshed almost seamlessly from the very beginning, Jensen balancing out Jared’s brashness with his own brand of wry non-chalance, Jared’s utter lack of boundaries with his own carefully constructed walls.

It isn’t exactly a first when Jensen walks in one night to find Jared sprawled over every possible inch of their wide couch - shirtless, with his usual tight leather pants around his knees - dick in hand and porn moans blaring from the TV. He sighs to himself - because Jared couldn’t possibly hear it over the sound of the twink getting reamed within an inch of his life onscreen - and tosses his car keys into the designated bowl on the kitchen counter.

“Really good or really bad?” he yells over the sounds of melodramatic groaning and cheesy euro-pop. The volume immediately ebbs to a dull roar and Jared arches up in his position on the couch to peer over the back of it at Jensen.

“Was fine,” he grunts, slightly winded, “Hey, grab me a water?”

Jensen fishes around in the fridge - they need to clean that out this weekend or Jared’s Chinese leftovers are going to walk out all on their own - for a couple of water bottles and walks around the counter to rest Jared’s in the cradle between his neck and the sofa. The bigger man hisses, startled, and snatches the bottle, sticking his studded tongue out at Jensen as he snaps the cap off. He’s quiet for the length of time it takes to half-drain the bottle - which for Jared is about three and a quarter seconds - before he launches into it.

“Needy bottom. Had to call it off halfway through,” Jared explains, hand still loosely fisted around his hard length, though not stroking anymore. Jensen’s seen Jared like this often enough - the man seriously has no sense of privacy whatsoever - that his eyes aren’t magnetically drawn to the sight anymore, but even with the view just from the corner of his eye, his own dick starts to twitch with jealous interest.

Still, he’s a good friend and a supportive coworker and he’s heard enough of Jared’s stories to know that if Jared called something off, it must have been bothering him quite a bit. It’s mildly surprising; Jared’s called things off with a couple of clients before, but always because of safety issues. Jensen’s never heard of him backing out over something that seems as mild as a man begging to be put in his place; he actually would have thought Jared would get off on that sort of thing.

“I don’t understand,” he prompts, because that’s usually all the incentive Jared needs to spill whatever mess is swirling around in his brain.

True to form, Jared furrows his eyebrows, eyes fixed unseeing on the television where his porn has now flipped back to the scene selection screen, and starts running off at the mouth.

“He was just, you know, mouthy. Going on and on about what he wanted me to do, how he wanted it to feel, how good it was going to be. And I was just sitting there thinking about what if it was me in his position and how fucking good it sounded and… I dunno, man, I got all caught up in it, I couldn’t get into the right headspace. Kept trying to go sub.”

Well, that’s a new one. Jensen gets the difference between the shtick and the man - he’s certainly nowhere near as prim and perfect as his puts on for his clients - he’s just never gotten an inkling that Jared might not be as much of a toppy-top as he markets himself as.

“Oh,” Jensen manages intelligently after a moment, his mind completely refusing to relinquish the image of putting Jared bent over and begging, “I, um. I didn’t know that you could go sub.” It comes out a slightly less like a nervous teenager than he’d suspected that it might, though that’s probably due to the couple of years’ worth of training he’s put himself through to make calm and collected his default setting.

Jared grunts his assent with a shrug, now busy scrolling through the list of scenes on the disc. Jensen thinks that’s going to be the end of it - which would be a very good thing because he suddenly has a need of his own to take care of in a more secluded locale - but then Jared seems to find what he’s looking for and hits a button on the controller, his focus immediately back on Jensen.

“Yeah, I mean, I switch, you know. Or I would anyway, if I had, like, time for an actual sex life; it’s just safer to Dom is clients. But it’s like… don’t you ever get sick of having to be that guy? Like if you have to fit into this one little box for one more second you’re going to go nuts?”

Jensen murmurs his agreement; he knows exactly what Jared means. He’s certainly felt the claustrophobia more than once looking around a room of strangers, all expecting him to be and act like someone he’s really, mostly not. It’s enough to make him want to run screaming sometimes.

“Well, yeah,” Jared continues, hand idly working up and down his length with no real rhythm or speed, “It’s just, I always liked subbing before, sometimes. And I don’t really get to anymore, so I guess I kinda built it up in my head or something. Like, I made it all big and fetishy and shit so now it’s just stuck there and then that guy tonight just made it sound so fucking good…”

That seems to garner Jared’s dick some legitimate attention, fingers squeezing at the base and working all the way to the tip where a tiny pearl of precome wells at the pierced slit. Jensen swallows against the urge to find out what that little bit of metal would taste like.

It’s certainly not that he’s never thought of Jared like that before, on his hands and knees, at Jensen’s mercy - or the other way around - it’s a natural sort of thought for one to have when living practically celibate and with an insanely hot professional Dom. Between the time taken up by clients and the responses the nature of their jobs tend to garner, neither of them have found much time or inclination to have actual social lives, so they spend most nights vegged out in the living room together, arguing over what to watch. They’re the closest one another is likely to come to a real relationship in the near future and add to that Jared’s inherently open personality and the fact that their chosen profession steeps them in sex - to varying degrees - it would have been nothing short of miraculous for Jensen not to have thought of Jared like that before now. He loves their friendship though, their odd-couple ease, and even for what would almost certainly be some of the most intense, adventurous sexual encounters of his life, he could never justify risking that closeness. His penis, apparently, was not informed of that decision.

“It’s been way too long, man.”

Finally, that sets the alarm bells ringing. Jensen knows that tone in Jared’s voice; it’s what he uses when he thinks he’s being subtle about wheedling Jensen into watching wrestling or ordering from that Indian place down the street. It means Jared wants something and it doesn’t take much of a leap to realize that Jensen’s dick wasn’t the only one who missed the ‘don’t fuck your roommate’ memo.

Getting up as quickly as he can without exposing his now more than burgeoning erection or seeming like he’s rushing out of the room, Jensen mumbles something vague about letting Jared get back to what he was doing and makes a break for the hallway. If he can just get to his room, he should be fine. There’s only a 72% of Jared following him.

He never gets to find out anyway.

“You could help me out, you know,” Jared prompts, mock-casual, as if he’s not catching Jensen mid-way through a near-sprint for the door. He’s still too much in the room - in this damn conversation - to pretend he didn’t hear that though, so instead he goes with his next best option and falls into default mode number 2 - dry snark.

“Would you like me to list all of the ways that’s a terrible idea alphabetically or just rattle them off the cuff?” He turns around, hopefully looking less reluctant than he feels, to find Jared up on his knees on the couch. From this angle all can see is from the belly button up, just the tip of Jared’s cock visible over the edge like it’s spying on him. It’s unreasonably hot, and his own dick pointedly reminds him of exactly how long it’s been since he’s had any action that didn’t directly involve his own right hand.

Jared barrels right on, apparently unfazed by Jensen’s refusal. “Come on, it’ll be fun! Don’t even pretend you haven’t wanted to spank me once or twice.” He winks at Jensen, all playful cheek the way he’s never seen Jared be around anyone else. Sometimes he wonders if the two of them could have made this work if they’d known each other when their lives weren’t so far left of center.

“No, Jared. Not going to happen. I don’t scene.” It’s a very reasonable excuse, and true at that. Before he’d started spending vast quantities of time with Jared, everything he’d known about D/s had come from The Story of O.

“Dude, you go Dom on me, like, all the time around here,” Jared argues, “You’re doing it right now!”

“Ok, first of all,” Jensen’s aware that he’s lecturing, he really doesn’t care; it makes him feel more comfortable, “not immediately agreeing to do whatever you want is not the same thing as being your Dom. Secondly, all of that implies that you would actually be capable of listening to me and doing what I say.” Which, now that it’s out of his mouth, doesn’t sound nearly as much like ‘no’ as he meant it to.

“I could,” Jared assures him, nodding eagerly, practically wagging his non-existent tail, as if that’s going to make all the difference in Jensen’s decision, “I’d be really good for you, Jen, I swear.” He’s not so much wheedling now as pleading, lips pouty and eyes wide like the most obscene possible parody of a whining child. He’s also rocking himself gently against the cushions on the back of the couch, taut stomach bunching as he undulates.

“Stop it! You’re going to stain the sofa,” Jensen barks without a second thought, only registering what he’s just done when Jared freezes, hips backed away from the cushions enough that he’s not smearing them with precome anymore. Jared’s breathing heavy, dark flush high on his cheeks, pupils steadily expanding as he holds himself completely still. Waiting for another order.

A hot dump of adrenaline hits Jensen hard enough to feel like he’s been knocked on his ass, knees knocked out from under him at 60 miles an hour. Jesus H., that’s stupidly sexy. It takes longer than it should to shake off the feeling and get his senses back.

“I have to…” he mutters, turning back toward the hall and the sanctuary of his bedroom - he’ll lock the damn door if he has to; it’s for Jared’s own good - but Jared makes this soft whine in his throat and then there’s the crumple as he tries to get up off the sofa in his tangled pants and follow. Jensen knows it’s a very bad idea, but blessedly it works when he snaps, “Don’t follow me.”

He stalks back to his bedroom by himself, heart hammering the whole way from something that has much less to do with relief than it ought to. Actually, it feels a damn lot like regret.

***

Things are tense between them for the next couple of days. Jensen’s doing his best to make believe his best friend didn’t ask to be dominated sexually by him and Jared’s doing his best to make sure Jensen can’t possibly think about anything else. He’s not doing anything overt enough that Jensen can call him on it; Jared’s always spent half his time around the house in varying states of nudity, so his predilection for walking around without shirts, or pants, or - God! - in that silky little pair of black boyshorts with the lace trim that Jensen’s seen in the laundry too many times to buy Jared’s ‘my ex girlfriend must have left them’ story about, isn’t exactly a sudden development. He’s not stupid enough to believe it’s anything but a tease, though, especially not with the way Jared’s been acting.

Jared’s a good guy, and despite the lack of personal space, has always been a very attentive roommate; he does his share of the work and doesn’t complain any more than it takes to push Jensen’s buttons. Now, though, he’s being particularly attentive; going to the specialty grocery store way on the other side of town to pick up that brand of yogurt that Jensen likes, bringing Jensen’s clothes to his room - folded no less! - straight from the dryer, actually remembering to put his boots somewhere out of the way so Jensen doesn’t trip over them for the forty-millionth time. He doesn’t actually know enough about the whole sub thing to say if that’s the sort of thing a sub’s supposed to do - and he is categorically refusing to do any research on the matter, no matter how many times he finds himself halfway through typing it into a search engine - but it certainly seems to be what Jared’s trying to do; some misguided attempt to prove himself to Jensen that is absolutely no way working.

Jensen would be willing to bring the subject up again - painful though it will inevitably be - if he thought it would get Jared to actually hear out his very valid points for not doing this. For starters, with their jobs, it would only get messy. He knows Jared doesn’t generally fuck his clients - not with his actual dick anyway, though some of the things Jared’s mentioned putting in people has ruined large portions of the produce aisle for Jensen - but the odds of things turning ugly somewhere down the line aren’t small. Jensen knows himself, he can be a jealous bastard at times, and he’s really not sure how he would handle switching their roles on and off all the time. Plus, they live together and are so much closer than they should reasonably be after less than a year of knowing one another and having all of that break down… well, it would hurt. Probably a lot. Jensen doesn’t have many people in his life and he can’t think of anyone he’s ever been as connected to as he is with Jared.

So, see? Bad idea. Really terrible idea. Should not do it. Shut up, cock.

Maybe that hasn’t occurred to Jared or maybe he just really doesn’t care, or maybe, just maybe, he’s trying to make Jensen explode from sexual frustration. He’s beat off more in the last few days than he has in the last two months - he’s been in a slump, ok? - and for the first time ever, he actually loses track of himself on the job. It’s not a big deal, no one even seemed to have noticed that he zoned out for a minute there, but it’s the principle of the thing, damnit. He’s good at what he does because he’s caring and attentive and he can’t - evidently - do that if he keeps getting distracted by thoughts of Jared.

Really though, frustrating as all of that is, he could learn to deal - he really could, he’s almost positive - except Jared just seems to be getting worse. Not in obvious ways; in fact he’s actually seemed to have taken the hint and started wearing his usual - if still minimal - amounts of clothing around the house. No, the problem is in the subtle things; the way his muscles always seem right on the verge of bow-string taut, how he’s just getting clumsier and clumsier, how he looks like he’s barely sleeping.

He does a good job of covering it, and maybe if Jensen hadn’t spent the vast majority of his free time for the past several months in Jared’s exclusive company, he wouldn’t notice how increasingly twitchy and wreched his roommate is. Jensen’s done his best to ask, though he’s not entirely sure that it won’t turn out to be Pandora’s box if Jared wants to talk about it, but Jared just shrugs it off; grins and makes a joke about how he’s working too ‘hard’. Jensen decides to let it go.

Or, at least he does until Genevieve, one of the bookers at the service, calls him up to ask how Jared’s doing; that the service will be happy to pay for a doctor’s visit if his flu still isn’t getting better.

***

It’s pitch black in the kitchen, but Jensen’s been seething in the darkness long enough for his eyes to have adjusted. He can’t believe Jared would do this! Sure, he always gives off an irresponsible vibe, acts like an overgrown little boy, but he’s always taken care of himself and he’s always taken his job seriously. This is wrong, a whole other level of wrong; one of those major personality shifts - implosions - like you hear about before somebody runs their life off the rails. Like hell is Jensen going to sit back and watch it happen.

The aqua-green numbers on the microwave’s clock glare accusingly into the silence of the room. 2:23 A.M. Where the hell is he? And why the fuck isn’t he answering his cell?

Metal scrapes on metal, key in the lock, then again with a dull thud thrown in for punctuation as the tumblers on the lock give way. The yellow light from the front porch is a stunningly bright ribbon in the blackness before a tall form blots it out and then the door shuts once more, bolt sliding back into place behind him.

Jared obviously thinks he’s alone because he lingers there at the door, shoulders slumped under the outline of the heavy leather trenchcoat that’s part and parcel of his usual ‘going out’ outfit. The broad hand he has braced on the wall seems to be the only thing holding him up, as if the wall is somehow transferring just enough strength through the contact to hold him steady. He looks miserable, broken, and Jensen can’t even make out his face yet.

“Where were you?” Jensen asks with what he feels is laudable composure considering how many worst-case scenarios he’s run through in the last couple of hours. Jared nearly jumps out of his skin, this close to stumbling right off of his feet as he whirls to face the kitchen table Jensen’s using as a barrier between them.

“Shit, man! You scared the hell out of me!” Jared scolds breathlessly, “Why the fuck are you sitting alone in the dark?”

He seems to have gained enough composure to make himself walk over to where Jensen’s keeping himself seated through sheer force of will. If he hadn’t found out - subtly - from Genevieve that Jared hasn’t had a client in nearly two weeks, he’d swear that Jared must have been on the job tonight. He’s dressed to the T for the part; his trench on top of a tight black t-shirt worn so thin it’s only barely saved from being called mesh, black jeans tonight instead of his leather pants, but he’s making up for their absence with chunky, thigh high boots, turned down to the knee. He looks like he just walked out of a masochist’s wet dream, nothing but a riding crop missing to complete the look.

Well, that and any semblance of Jared’s typical powerhouse personality. It’s clear he’s trying hard, slapping on as much swagger as he can manage and relying on the lighting to cover for the rest, but it’s still a pale shadow of what Jensen’s used to seeing in him, the act as transparent as his ridiculous shirt.

“Waiting on you to get home and pretend that you’ve been at work all night.” There’s more snap in it than Jensen actually intended there to be but, goddamnit, Jared’s lying right to his face!

Jared’s mouth is already open on an “I-“ that never transforms into a sentence when that seems to register. His answering “What?” sounds a lot like defeat.

“Geneveive called,” Jensen explains as succinctly as he can because going over it in his head is only making him angrier, “She wanted to see how your flu was. The agency’s getting worried.” Jared swallows audibly, eyes hitting to floor as his ass hits the table, sitting down heavily enough that it squeals an inch across the tile. “Now would you like to tell me what’s been going on or should I go ahead and start packing?”

That gets Jared’s head snapping up so fast Jensen’s surprised he doesn’t have whiplash. “What?! No, why… Why would you need to pack?”

“Because I’m not going to walk around here and act like I don’t know there’s something wrong with you, Jared. I can’t live that way anymore and I won’t stand idly by and watch you spiral out of control. If you won’t let me help, then that’s your choice, but you can’t ask me to sit here and watch it either.”

It’s a ploy, a cheap one, even - Jensen wouldn’t leave now if Jared asked him to - but it does get Jared’s attention. Jared’s expression flickers between a couple dozen different emotions, finally settling into a cracked sneer.

“Oh, now you give a shit? Now you want to help? Fuck you, Jen!” The table squeals again, moves another couple of inches to the side as Jared shoves off of it, stomping down the hallway like an angry teenager. Jensen follows without actively making a decision to do so - a familiar pattern since Jared trounced into his life.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

“It means I fucking asked you for help weeks ago and you walked the fuck out on me, so fuck you and your martyr bullshit!”

Jared makes to slam the door in Jensen’s face, but he’s following too close behind for Jared to manage it, instead catching the door with a loud smack of his palm and snapping on the lights so maybe they can actually have this out like adults.

He couldn’t tell before, but Jared’s got kohl rimmed all around his eyes, the green in them standing out even more against the black. He’s beautiful, breathtaking, and unmistakably furious, rounding on Jensen the second he’s through the doorway.

Jensen’s shoulders hit the wall first, followed almost instantly by the back of his head, long line of heat overwhelming his front as Jared presses in close, hard rod of his cock riding Jensen’s stomach. The smell of cigarettes and imported beer is like a cloud all around him, mixed up with the scent of sweat and an underlying hint of the spicy cologne Jared favors. A bar somewhere, then, upscale enough to cater to Jared’s tastes, but unimpressive enough that they’d still let people smoke inside. The kind of place Jared’s clientele wouldn’t be caught dead in. At least he’s being smart about his stupidity.

“This is about the sub thing?” Jensen questions, though his answer is right there in the tight twist of Jared’s mouth.

“Yeah, the sub thing,” Jared snarls against him, every moist-hot puff an almost tangible thing against his lips.

“You haven’t found someone?” Again, the answer’s obvious, but nonetheless incomprehensible. Jared’s gorgeous and even someone who doesn’t know all of the incredible things Jensen knows about who he is could avoid noticing that Jared’s the most beautiful thing in any room he happens to walk into; how any Dom could resist snatching him up is completely beyond Jensen’s fathoming.

“Sure,” Jared scoffs, pushing his face in even closer to Jensen’s so their lips rasp together on each syllable, “Lots of someones. Lots of people want to fuck me up, make me scream. You want to hear about it, Jen? All the ones that have tried, all the things I’ve let them do to me? Give you something to run back to your room and jack it to, you fucking coward?”

Jensen’s hand slam into Jared’s chest hard enough to knock him back, sends him tumbling to the mattress when he can’t find his balance. He bares his teeth at Jensen under lips that already look kissed raw now that Jensen’s looking for it, feral fury with need clawing just under the surface. Jensen may not know a damn thing about any of this, but he’d have to be blind not to see that.

“How long has it been this bad?” His voice comes out too soft, almost awed, too much of the sympathetic ache blooming in his lungs threading through it.

Jared twitches under the weight of it, drags in a couple of fast breaths like he’s working his way up to hyperventilating and then just as suddenly surrenders. “Not long,” he answers hollowly, not even close to meeting Jensen’s eyes, “Always been there, but it’s been getting worse for a while. Ever since you moved in.”

Jensen’s mouth opens on words that obstinately refuse to come. Not a single thing that pops into his head is adequate to express the storm of conflict whirring inside of him. He did this? This is his own fault?

Jared must pick up on some of it - one of the side effects of being a professional people-pleaser, you get damn good at reading people’s tells - because he continues with, “’S not anything you did. It’s just... just you. I dunno, Jen, you just affect me, you know? Like nobody has in a really long time. And then I finally got up the nerve to ask for it and you said no but then you were still all you and I just couldn’t get it out of my head. Like once it was out there, I just couldn’t quit thinking about it.”

Jared flops back on the bed with a crinkle of leather, stares at the ceiling as he whispers, “Thought I could get it out of my system, if I could just find somebody to take care of it for me, but it didn’t work. Nobody gets me like you do; nobody else is under my skin like that. It’s not enough.”

Maybe the walls in this house are actually draining strength instead of giving it, because Jensen certainly feels like all of his has been sapped away. He lets himself slide into a crouch, the khakis he never bothered to change out of earlier stretching uncomfortably at the knees.

“I’m not magic, Jared. I can’t fix it,” he confides just as quietly as Jared had a moment before, something tenuous and all-too-breakable hanging in the air between them. “I don’t even know how to do this. I can’t be what you want.”

“You haven’t even tried yet.” It’s nothing more or less than a plea and Jensen echoes it right back.

“I could just make it worse. I might not give you what you need, I might hurt you.”

“I can take it. I’ll like anything you do.”

Jensen huffs a humorless laugh into the palm of his hand, hiding for a moment behind the cage of his fingers as if they’ll protect him from Jared’s soft, sincere words.

“It’s not that easy,” he argues lamely, last ditch effort when he already knows he’s lost, might have lost even before this started.

“Can be,” Jared promises in return, “Can be anything you want.”

His friend stares at him from the bed, eyes so open and honest behind midnight-dark lids. He hadn’t even realized how off Jared had been these last few weeks until now that he’s back the way he’s supposed to be, the way he’s supposed to look at Jensen.

Yeah. Yes. For that, he can do this, even if it makes his stomach try to turn inside out. For Jared, he’ll do it.

“There are going to be rules,” he warns, trying his best to ignore the way his heart flutters when Jared’s eyes light up like he just announced Christmas is going to come every day. His roommate just nods, lips trapped between his teeth as though he's afraid Jensen will change his mind if he says anything.

"Number one, you have to be honest with me," Jensen says, walking himself through this in his head. He hasn't got a clue what he's going to do next, but rules, at least, he can handle. "No more of this running around behind my back crap, and no telling me what you think I want to hear. I ever find out that’s what you’re doing and I'll call the whole thing off."

It's then that a thought occurs. "You... you want this to be more than a one time thing, right?" And he's really not sure whether it's more disturbing that he'd assumed it would be in the first place or the way tension bleeds out of him when Jared frantically nods again. Oh Jesus, enjoying this is a whole other can of worms he really doesn't want to open. He pushes the thought away, and as much of the feeling that goes along with it as he can. For Jared, this is for Jared.

"Ok, second rule, you have to tell me if I fuck up, because I'm going to do research and everything, but you know all of this better than I do and you will not, under any circumstances, allow me to do something to you the wrong way, got it?"

He waits for Jared's confirmation, finding it progressively easier to let what Jared jokingly calls his 'bossy side' come out.

Jensen pulls himself back to his feet, taking advantage of the way to position leaves him looking down on Jared, the innate shift in Jared's body language that goes along with it. Until exactly this moment, he hadn't really been able to picture Jared subbing - on his hands and knees, begging for harder-faster-more, yes, but he'd always figured Jared for a toppy kind of bottom; always demanding, pushing for more. This, the way he goes to loose attention, every ounce of his focus zeroed in on pleasing Jensen - well, he gets it, now.

It's the same thing, really, what they're doing; Jensen taking his cues off of Jared, and Jared taking his from Jensen, both playing the escort and client all at once. In a bizarre sort of way, it makes sense, and just like a switch flipped, the stress about getting this right flies out the window. He may not know how to Dom, but playing the part? That's his job, and he's damn good at it.

"Boots, jacket and shirt off," he bites out, terse but smooth, the way Jared tends to be when he comes in from a particularly intense job, not quite able to turn it off.

Jared moves fast and fluid, fingers shaking a little on the laces of his boots, finally giving up on the whole thing and just tugging them off. He doesn't fling them into the corner or leave them strewn on the floor the way he usually does when he get home. Instead, they're set side by side next to the night stand, military precision that makes Jensen want to quirk a wry smile.

He's dying to ask how often Jared's done this, if someone taught him to be this way or if it's just as natural as he makes it seem. That's not the important part now, though, so instead he comes out with, "'No's and 'yes's, Jay? Anything off limits, you’d better tell me now. "

Jared freezes for a barely distinguishable half-second, trench coat trapped around his biceps as his lips part on a labored breath. Jensen's never seen his roommate blush, but he's bright scarlet now, more and more of it revealed as he strips off his flimsy excuse for a shirt.

"I, um," Jared drags in a breath that seems to rattle in the air between them, rubs his hand self-consciously over the ripples of his torso before he continues, "I'm pretty open to whatever. Never really liked enemas. Fisting. Anything covering my face freaks me out. Breathplay's good, but not with masks, and I don't like blindfolds."

His face is a brighter red than Jensen would have thought physically possible, especially considering the level of scrupulously detailed perversion Jared has spouted at him practically from day one. Still, he's looking up through his lashes at Jensen like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, like he thinks he just messed everything up. Jensen tilts his chin approvingly, fighting back the urge to tell Jared that's fine with him because he can't make it too easy, that's not what this is.

"And what do you like?" he asks, the question knotting him up with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. "Just hit the high points for me." Jensen goes ahead and gestures at the bed when Jared hesitates, tries not to focus too much on the play of muscle as his roommate crawls to the middle of the mattress and sits up on his knees, legs splayed like an offering. At least until Jensen remembers that he's intended to look, and then he can't seem to tear his eyes away from the long smooth expanses of skin laid out for him.

Jared's trembling, the motion so fine Jensen's eyes just barely pick it up as his roommate haltingly ventures, "Bondage. The leather cuffs are my favorite, but anything where I'm held down is good. Spanking; God, yeah. Biting. Marking, es- especially collars." He bites down on his lip, shutting himself up, and Jensen’s just a little too far into it to realize he's reaching out to stroke a knuckle over the thin skin of Jared's throat, imagining it wrapped in supple black cord, until he's already done it. Jared's eyes flutter the second skin meets skin, head tipping back like this is his own personal paradise. His Adam's apple rubs against the pad of Jensen's fingers when he chokes out, "Bottom lefthand drawer, there's-"

The pressure of Jensen's thumb to his lips cuts Jared off, replaces what was going to come next with a strangled parody of a whimper.

"I know where your collection is." Jensen barely makes it through the sentence, breath hitching as Jared's lips part just enough to press the fire-hot tip of his tongue to Jensen's skin. It's really not his fault that the digit ends up forced into Jared's mouth after that, pure instinct requiring the soft, desperate suckle that Jared gives him.

Jared's shown him the wide assortment of toys in his bottom drawer enough times that Jensen couldn't possibly keep the memory at bay - which, now that he's thinking about it, might have been a hint at what Jared was after. He knows there's at least three different collars in there, each one tucked lovingly into its own individual box - Jared had never gone into detail about it and Jensen had been stubbornly fighting not to picture how they'd look around his roommate's neck to ask. Now he knows why they were so carefully cared for, and the knowledge shoots like molten lead right to his cock.

Jared's tongue wave-rolls against his thumb, supplying far too vivid an image of what that would feel like on more interesting parts of his anatomy. Reluctantly, Jensen takes the digit back, because if he doesn't this control exercise is going to fly right out the window on him.

"What else?" he prompts, entirely too breathless for the little bit of nothing they've done so far.

Jared's eyes sluggishly open, irises as dark as the shadow tinting his lids. He blinks dazedly at Jensen for a second, then seems to remember what they were talking about and blurts, "Oral. Like having my mouth used."

"Could have guessed that."

Jared smirks, muscles melted and loose; three-quarters of the way down a bottle of tequila and not a drop of it in his system. He's wrecked, easy, positively wanton, and seeing it rubs all up against Jensen's insides like a cat in heat.

"Knives," he admits freely, voice an octave lower than usual and rough enough Jensen would swear he'd already been using that throat the way he’s wanted to more times than he’d care to admit, "Not so much the cutting, just the steel on my skin. And sounding."

At that he rubs the flat of his hand over the distended front of his jeans, erection obvious against the hard line of his zipper. Jared moans a deep sound, eyes locked in a dare on Jensen's and he knows reflexively what to do with that.

The little barbell in Jared's nipple is a mix of body-warm and metal-cool between his fingers, blood flushing the skin fever-hot instantly as Jensen twists, pulling Jared mercilessly to the peak of his position, straining for balance as he gasps.

"Hands. Off," Jensen growls, completely enthralled by the play of fear and desire and trust on his roommate's face. Maybe Jared wasn't just imagining things when he saw this in Jensen; his dick certainly seems to be in favor of Jared's assessment.

Jared's hands flatten to the outside of his thighs, a safe distance from where Jensen can see his cock twitching in denim confines, a spot just beginning to darken at the head, soaking through. Fuck, Jensen's going to go off untouched at this rate.

He intones a "Good boy," soothing over the pebbled nub with his fingertips until a shiver rocks through Jared hard enough to shake the mattress. His hand skates up over the ridge of Jared's collar bone to the delicate column of his throat. The way Jared presses into is barely perceptible, probably wouldn't be at all except Jensen was looking for it.

Gentle pressure gets Jared on his back, arms sliding above his head at Jensen's urging. He licks his lips compulsively as Jensen straddles his chest, knees tight underneath Jared's arms. By the time he's actually got his zipper down, dick heavy and brand-hot in his palm, Jared's swallowed half a dozen times, slicked his lips just as many, practically drooling for it.

Jensen can't deny that it's a head trip, nailing him right where it counts to have this kind of power over someone as big and strong and Jared as Jared, and that it's not all because he knows Jared will like it that he catches both of Jared's wrists in one hand and holds them down. His roommate struggles beneath him for the length of a heartbeat, then turns to putty in his hands, twitching occasionally as his body naturally fights the feeling of being trapped.

He's almost got himself pressed to Jared's parted lips when it occurs to him. There are supposed to be safewords and things like that in these sorts of situations, and if he hasn't even gotten that far into handling this, how's he possibly supposed to know if Jared wants to stop when is mouth's stuffed full.

Jensen starts to back up, running over the admittedly little he knows about this in his mind, but then Jared's straining up against him, tongue darting out to just flick over the wet head and send a ricochet of pleasure all the way up Jensen's spine.

"Hey," Jared rasps low, fucked out already. He jerks his head up toward where Jensen's got his wrists pinned and Jensen notices the signal he's making with his hands - simple, but obviously intentional. "That's stop, ok?," he explains, then shoots a longing look at the tip of Jensen's erection, dribbling into the hollow of Jared's throat, "Now don't tease. C'mon, Jen."

Jensen doesn't even consider the action before he's got his freehand tangled in Jared's hair, pulling his head back hard enough to bare his neck in a smooth bridge. Jared barks out a sharp sound, loses the rest on a rush of air when Jensen murmurs, "I'll tease if I want to. And you'll call me Jensen, unless, of course, you prefer Master."

Alright, he might have been wrong about not scening - apparently he's a natural.

Jared might be in actual danger of shaking apart, Jensen’s words wreaking havoc on his breathing as it turns into thready keens. Jensen takes that for a go ahead and releases Jared’s hair to take himself back in hand, taunting at Jared’s lips with the tip on principle, watching the dart of pink and silver as Jared’s pierced tongue sweeps out to lap away the thin smears of precome Jensen leaves behind. It’s unbearably hot and, yeah, screw it, he’s into this - he’s really into this.

Jared’s mouth is a wet little slice of heaven as Jensen pushes in; hot, slick suction, hard press of that metal stud along the vein on the underside and - oh, fuck yes! - the nerve-rattling sensation of that obscene slurp-hum thing that Jared’s doing. It’s honey-sweet, candy and hot pepper running roughshod through his veins, and it is becoming increasingly apparent with each passing second why people go to such lengths for this kind of experience.

He takes it slow, not wanting to choke Jared until he remembers that that’s the damn point and lets his hips ride forward, the thrust taking him right past the clench of Jared’s gag reflex and into the trap of his throat. Jared does struggle then, arms fighting to flail out of Jensen’s grip, but he just moves his other hand up as well, hanging on to Jared more firmly, keeping him in place.

Despite the struggling, Jared’s hands stay loosely open or else clamped into fists, but never once signal for Jensen to back off so he keeps up the steady, quick pace his body naturally falls into, pausing deep every now and again to watch Jared’s face go red with want for air, his pupils expanding and contracting by fractions as he stares up at Jensen, corners of his eyes glittering as they water and he just takes it, all the way to the base. He lunges forward every time Jensen tries to pull out, lips and chin sloppy with spit and precome, sucking and swallowing like the motion’s all that’s keeping him alive.

Jensen has good control, can usually hang on for a long time if he puts his mind to it, but Jared’s tearing that all to shreds without even trying. He’s got a very limited number of thrusts left in him and he’s not sure if it’s been long enough to take care of whatever need Jared’s been consumed by but then apparently it doesn’t matter because Jared’s eyes roll back on the next deep push, making Jensen’s heart skip a panicked beat until he figures out the reason Jared’s throat is suddenly closing up around him, vibrating on a nearly non-existent groan.

“Fuck, did you… you didn’t,” he babbles, not really believing what his brain is telling him until he’s dragged his cock all the way out of Jared’s mouth and dipped his hand around behind him, under the waistband of Jared’s pants. They pull free hot and sticky, fluid stringing between his fingertips and Jared’s skin. It may be the single hottest thing that’s ever happened to him.

Jared’s wheezing out harsh breaths, pliant and all but liquid beneath him; an incredibly debauched portrait of contentment. Jensen would smile in satisfaction at a job well done but he’s too busy fisting his dick because he needs to get off right this goddamn second or the need pinging around in his system is going to kill him. A handful of hard, fast strokes later he’s grunting out his own orgasm, free hand cupped around the head automatically to catch the mess. He’s about to get up and go put himself back together - just as soon as his legs remember how to stop acting like overcooked noodles - when Jared’s quiet whine halts him.

“Please,” Jared begs, eyes only for the fingers Jensen’s got tightly held around his release, trying not to drip anywhere. It’s not the ploy he would have expected it to be, guileless, just a request; one he absolutely should not grant. This… whatever it is, has officially gone far enough. Jared’s obviously fulfilled, if not entirely satisfied; his voice is trashed and the pink blooming around his wrists is definitely going to become bruising in a few hours. Jensen’s just made his only real friend in the world - not to mention roommate and coworker - come in his pants and gotten off stupidly, incredibly hard on it. He knows when to call it quits, and that was about ten minutes ago.

None of which explains why instead of getting up like he’s supposed to and cleaning himself up in the bathroom - even better, his own bathroom, far away from languid, fucked-out Jared - he tips his hand against Jared’s lips and lets his slightly cool come slide down into Jared’s waiting mouth.

“Don’t swallow,” he says on impulse, some tiny, curious part of him wanting to see if Jared will do it and not enough self-possession back yet to quell the urge. His roommate makes a forlorn sound, but his throat doesn’t flex.

Jensen carefully moves off of Jared so he’s sitting down next to him, observing the ever steadier bunch-release of his stomach muscles as he breathes, trying not to look at the slightly darker swath of fabric around Jared’s fly, but unable to keep his gaze away.

“You came without permission,” he says, almost as surprised by the words as Jared obviously is by the way his breath catches in his chest. He should stop this game now, because he’s not just playing along anymore, he’s playing, and that’s not what this was supposed to be about.

Except for how maybe it was.

“Do it right next time, and I’ll let you swallow.” His eyes flash up to meet Jared’s, find his roommate’s lips twitching as he obviously struggles to follow Jensen’s orders. It makes his chest tighten and his dick jump for reasons he doesn’t entirely want to understand. “Go spit.”

Hazel eyes follow Jensen’s hand as he points toward the bathroom door, then track back to Jensen’s face, wide and pitiful, before Jared reluctantly gets up and does as he’s been told, spitting in the sink and rinsing it out after.

Jensen hasn’t got enough wits about him yet to decide where things are supposed to go from here, but Jared doesn’t seem to mind, piling back into bed and, more to point, all over Jensen. He finds himself in a Jared-straightjacket before he has a chance to react, Jared’s face tucked into the curve of his neck.

“Aftercare,” Jared mumbles against him, pressing a soft kiss that makes Jensen’s skin break out in goosebumps, “’S important. Explain it to you later. Cuddle now.”

A surprised burst of laughter pops out of Jensen’s throat, nestled in the length of Jared’s hair. It still smells like smoke and sweat, reminding Jensen of where he can only assume Jared had been earlier, what he can only assume Jared had been doing and he’d be surprised by the possessive jolt that shoots through him but he seems to be all surprised out for the night. Instead he wraps his arms around Jared’s waist - as much as he can when Jared’s practically got him in a body-lock -and pretends not to notice that his roommate’s sucking a hickey onto his neck.

Tomorrow seems like the perfect time to deal with it.

Sequel: Halfway To In Love