Fic: One of These Days - Part 1 (Jared/Jensen)
Fandom: J2
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17 -- Wordcount: 10,200
Warnings: Escort!AU, D/s, angst, nipple play, toys, dirty talk, comeplay, facial, a touch of glasses!kink, gobs of schmoop, stubborn!sub!Jensen and reluctant!Dom!Jared (yes, you read that right)
Notes: The much promised part 4 of the Escort!AU - follows All The Right Answers To All The Wrong Questions. Posted in two parts because massive fic is massive. I still have a couple of drabble ideas for these boys, so I'm not calling this verse done, but the main plot line is now finished. Hope this helps to satisfy some of your cravings, you sick little freaks *smishes you all* ;)
Summary - Jensen needs to understand some things about what he's feeling; Jared becomes his unwitting accomplice.
Plush, apricot carpet cushions the quick baseline of Jensen’s foot falls. There are worse things in the world than pacing, and sitting still was going to drive him stir crazy. He’s washed his hands enough times that any lingering microbes have probably fled for their lives by now, skin slightly tight and in need of lotion. There’s a complimentary, travel-sized bottle of it on the marble counter beside the sink but the room was prepared in advance as per Jared’s instructions and he wouldn’t want to accidentally screw up some plan of Jared’s. Although, now that he thinks about it, he’s a bit leery of any plans involving lotion anyway.
Jesus, this was a terrible idea.
Jensen’s not cut out for this kind of thing; he should have just left well enough alone and not let this anxiety wriggling around in his belly like a living thing get the best of him. Also, hotels make him nervous. Not so much staying in one, per se, but sitting here waiting for someone to show up is like chewing tin foil. He’d done it this way once for a very high-profile client and had ended up nervous and fidgety the whole time. Afterward he’d sworn off on meeting anyone that way, heiress or not, and if they couldn’t deal with that then he didn’t need them as a client.
Bad things can happen in hotel rooms, you never know what the other person might have planned or what kind of underhanded preparations they may have made. You could walk right into some twisted perverts clutches which, alright, is essentially the service Jared sells, so maybe that’s not the best argument, but still, it could go badly. On the other hand, judging by the amount of information Jensen had had to give - in addition to everything else the agency already has on file about him - just to get the appointment, Jared’s clients undergo quite a bit more scrutiny than Jensen’s.
He still doesn’t like the idea of Jared walking in here unprepared when God only knows who could be waiting on him. He’d never actually given the matter much thought before.
There’s a shunk as a keycard slides home from the other side of the door, then the clack of the heavy bolt giving way and if Jensen’s stomach drops any further it’s going to have to start digging. This was such a bad idea.
Jared’s wearing the outfit, the ‘new client’ outfit, the one that manages to hit every BDSM cliché in the book and somehow miraculously make it look good. Then again, a burlap sack would look good on Jared, so maybe it’s not saying much that the man can pull off an outfit made entirely of black porno-wear. He's rocking the usual leather trench, plus matching pants, combat boots this time - Jensen has yet to glean the rhyme or reason behind when Jared chooses those over the thigh highs. Add in a black satin button up and the kohl eyeliner with little silver flecks in it, then complete the look with an assortment of thick leather bracelets on each wrist. The bracelets aren’t part of the norm, just a necessity after the other night. The vision of Jared’s wrists underneath there, mottled dark in the shape of his cuffs sends a molten-molasses thrill seeping down Jensen’s spine. His tongue has chemically bonded with the roof of his mouth.
The door slams shut all but unnoticed behind Jared, twin to the sound of Jared’s heavy duffle of who-knows-what hitting the floor. Hazel eyes cast around the room as if he’s expecting to see someone else here - he is; Jensen reminds himself to ask Genevieve what name she gave Jared for tonight - even going as far as to step in and check the bathroom before his scrutiny lands on Jensen again.
“What the fuck?” Jared squawks indignantly, checking the bathroom again for any magically appearing clients, “Look, I don’t care what they offered, Jen, you do not belong here, it’s a whole different game. And why the fuck didn’t somebody tell me that they’d booked us both? And what the fuck are you doing taking on another sub anyway?”
Jared halts mid-rant like he just got a slap to the face, eyes wide and slightly scared. “I mean, not that you can’t, or couldn’t or whatever. Like, not that I have any real say in the matter or, like, own you or something like that. I just- you never really seemed to- and I just didn’t think that you’d want- but it’s ok, if you do. I mean, it would kind of suck balls, but, that’s not- I didn’t- Oh God, would you please tell me to shut up?”
“I’m the client,” Jensen blurts eloquently, because it’s the only thing in the tangle of his thoughts that can be interpreted into words.
Jared blinks at him a couple of times, brushes a lock of hair back off of his face, and repeats the whole process again before spitting out, “What?”
“I’m the client. I booked the appointment. Or well, Genevieve did, amidst a lot of squealing about the hottest thing ever and a lot of questions, and, I don’t know, I got kind of lost somewhere in the middle, but yes, me. I’m the client.” Oh good, now they’re both babbling, won’t that just be wildly helpful.
Maybe Jared’s trying to communicate with him in Morse code via blinking.
“You couldn’t just wait til we got home?” He's got one impeccably groomed eyebrow rising toward his hairline but Jensen couldn’t mistake the subtle shift of his hips if he tried. The way the light and shadows of the half dozen lamps scattered around the room play off of the obvious bulge at the front of Jared's pants is a tip off. But he's clearly still not getting it if he thinks this is something they could do at home. Jensen thought this out very carefully, and the way he sees it, the best chance they both have of this working out is if they have as little of their usual repertoire interfering as possible.
“No. That’s not- I need your services, Jay. Yours. I have to figure something out and I can’t do it the way we normally are. I just- Just the once, I need this, alright?”
He can actually see when it clicks for Jared exactly what Jensen's asking for; the flipbook-speed of expressions would almost be comical if several of his vital organs weren't waging a duel to the death at the moment.
“Jen, I don’t… I don’t know if I can-“
Yes, he can, he has to, because Jensen needs to understand what going on with himself or else it's going to tear them both and this strange, gossamer-fragile thing they share apart.
“Pretend it’s not me, alright," he cuts Jared off desperately, "Pretend I’m just an ordinary client, no repercussions, I promise. Just do your thing.”
***
Just do your thing. Yeah, sure, that'll be easy. Like every single one of Jared's instincts aren't swimming with the need to be on his knees right now, doing what Jensen tells him. Like things haven't been all fucked to hell since the last time.
Jared had been ready to go out and buy an engagement ring after the other night, because holy hell, he has never gone that deep into it, ever, and Jensen got him there like it was nothing. But since then Jensen's been not-so-subtly avoiding him, giving him the fucking rape-flinch every time Jared gets within a foot of him and he doesn't even know what he did wrong.
Sure, ok, he sorta blue-balled Jensen that night, but he didn't do it on purpose, he was just fucking gone, just wrecked beyond comprehension. Plus, Jensen should know by now that he has Jared's permission to do just about anything he wants, so there was no damn reason he couldn’t have finished too. As if Jared would ever turn down having Jensen's come all over his skin or down his throat or in his fucking ass - he's never actually done bareback before, but he would be completely cool if Jensen wanted to. So yeah, no reason for Jensen to be pissy about not getting off when Jared would have happily obliged. Except a part of him kind of seriously doubts that Jensen's the sort of guy who would get pissy about that anyway, which means it's something else bothering him and Jared's fumbling blind for what that might be. It's been driving him out of his damn skull, and now this? This!?
“Ok…" he searches his brain, scrabbling to come up with some way to make this work - to please his Dom even when it's the exact opposite that Jensen's asking him for. How the ever-loving fuck can Jensen expect this out of him? "Well, your profile didn't give me much to go on. Aside from the fact that you don’t like sounds used on you,” he rambles without a thought, trying to resolve this in his head. He ends up running headlong into a heart-stopping thought, tripping right over it into a whole pile of holy fuck.
Jensen tried the sounds? Of course he fucking did, right? Because he’s fucking Jensen and he couldn’t just do it to Jared, he had to have practiced and gotten a feel for it and… Motherfucking Christ. That means they were in his dick. The sounds the ones that had gone in Jared’s dick had been in Jensen’s too. Sure, Jensen probably quadruple sterilized and hermetically sealed them before they went anywhere near Jared’s cock, but still, it had happened. Jensen had fucked Jared with something he’d used to fuck himself and it’s really going to blow Jared’s badass rep all to hell if he creams his fucking pants right now.
“Fine, so, not sounds,” he manages without almost swallowing his own tongue more than once, “Anything you do like? A little direction here?” He cannot find his fucking headspace, his whole damn mind blown somewhere across the Atlantic with the fact that any of this is actually happening.
Jensen looks hesitant, faint blush rising up on his cheeks that Jared wants to lick just to feel the heat of it beneath his tongue. He’d really like to know what could make Jensen go pink like that, what twisted little thing he likes that he thinks is so bad that Jared is going to judge him for it. So far they’ve just been hitting Jared’s own kinks and he honestly hasn’t got a clue what - if any of them - gets under Jensen's skin more than another. If there’s something really deliciously dirty swirling around in the rapid-fire brain of Jensen’s and he’s been holding out, Jared might just spontaneously combust from the need to know it.
Jensen clears his throat, takes a deep breath and says with enough decorum to put Emily Post to shame, “Most of my sexual encounters have been fairly standard, excluding the obvious.” He inclines his head a little awkwardly at Jared, whose busy attempting to control the veritable blizzard of emotions attempting to send him into convulsions.
Fairly standard - so, if he knows Jensen like he generally thinks he does, that means under the sheets, missionary, leave the lights on if he’s feeling particularly kinky. That’s a goddamn fucking crime, is what that is. The idea that anybody could get the privilege of having Jensen in their bed and not do every possible thing in every possible way to - for - him is enough to make Jared’s blood boil. He wants to run out right now and beat down every single fucker who’s ever bedded Jensen for goddamn wasting the gift of an opportunity that Jared would kill for. That Jensen doesn’t even know what pushes his own buttons when he can play Jared’s like a maestro only compounds the injustice.
Jensen goes even redder when Jared prods, “Nothing at all?” because seriously, nothing at all?
“That’s what I’m paying you for,” Jensen snaps back harshly. And ow. Like, really, ow.
Jared’s been called a hooker before plenty of times, even by people he thought were his friends, but none of them were ever Jensen. Hell, Jensen does practically the same thing for a living - you can change the gift wrap, but the package is still the same - and they’ve talked more than once about how they feel about what they do, about how they’re not fucking hookers, ok? So for Jensen to go that far means he’s either way more on edge than Jared would have guessed or else he’s trying to push Jared into making a move.
Well, if that’s how he wants to play it, then Jared can sure as hell roll with it. Probably.
“Strip,” he commands, skimming off his jacket to leave it puddled on the floor, just because he knows it will tick Jensen off.
Jensen hesitates for a second like he doesn’t understand what Jared’s telling him to do, but one disdainful arch of an eyebrow is all it takes to turn that confusion into determination. That’s one button right there, and if Jensen’s never noticed how he reacts to a challenge before, then it's his own fault for not paying enough attention.
Taking his sweet time is an understatement for Jensen getting undressed. The shirt comes off easily, almost gets folded and stacked before Jared grabs it out of his hands and tosses into a heap on the carpet. Jensen scowls but doesn’t say anything, which is a victory in and of itself. Stubborn can be good, means Jensen will probably stick it out just to prove that he can, and Jared wants him to so bad it hurts, if only because it means he might finally have a chance at working his way into one of those little cracks in the armor that Jensen occasionally lets him see.
He’s seen Jensen naked in bits and pieces plenty of times, enough to be able to put together a picture in his head, but he’s never gotten a look at the fully monty all at once and now that he’s getting to, he plans to drink his fill.
He’s thought about Jensen like this; not nearly as much as he has the other way around, but still. Jensen’s bossy, willful, a complete and unrepentant control freak. That’s the kind of thing that’s always fun to take apart, inherently appealing to watch him beg and writhe and lose his shit. So, yeah, he wants this, but not this way, not when Jensen's got something to prove and Jared doesn't even know what it is.
As he watches that perfect body he wants so bad, has never been allowed to have, that Dom part of him finally starts to show itself; slow, creeping heat winding through him like a thousand denied desires.
By the time Jensen’s peeling himself out of his boxers, Jared’s having to physically restrain himself from palming his own leaking dick. Jensen’s just so fucking pretty it should be illegal; firm muscle and smooth skin, freckles scattered all over the place that Jared wants to trace the constellations of with his lips. That sweet, gorgeous cock of his is a thick, soft weight between his legs, passingly interested but not committing to anything yet. There’s the first thing to fix.
“Problem, Jenny?” Jared lays it on thick - practically a low-blow to go for something that cheap, but effective nonetheless from the way Jensen grits his teeth.
“Don’t call me that,” he hisses, turns it into a gasp when Jared palms his ass and pulls him in tight to grind himself against.
“Call you anything I want, remember?” Jared snarls back, catching Jensen’s earlobe between his teeth with a bite that’s got too much pressure to be playful, “That’s what you’re paying me for.”
Jensen's breath catches, only the faintest hint of a locked down sound making it out. Jensen's always quiet - his version of reckless abandon wouldn't make a nun blush; all soft sounds and mumbles under his breath - and all Jared wants is to get him screaming so loud the people at the other end of the hall will be calling to complain. For now he settles for biting a little harder to make sure the line of his teeth will be inscribed in Jensen's flesh when he lets go.
"You have a word?"
"Charteuse," Jensen responds immediately; money down he picked it days ago.
Jared nods. He wants to ask, he really, really does, but that's so not even close to being the weirdest safeword he's ever heard, and he kind of likes the mental image of Jensen toiling over a dictionary, making pro/con lists for each word, so he lets it go.
His fingers find their own way to one of Jensen's nipples, pulls and twists it into a rosy peak as Jensen tics and lurches like it's taking everything he's got to hold still. Glancing down the slim line of space between them shows Jensen's cock a little closer to half-mast and hesitantly filling. Jared captures Jensen's wrist and tugs his hand down between them, molding it over Jensen's length with his own fingers.
"I expect you hard, and I expect you to stay that way," he breathes against Jensen's ear, lovingly nosing at the goosebumps that appear on his neck. "Get there or I'll do it myself and put a ring on you." He doesn't say 'and leave you like that', wonders if Jensen gets it anyway. Whether he does or doesn't, Jensen goes for option A, moving his fingers over his own flesh tentatively at first, then more confidently as Jared gives him room to move.
God, but he looks good like this; flushed bright red with embarrassment - as if Jared hasn't seen him fist his dick before; bastard almost always finishes himself like that, virtually never lets Jared drink it down like he wants to - eyes darting away from meeting Jared's, cock steadily darkening and hardening until it's full and thick in his stilled grip.
"Did I tell you to stop?" he spurs. Jensen's gaze flies up to him, shocked, then just as quickly away and his hand reluctantly starts pistoning again. Jared loves that fucking dick; the velvety-softness over blood-stiff tissue, the weight of it on his tongue, the girth slotting just perfect into his throat - it's so fucking sexy and he has to stifle all of his urges not to get on his knees and present his mouth for it right now.
He distracts himself by grabbing his supply bag, listening to Jensen's breath go jagged as he gets closer to the edge. Jared finds what he's looking for, keeps his back to Jensen as he digs them out and drops them into the full ice bucket on the minibar.
"That'll do," he waves casually, making a disapproving mental note for later about how loosely Jensen's stroking himself. Jensen breathes another almost-noise and lets his hand fall to the side, eyes clenched tight.
This isn't the way Jared usually plays it, more Jensen's style than his own to tease and taunt like this, but somehow it feels right and Jared's gotten pretty good over the years at going with his gut.
"Back against the wall, arms over your head."
Jensen follows orders pretty as a picture, even if he does look mutinous, contempt in every line of his body. Jared crosses the room after him, settling the ice bucket between Jensen's feet as he leans in and mouths over first one nipple and then the other. Slick and wet, they slide through his fingers as he toys with them, nipping and pulling at the one with his teeth and then switching sides until the both feel feverish against his lips, peaked hard and dark with the blood rising close to the surface.
Jensen's biting his bottom lip, eyes squeezed shut but still resolutely not moving or making a sound. It's sort of precious how he seems to think that's some kind of triumph. Jared's going to take him apart.
The rattle of ice brings Jensen's eyes shooting open, but Jared's there with a hand on his chin, keeping him from looking down and spoiling the surprise. The smirk he can feel twisting his mouth must be positively malicious based on the fear flitting across Jensen's face. But then then that firm jaw clenches, chin tipping up defiantly for maybe a quarter of a second before Jared's got the ice cold metal of the clamp tightened around his roommate's - his client's - nipple; hot, abused skin meeting burning cold, and that bravado collapses like a house of cards.
Jensen’s hands come down on reflex but Jared's ready for it; already has the other clamp in place and a forearm readily pressed up against Jensen's throat.
"Shh, you're fine. Arms back up."
If looks could kill. Goddamn, Jensen looks hacked off and Jared's painfully glad that Jensen promised no repercussions because whatever vengeance is rattling around behind Jensen's eyes right now would be seriously ugly, he can tell.
Jared gets a hand around Jensen's wrist again, pulls it over to meet its mate so that they X close to the top of Jensen's head, easing the strain on his arms a little as Jared holds them in place. The chain connecting the clamps gets wrapped around the fingers of Jared’s other hand allowing him to pull just enough to distract Jensen from any ideas he might have had about struggling.
He could really use another hand for this - hell, make it a dozen while he’s at it so he could finally touch every last inch of Jensen - but he’s probably not going to start sprouting new appendages anytime soon, so he has to settle for tilting his head in close to Jensen’s and commanding, “Open up.” Again Jensen hesitates, slowly gives in and does as he’s told, lips parting ever so slightly.
“Good boy,” he mumbles, Jensen’s lips a satin-shuff against his own, “Now stay still.” He throws in a little tug to the chain as a warning and then he’s licking his way into the silky heat of Jensen’s mouth.
Jared’s spent entirely too many hours thinking about this, driven himself to distraction imagining what it would be like to be able to kiss Jensen however he wants to, whenever he wants to - created a whole fixation around it if he’s telling the truth. And then, for one brief, shining moment, he’d had it; Jensen all over him, licking and biting and taking Jared’s mouth, just the way he’d wished for. He’d come so hard on that and the growl of ‘mine’ that Jensen had fed him that he’d thought his bones had liquefied and he’d been positive that they were breaking through some kind of barrier, that finally he’d be allowed to do this. And then Jensen had taken it all away with no explanation and left Jared strung out and addicted to something he’d never really had.
Now he has it though, if not exactly the way he would have hoped. Jensen’s mouth twitches and shudders all around him, battling the instinctual pull to respond to the way Jared’s mapping him out; tickling at the delicate smoothness underneath his tongue, sweeping over the hard line of his teeth. His tongue dips into the trench between lip and gum, earns himself a shiver as he carries it all the way around to taste the inside of Jensen’s cheeks, the washboard roof of his mouth.
The second Jared pulls free, Jensen’s lips close around a swallow. They part twice as wide again on a startled punch of air when Jared gives a sharp tug on the clamps.
“Told you not to move,” he scolds with a midnight-grin, sinking back in to lave over Jensen’s bottom lip. The plush softness shifts, stills when Jared pulls admonishingly on the chain once more. Sucking Jensen’s lip into his mouth is probably more of a reward for himself than for Jensen, but Jen can deal; he asked for this and he’s going to fucking get what Jared gives. It's about damn time he learned a lesson, and this time the lesson is that sometimes, you're set up to fail.
Jared hears himself moaning and can’t even begin to care. It feels so right to kiss Jensen; a dirty rush smoke-caressing his skin at just being able to take without giving Jensen the option of turning away. He sucks and bites the lower lip deep red, swollen, then moves up to the top as Jensen starts to quiver against him.
A thigh slotted between Jensen’s legs finds him still hard, the heat of it seeping through Jared’s leathers like a brand. Jensen does finally lose a sound at that; short and quiet, but distinct and it lights a burner under Jared’s skin. The noise turns distraught a second later and Jensen tries to tilt his head up to prevent the slick spill of saliva Jared can feel running out of the corner of his mouth. A quick jangle of the clamps gets a bitten-off whine and Jared’s really starting to have fun now.
“You wanna swallow, Jenny?” he releases Jensen’s hands in favor of teasing a finger around Jensen’s bottom lip, pulling it down the reveal toothpaste-commercial teeth and free another flow of clear liquid. Jensen finally jerks away - lasted longer than Jared was betting - using his hands to simultaneously back Jared off and wipe his face. He doesn’t safeword though, which is all the permission Jared needs to keep going - he’s just getting warmed up.
An unexpected hand around the back of Jensen’s neck sends him careening onto the bed, stumbling for a balance he’s not going to get because Jared’s right on his heels, getting Jensen trapped underneath his bulk, pressed flat into the ridiculous-thread-count sheets.
This is more like it, how he usually operates, except for how it isn’t at all. He always gets off on being a Dom, but he’d be lying if he said this is him at his professional best. Jensen has this way of making him lose his fucking mind and right now all he can think about is getting what he wants, however he wants, because for once, Jensen’s not allowed to turn him down.
Beneath him, Jensen gasps, probably the clamps pulling as Jared ruts up against his back. He’s got exactly zero doubt that he could come like a shotgun blast from nothing but the scent of Jensen’s shampoo filling his nostrils where he’s got his nose buried in the nape of Jensen’s neck - zero because he might have, maybe, done it once or twice when Jensen was out of the house; perched on the side of his roommate's tub with a rabid lather forming between his fingers with just a touch of water and frantic friction. Yeah, he has issues, this is no kind of news. Still, he fully intends to get more out of this than a quick rub out if this is the only shot he’s going to get at it.
Jared smirks against the curve of Jensen’s neck and hides it on a yelp-prompting bite. He knows exactly what he wants to do.
On to Part 2
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17 -- Wordcount: 10,200
Warnings: Escort!AU, D/s, angst, nipple play, toys, dirty talk, comeplay, facial, a touch of glasses!kink, gobs of schmoop, stubborn!sub!Jensen and reluctant!Dom!Jared (yes, you read that right)
Notes: The much promised part 4 of the Escort!AU - follows All The Right Answers To All The Wrong Questions. Posted in two parts because massive fic is massive. I still have a couple of drabble ideas for these boys, so I'm not calling this verse done, but the main plot line is now finished. Hope this helps to satisfy some of your cravings, you sick little freaks *smishes you all* ;)
Summary - Jensen needs to understand some things about what he's feeling; Jared becomes his unwitting accomplice.
Plush, apricot carpet cushions the quick baseline of Jensen’s foot falls. There are worse things in the world than pacing, and sitting still was going to drive him stir crazy. He’s washed his hands enough times that any lingering microbes have probably fled for their lives by now, skin slightly tight and in need of lotion. There’s a complimentary, travel-sized bottle of it on the marble counter beside the sink but the room was prepared in advance as per Jared’s instructions and he wouldn’t want to accidentally screw up some plan of Jared’s. Although, now that he thinks about it, he’s a bit leery of any plans involving lotion anyway.
Jesus, this was a terrible idea.
Jensen’s not cut out for this kind of thing; he should have just left well enough alone and not let this anxiety wriggling around in his belly like a living thing get the best of him. Also, hotels make him nervous. Not so much staying in one, per se, but sitting here waiting for someone to show up is like chewing tin foil. He’d done it this way once for a very high-profile client and had ended up nervous and fidgety the whole time. Afterward he’d sworn off on meeting anyone that way, heiress or not, and if they couldn’t deal with that then he didn’t need them as a client.
Bad things can happen in hotel rooms, you never know what the other person might have planned or what kind of underhanded preparations they may have made. You could walk right into some twisted perverts clutches which, alright, is essentially the service Jared sells, so maybe that’s not the best argument, but still, it could go badly. On the other hand, judging by the amount of information Jensen had had to give - in addition to everything else the agency already has on file about him - just to get the appointment, Jared’s clients undergo quite a bit more scrutiny than Jensen’s.
He still doesn’t like the idea of Jared walking in here unprepared when God only knows who could be waiting on him. He’d never actually given the matter much thought before.
There’s a shunk as a keycard slides home from the other side of the door, then the clack of the heavy bolt giving way and if Jensen’s stomach drops any further it’s going to have to start digging. This was such a bad idea.
Jared’s wearing the outfit, the ‘new client’ outfit, the one that manages to hit every BDSM cliché in the book and somehow miraculously make it look good. Then again, a burlap sack would look good on Jared, so maybe it’s not saying much that the man can pull off an outfit made entirely of black porno-wear. He's rocking the usual leather trench, plus matching pants, combat boots this time - Jensen has yet to glean the rhyme or reason behind when Jared chooses those over the thigh highs. Add in a black satin button up and the kohl eyeliner with little silver flecks in it, then complete the look with an assortment of thick leather bracelets on each wrist. The bracelets aren’t part of the norm, just a necessity after the other night. The vision of Jared’s wrists underneath there, mottled dark in the shape of his cuffs sends a molten-molasses thrill seeping down Jensen’s spine. His tongue has chemically bonded with the roof of his mouth.
The door slams shut all but unnoticed behind Jared, twin to the sound of Jared’s heavy duffle of who-knows-what hitting the floor. Hazel eyes cast around the room as if he’s expecting to see someone else here - he is; Jensen reminds himself to ask Genevieve what name she gave Jared for tonight - even going as far as to step in and check the bathroom before his scrutiny lands on Jensen again.
“What the fuck?” Jared squawks indignantly, checking the bathroom again for any magically appearing clients, “Look, I don’t care what they offered, Jen, you do not belong here, it’s a whole different game. And why the fuck didn’t somebody tell me that they’d booked us both? And what the fuck are you doing taking on another sub anyway?”
Jared halts mid-rant like he just got a slap to the face, eyes wide and slightly scared. “I mean, not that you can’t, or couldn’t or whatever. Like, not that I have any real say in the matter or, like, own you or something like that. I just- you never really seemed to- and I just didn’t think that you’d want- but it’s ok, if you do. I mean, it would kind of suck balls, but, that’s not- I didn’t- Oh God, would you please tell me to shut up?”
“I’m the client,” Jensen blurts eloquently, because it’s the only thing in the tangle of his thoughts that can be interpreted into words.
Jared blinks at him a couple of times, brushes a lock of hair back off of his face, and repeats the whole process again before spitting out, “What?”
“I’m the client. I booked the appointment. Or well, Genevieve did, amidst a lot of squealing about the hottest thing ever and a lot of questions, and, I don’t know, I got kind of lost somewhere in the middle, but yes, me. I’m the client.” Oh good, now they’re both babbling, won’t that just be wildly helpful.
Maybe Jared’s trying to communicate with him in Morse code via blinking.
“You couldn’t just wait til we got home?” He's got one impeccably groomed eyebrow rising toward his hairline but Jensen couldn’t mistake the subtle shift of his hips if he tried. The way the light and shadows of the half dozen lamps scattered around the room play off of the obvious bulge at the front of Jared's pants is a tip off. But he's clearly still not getting it if he thinks this is something they could do at home. Jensen thought this out very carefully, and the way he sees it, the best chance they both have of this working out is if they have as little of their usual repertoire interfering as possible.
“No. That’s not- I need your services, Jay. Yours. I have to figure something out and I can’t do it the way we normally are. I just- Just the once, I need this, alright?”
He can actually see when it clicks for Jared exactly what Jensen's asking for; the flipbook-speed of expressions would almost be comical if several of his vital organs weren't waging a duel to the death at the moment.
“Jen, I don’t… I don’t know if I can-“
Yes, he can, he has to, because Jensen needs to understand what going on with himself or else it's going to tear them both and this strange, gossamer-fragile thing they share apart.
“Pretend it’s not me, alright," he cuts Jared off desperately, "Pretend I’m just an ordinary client, no repercussions, I promise. Just do your thing.”
***
Just do your thing. Yeah, sure, that'll be easy. Like every single one of Jared's instincts aren't swimming with the need to be on his knees right now, doing what Jensen tells him. Like things haven't been all fucked to hell since the last time.
Jared had been ready to go out and buy an engagement ring after the other night, because holy hell, he has never gone that deep into it, ever, and Jensen got him there like it was nothing. But since then Jensen's been not-so-subtly avoiding him, giving him the fucking rape-flinch every time Jared gets within a foot of him and he doesn't even know what he did wrong.
Sure, ok, he sorta blue-balled Jensen that night, but he didn't do it on purpose, he was just fucking gone, just wrecked beyond comprehension. Plus, Jensen should know by now that he has Jared's permission to do just about anything he wants, so there was no damn reason he couldn’t have finished too. As if Jared would ever turn down having Jensen's come all over his skin or down his throat or in his fucking ass - he's never actually done bareback before, but he would be completely cool if Jensen wanted to. So yeah, no reason for Jensen to be pissy about not getting off when Jared would have happily obliged. Except a part of him kind of seriously doubts that Jensen's the sort of guy who would get pissy about that anyway, which means it's something else bothering him and Jared's fumbling blind for what that might be. It's been driving him out of his damn skull, and now this? This!?
“Ok…" he searches his brain, scrabbling to come up with some way to make this work - to please his Dom even when it's the exact opposite that Jensen's asking him for. How the ever-loving fuck can Jensen expect this out of him? "Well, your profile didn't give me much to go on. Aside from the fact that you don’t like sounds used on you,” he rambles without a thought, trying to resolve this in his head. He ends up running headlong into a heart-stopping thought, tripping right over it into a whole pile of holy fuck.
Jensen tried the sounds? Of course he fucking did, right? Because he’s fucking Jensen and he couldn’t just do it to Jared, he had to have practiced and gotten a feel for it and… Motherfucking Christ. That means they were in his dick. The sounds the ones that had gone in Jared’s dick had been in Jensen’s too. Sure, Jensen probably quadruple sterilized and hermetically sealed them before they went anywhere near Jared’s cock, but still, it had happened. Jensen had fucked Jared with something he’d used to fuck himself and it’s really going to blow Jared’s badass rep all to hell if he creams his fucking pants right now.
“Fine, so, not sounds,” he manages without almost swallowing his own tongue more than once, “Anything you do like? A little direction here?” He cannot find his fucking headspace, his whole damn mind blown somewhere across the Atlantic with the fact that any of this is actually happening.
Jensen looks hesitant, faint blush rising up on his cheeks that Jared wants to lick just to feel the heat of it beneath his tongue. He’d really like to know what could make Jensen go pink like that, what twisted little thing he likes that he thinks is so bad that Jared is going to judge him for it. So far they’ve just been hitting Jared’s own kinks and he honestly hasn’t got a clue what - if any of them - gets under Jensen's skin more than another. If there’s something really deliciously dirty swirling around in the rapid-fire brain of Jensen’s and he’s been holding out, Jared might just spontaneously combust from the need to know it.
Jensen clears his throat, takes a deep breath and says with enough decorum to put Emily Post to shame, “Most of my sexual encounters have been fairly standard, excluding the obvious.” He inclines his head a little awkwardly at Jared, whose busy attempting to control the veritable blizzard of emotions attempting to send him into convulsions.
Fairly standard - so, if he knows Jensen like he generally thinks he does, that means under the sheets, missionary, leave the lights on if he’s feeling particularly kinky. That’s a goddamn fucking crime, is what that is. The idea that anybody could get the privilege of having Jensen in their bed and not do every possible thing in every possible way to - for - him is enough to make Jared’s blood boil. He wants to run out right now and beat down every single fucker who’s ever bedded Jensen for goddamn wasting the gift of an opportunity that Jared would kill for. That Jensen doesn’t even know what pushes his own buttons when he can play Jared’s like a maestro only compounds the injustice.
Jensen goes even redder when Jared prods, “Nothing at all?” because seriously, nothing at all?
“That’s what I’m paying you for,” Jensen snaps back harshly. And ow. Like, really, ow.
Jared’s been called a hooker before plenty of times, even by people he thought were his friends, but none of them were ever Jensen. Hell, Jensen does practically the same thing for a living - you can change the gift wrap, but the package is still the same - and they’ve talked more than once about how they feel about what they do, about how they’re not fucking hookers, ok? So for Jensen to go that far means he’s either way more on edge than Jared would have guessed or else he’s trying to push Jared into making a move.
Well, if that’s how he wants to play it, then Jared can sure as hell roll with it. Probably.
“Strip,” he commands, skimming off his jacket to leave it puddled on the floor, just because he knows it will tick Jensen off.
Jensen hesitates for a second like he doesn’t understand what Jared’s telling him to do, but one disdainful arch of an eyebrow is all it takes to turn that confusion into determination. That’s one button right there, and if Jensen’s never noticed how he reacts to a challenge before, then it's his own fault for not paying enough attention.
Taking his sweet time is an understatement for Jensen getting undressed. The shirt comes off easily, almost gets folded and stacked before Jared grabs it out of his hands and tosses into a heap on the carpet. Jensen scowls but doesn’t say anything, which is a victory in and of itself. Stubborn can be good, means Jensen will probably stick it out just to prove that he can, and Jared wants him to so bad it hurts, if only because it means he might finally have a chance at working his way into one of those little cracks in the armor that Jensen occasionally lets him see.
He’s seen Jensen naked in bits and pieces plenty of times, enough to be able to put together a picture in his head, but he’s never gotten a look at the fully monty all at once and now that he’s getting to, he plans to drink his fill.
He’s thought about Jensen like this; not nearly as much as he has the other way around, but still. Jensen’s bossy, willful, a complete and unrepentant control freak. That’s the kind of thing that’s always fun to take apart, inherently appealing to watch him beg and writhe and lose his shit. So, yeah, he wants this, but not this way, not when Jensen's got something to prove and Jared doesn't even know what it is.
As he watches that perfect body he wants so bad, has never been allowed to have, that Dom part of him finally starts to show itself; slow, creeping heat winding through him like a thousand denied desires.
By the time Jensen’s peeling himself out of his boxers, Jared’s having to physically restrain himself from palming his own leaking dick. Jensen’s just so fucking pretty it should be illegal; firm muscle and smooth skin, freckles scattered all over the place that Jared wants to trace the constellations of with his lips. That sweet, gorgeous cock of his is a thick, soft weight between his legs, passingly interested but not committing to anything yet. There’s the first thing to fix.
“Problem, Jenny?” Jared lays it on thick - practically a low-blow to go for something that cheap, but effective nonetheless from the way Jensen grits his teeth.
“Don’t call me that,” he hisses, turns it into a gasp when Jared palms his ass and pulls him in tight to grind himself against.
“Call you anything I want, remember?” Jared snarls back, catching Jensen’s earlobe between his teeth with a bite that’s got too much pressure to be playful, “That’s what you’re paying me for.”
Jensen's breath catches, only the faintest hint of a locked down sound making it out. Jensen's always quiet - his version of reckless abandon wouldn't make a nun blush; all soft sounds and mumbles under his breath - and all Jared wants is to get him screaming so loud the people at the other end of the hall will be calling to complain. For now he settles for biting a little harder to make sure the line of his teeth will be inscribed in Jensen's flesh when he lets go.
"You have a word?"
"Charteuse," Jensen responds immediately; money down he picked it days ago.
Jared nods. He wants to ask, he really, really does, but that's so not even close to being the weirdest safeword he's ever heard, and he kind of likes the mental image of Jensen toiling over a dictionary, making pro/con lists for each word, so he lets it go.
His fingers find their own way to one of Jensen's nipples, pulls and twists it into a rosy peak as Jensen tics and lurches like it's taking everything he's got to hold still. Glancing down the slim line of space between them shows Jensen's cock a little closer to half-mast and hesitantly filling. Jared captures Jensen's wrist and tugs his hand down between them, molding it over Jensen's length with his own fingers.
"I expect you hard, and I expect you to stay that way," he breathes against Jensen's ear, lovingly nosing at the goosebumps that appear on his neck. "Get there or I'll do it myself and put a ring on you." He doesn't say 'and leave you like that', wonders if Jensen gets it anyway. Whether he does or doesn't, Jensen goes for option A, moving his fingers over his own flesh tentatively at first, then more confidently as Jared gives him room to move.
God, but he looks good like this; flushed bright red with embarrassment - as if Jared hasn't seen him fist his dick before; bastard almost always finishes himself like that, virtually never lets Jared drink it down like he wants to - eyes darting away from meeting Jared's, cock steadily darkening and hardening until it's full and thick in his stilled grip.
"Did I tell you to stop?" he spurs. Jensen's gaze flies up to him, shocked, then just as quickly away and his hand reluctantly starts pistoning again. Jared loves that fucking dick; the velvety-softness over blood-stiff tissue, the weight of it on his tongue, the girth slotting just perfect into his throat - it's so fucking sexy and he has to stifle all of his urges not to get on his knees and present his mouth for it right now.
He distracts himself by grabbing his supply bag, listening to Jensen's breath go jagged as he gets closer to the edge. Jared finds what he's looking for, keeps his back to Jensen as he digs them out and drops them into the full ice bucket on the minibar.
"That'll do," he waves casually, making a disapproving mental note for later about how loosely Jensen's stroking himself. Jensen breathes another almost-noise and lets his hand fall to the side, eyes clenched tight.
This isn't the way Jared usually plays it, more Jensen's style than his own to tease and taunt like this, but somehow it feels right and Jared's gotten pretty good over the years at going with his gut.
"Back against the wall, arms over your head."
Jensen follows orders pretty as a picture, even if he does look mutinous, contempt in every line of his body. Jared crosses the room after him, settling the ice bucket between Jensen's feet as he leans in and mouths over first one nipple and then the other. Slick and wet, they slide through his fingers as he toys with them, nipping and pulling at the one with his teeth and then switching sides until the both feel feverish against his lips, peaked hard and dark with the blood rising close to the surface.
Jensen's biting his bottom lip, eyes squeezed shut but still resolutely not moving or making a sound. It's sort of precious how he seems to think that's some kind of triumph. Jared's going to take him apart.
The rattle of ice brings Jensen's eyes shooting open, but Jared's there with a hand on his chin, keeping him from looking down and spoiling the surprise. The smirk he can feel twisting his mouth must be positively malicious based on the fear flitting across Jensen's face. But then then that firm jaw clenches, chin tipping up defiantly for maybe a quarter of a second before Jared's got the ice cold metal of the clamp tightened around his roommate's - his client's - nipple; hot, abused skin meeting burning cold, and that bravado collapses like a house of cards.
Jensen’s hands come down on reflex but Jared's ready for it; already has the other clamp in place and a forearm readily pressed up against Jensen's throat.
"Shh, you're fine. Arms back up."
If looks could kill. Goddamn, Jensen looks hacked off and Jared's painfully glad that Jensen promised no repercussions because whatever vengeance is rattling around behind Jensen's eyes right now would be seriously ugly, he can tell.
Jared gets a hand around Jensen's wrist again, pulls it over to meet its mate so that they X close to the top of Jensen's head, easing the strain on his arms a little as Jared holds them in place. The chain connecting the clamps gets wrapped around the fingers of Jared’s other hand allowing him to pull just enough to distract Jensen from any ideas he might have had about struggling.
He could really use another hand for this - hell, make it a dozen while he’s at it so he could finally touch every last inch of Jensen - but he’s probably not going to start sprouting new appendages anytime soon, so he has to settle for tilting his head in close to Jensen’s and commanding, “Open up.” Again Jensen hesitates, slowly gives in and does as he’s told, lips parting ever so slightly.
“Good boy,” he mumbles, Jensen’s lips a satin-shuff against his own, “Now stay still.” He throws in a little tug to the chain as a warning and then he’s licking his way into the silky heat of Jensen’s mouth.
Jared’s spent entirely too many hours thinking about this, driven himself to distraction imagining what it would be like to be able to kiss Jensen however he wants to, whenever he wants to - created a whole fixation around it if he’s telling the truth. And then, for one brief, shining moment, he’d had it; Jensen all over him, licking and biting and taking Jared’s mouth, just the way he’d wished for. He’d come so hard on that and the growl of ‘mine’ that Jensen had fed him that he’d thought his bones had liquefied and he’d been positive that they were breaking through some kind of barrier, that finally he’d be allowed to do this. And then Jensen had taken it all away with no explanation and left Jared strung out and addicted to something he’d never really had.
Now he has it though, if not exactly the way he would have hoped. Jensen’s mouth twitches and shudders all around him, battling the instinctual pull to respond to the way Jared’s mapping him out; tickling at the delicate smoothness underneath his tongue, sweeping over the hard line of his teeth. His tongue dips into the trench between lip and gum, earns himself a shiver as he carries it all the way around to taste the inside of Jensen’s cheeks, the washboard roof of his mouth.
The second Jared pulls free, Jensen’s lips close around a swallow. They part twice as wide again on a startled punch of air when Jared gives a sharp tug on the clamps.
“Told you not to move,” he scolds with a midnight-grin, sinking back in to lave over Jensen’s bottom lip. The plush softness shifts, stills when Jared pulls admonishingly on the chain once more. Sucking Jensen’s lip into his mouth is probably more of a reward for himself than for Jensen, but Jen can deal; he asked for this and he’s going to fucking get what Jared gives. It's about damn time he learned a lesson, and this time the lesson is that sometimes, you're set up to fail.
Jared hears himself moaning and can’t even begin to care. It feels so right to kiss Jensen; a dirty rush smoke-caressing his skin at just being able to take without giving Jensen the option of turning away. He sucks and bites the lower lip deep red, swollen, then moves up to the top as Jensen starts to quiver against him.
A thigh slotted between Jensen’s legs finds him still hard, the heat of it seeping through Jared’s leathers like a brand. Jensen does finally lose a sound at that; short and quiet, but distinct and it lights a burner under Jared’s skin. The noise turns distraught a second later and Jensen tries to tilt his head up to prevent the slick spill of saliva Jared can feel running out of the corner of his mouth. A quick jangle of the clamps gets a bitten-off whine and Jared’s really starting to have fun now.
“You wanna swallow, Jenny?” he releases Jensen’s hands in favor of teasing a finger around Jensen’s bottom lip, pulling it down the reveal toothpaste-commercial teeth and free another flow of clear liquid. Jensen finally jerks away - lasted longer than Jared was betting - using his hands to simultaneously back Jared off and wipe his face. He doesn’t safeword though, which is all the permission Jared needs to keep going - he’s just getting warmed up.
An unexpected hand around the back of Jensen’s neck sends him careening onto the bed, stumbling for a balance he’s not going to get because Jared’s right on his heels, getting Jensen trapped underneath his bulk, pressed flat into the ridiculous-thread-count sheets.
This is more like it, how he usually operates, except for how it isn’t at all. He always gets off on being a Dom, but he’d be lying if he said this is him at his professional best. Jensen has this way of making him lose his fucking mind and right now all he can think about is getting what he wants, however he wants, because for once, Jensen’s not allowed to turn him down.
Beneath him, Jensen gasps, probably the clamps pulling as Jared ruts up against his back. He’s got exactly zero doubt that he could come like a shotgun blast from nothing but the scent of Jensen’s shampoo filling his nostrils where he’s got his nose buried in the nape of Jensen’s neck - zero because he might have, maybe, done it once or twice when Jensen was out of the house; perched on the side of his roommate's tub with a rabid lather forming between his fingers with just a touch of water and frantic friction. Yeah, he has issues, this is no kind of news. Still, he fully intends to get more out of this than a quick rub out if this is the only shot he’s going to get at it.
Jared smirks against the curve of Jensen’s neck and hides it on a yelp-prompting bite. He knows exactly what he wants to do.
On to Part 2