Fic: Get Some [Ink] 1/2
Fandom: J2
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17 -- Wordcount: 10,100 (whole fic)
Warnings: AU, tattoo!artist!Jensen, moderate D/s themes, toys, slight underage (Jared is 17 for part of it), tattoo!kink, possibly very mild crack - depending on the scrupulous level of "this could really happen" you expect in your RPS PWP
Notes: In case you hadn't heard, my stories almost never turn into what I intended them to be. This is no exception. I blame naidaildri for encouraging my body!mod kink, everyone who asked for me to finish this on the WIP post and my friend who works in a sex toy shop for telling me about "The Tristan" (yes, it's real, though I don't think it comes in pink.
Summary: Most high school kids who got lewd, cryptic notes from their bosses would probably have said bosses sued for sexual harassment. Most high school kids don't have bosses like Jensen.
Now with an awesome podfic by reena_jenkins - download here! or check it out at audiofic with drool-worthy coverart by cybel
Like so many of the brilliantly bad ideas in Jared’s life, it starts with his brother. See, the Padalecki’s have this thing; they pick people up. Not just like, for hookups and stuff like that, but just in general, they attract people, pull them into their orbit like gravity. It happens all the time so none of them really thinks anything about it when Jeff finally follows through with his years’ old threat to get a tattoo and ends up coming home with new ink across his right shoulder blade and his new tattoo artist friend, Jensen.
Jared’s family probably doesn’t think anything about because it’s normal - Jared doesn’t think anything about it because he lost the capacity for coherent thought when his big brother walked through the door with the embodiment of every wet dream he’s ever had plus a couple he hasn’t gotten around to yet.
He’d never thought much about guys with tattoos, but then he’d never seen a guy like Jensen before either. Jensen’s, like, perfect. Spiky, dark-blonde hair and grass-green eyes and these ridiculously plush lips with the thin shine of a silver ring encircling the bottom one, resting like a racing stripe in that little divot in the center. Just daring Jared to lick it. And then there’s his skin; pale honey-tones with cinnamon-dusted freckles and rich swirls of ink that highlight the smooth power of his muscles under a shirt so worn-soft and perfectly molded to his body that it ought to be illegal. Not to mention the way he laughs, eyes crinkling up at the corners because he’s not holding anything back, just putting himself out there and fuck anybody who doesn't like it.
And, fine, yeah, Jared might be projecting a little like a girl with her first crush, but whatever, Jensen’s epic.
Inevitably at some point during the dinner, Jared’s mom has to chime in with “Oh, Jared’s an artist too,” which is kind of like saying ‘oh, Jared’s seen birds before, he can probably fly’. Sure, he’s one of the top students in his high school art class, but Jensen - his art gets permanently imbedded in people’s skin. That’s like, a whole other level. All of which he informs his mother of - which, win!, makes Jensen give him this totally soul-melting grin - but makes exactly zero difference in his being ordered to go upstairs and get his sketchbook.
Jensen’s really nice about the whole thing - oh course he is, because he’s perfect - so he looks over Jared’s stuff and they end up talking for a long time, bridging out from art to music and movies and steadily into ordinary things about their lives. By the time Jensen leaves that night, he’s no longer ‘Jeff’s tattoo artist friend’, he’s ‘Jared’s awesome, hot friend/part time boss’.
Working at the shop is kind of great, even aside from the fact that it means he gets to ogle Jensen pretty much on demand. Misha and Chris are both really cool, even if they do make a game out of swapping the most obscene sex stories they can come up with just to make Jared blush. The job is mostly just answering phones and sweeping up, but sometimes he’ll help one of the guys out if they’re sketching out a special request and the money’s better than what he could get flipping burgers or slinging coffee. Jared completely loves his job.
Ok, he loves his job, and maybe just a tiny bit, Jensen. Not, like, in a creepy stalker way, like he’s collaging pictures of himself and Jensen all over his room or something, just in a ‘hey, that freakishly hot guy is also the coolest person I’ve ever known, maybe I’ll try not to faint every time he talks to me’ kind of way. It’s fine, he knows it’s not ever going to happen.
The fact that Jensen happens to be gay - or maybe it’s just bi, Jared’s never really gotten a clear answer on that one - would totally be a bonus, except that Jensen’s also Jensen which means that Jared’s chances with him would be slightly lower than those of banana slugs even if he wasn’t still in freaking high school. Jensen’s just a nice guy who puts up with Jared’s gawky, stumbling attention and helps him with his art and stuff. He’s amazing and any guy in the western hemisphere with even a passing interest in dick would fall all over himself to have a shot with him, so yeah, short of nuclear holocaust, it’s really unlikely that Jared’s ever going to get to do more than enjoy the scenery.
That very practical rationale is the reason he doesn’t think anything of it at first when the white envelope of cash Jensen stuffs into Jared’s back-pack at some point every Friday also has a note in it one week along with a slim, leather cuff-bracelet. The unsigned note explains that he’s to wear the cuff to work every time he comes in as part of his uniform, which doesn’t really make sense because as far as he knows he doesn’t have a uniform, but he puts it on anyway before he goes in to work - it fits perfectly; butter-soft leather, just snug enough - just in case. Nobody mentions anything else about uniforms, but he’d almost swear that he catches Jensen looking over at him a lot more than usual.
He takes to wearing the cuff all the time, because it’s comfortable and he likes the way it looks, and for several weeks, that’s the last he thinks of it.
When the next note comes, it presence is almost as shocking as the contents. See, the bracelet was weird, but it was just a bracelet - hard to read anything into that. The new addition to his ‘uniform’ - or should he say, omission - is, well… The note says, very succinctly and with no further explanation, that he’s not to wear underwear under his jeans anytime he comes into the shop. That’s it. The end. Jared flips the piece of paper back and forth several times as though more information is going to suddenly appear.
He comes this close to ignoring the note all together - he’s never really been a commando kind of guy and it’s tough enough to avoid getting hard all the time around Jensen without any added stimuli - except that he knows Jensen’s the one who always puts the pay envelope into his bag, which means the odds are good Jensen’s the one who wrote the note, which practically makes his dick explode when he thinks about Jensen thinking about him without any underwear on. Wanting to think about Jared that way.
The next time he goes to work it’s with the soft chuff of denim against his not-so-soft cock. This time there’s no doubt in his mind about what that look in Jensen’s eyes is or why he can’t seem to peel them away from Jared for most of the afternoon. It makes something hot and completely foreign curl up in the pit of his belly - he can't remember anybody making him feel like this before.
The thing that confuses him about all of this is that they don’t talk about it - ever - and it’s not like there aren’t opportunities. Jensen’s part owner of the shop and he lives, literally, out back, not fifty yard's from the shop's back door. Because of that, most of the time when Jared does the sweeping and locks up, it’s just him and Jensen shooting the breeze. Their conversations don’t change, don’t even pick up any more innuendo than Jensen seems to throw in with everybody he interacts with, and Jared can’t for the life of him figure out what that means. He’s tried bringing it up a couple of times, but whenever he does, Jensen gives him this look like a warning and changes the subject.
Sometimes, in the darkest parts of the night, with his heartbeat fighting to slow down and jizz clinging to the webbing of his fingers, he worries maybe he imagined it all - that he’s losing his friggin’ mind over this stupid crush. But then he looks down at the cuff molded to his wrist like it's always belonged there and remembers that can’t be true.
Other times he thinks maybe it’s Misha or Chris dicking with him, because pretty much every human being or high-functioning animal who’s ever seen Jared at the shop knows he’s into Jensen and sometimes the guys can be jerks. The problem is, there’s no payoff for it, if it was the guys; they’ve never pantsed him or any other dumbass thing that would reveal that he’s not wearing anything under his jeans, and it’s been like a month - if they were going to get a laugh out of this, they would have done it by now. That only leaves Jensen and… and that’s basically as far as Jared can get with that train of logic.
Jensen’s an enigma, and whatever his reasons are, it’s become readily apparent to Jared that the only chance he’s got at finding out what it all means is to keep going and wait Jensen out. Nobody ever said Jared wasn’t stubborn.
It’s not an awesome plan, but it works - at least up until he gets the next note.
He can see how at most places of employment, routinely - every shift - jacking off in the employee bathroom might be frowned upon. Even in the shop, he would understand if Jensen considered it inappropriate - although if he did, Jared just might have to snap and point out that it’s not his fault he keeps getting hard from all the contact friction and the way his boss walks around looking like sex on a stick - but it’s totally out of left field when what the note says about his jerking it at work is not to stop, but what to do once he’s finished.
Right there in crisp, white paper and black ink, it outlines, in detail, how Jared’s supposed to cup his fingers around the head when he comes to catch it all - he’s been doing that anyway, he’s not some gross freak who’s going to leave come all over the employee bathroom - then slick it down over his shaft and his balls and his thighs until it’s all rubbed in and absorbed. And then he’s supposed to do up his jeans, wash his hands and go back into the shop like nothing happened.
Now he has to jack off twice a day at work because just thinking about the slick heat of come smoothing over his skin, the tight, tacky feel of it drying on him, being absolutely filthy with it underneath his clothes - about Jensen knowing he’s doing it; telling him to do it - makes him too stone-stiff to function on basic levels. Jensen just smirks at him every single fucking time Jared slips into the back of the shop. Jared can’t decide if he wants to kill the guy or marry him.
He’s completely, 100% positive that it can’t possibly get any better-worse than this because if it does, his sanity is going to crack into tiny, shattered pieces that he'll never be able to puzzle back together again. Of course, he’s absolutely wrong.
It’s only two weeks since he got the last note when another shows up in his backpack, only this time, there’s a small, non-descript cardboard box along with it. He opens the note first - still unsigned; both maddening and somehow thrilling all at once - which outlines how he’s allowed to practice with his present as much as he wants, but he’s not to wear it in front of anyone else until Monday. On Monday, he’s to bring it in to work with him in his bag and go to the bathroom first thing to put it in. He’s not allowed to remove it until he’s off the clock that night. Also, it’s apparently called “The Tristan”, which for no good reason at all, makes Jared feel all warm and fuzzy inside even though he doesn’t even know what “The Tristan” is.
His stomach does a funny little salsa step, palm sweating around the cardboard in his hand. He’s stuck somewhere between terrified and ready to shoot off in his pants and it takes a long few minutes of rocket-hot adrenaline trying to shut down his lung functions before he finally works up the courage to open the box.
Pink, is the first thing that hits him. Really, really, really pink. Like, it’s possible it might emit its own source of light, it’s so pink. And it’s not that he doesn’t like pink, it’s just, there’s a difference between a nice pink shirt and a small, flared, pink buttplug. Kind of a lot of difference actually. Because he’s almost certain he’s never had to lie back on his bed and jerk himself off right this second while staring at a pink shirt.
He’s not completely uneducated about gay sex, he’s seen porn, so he recognizes what that little piece of smooth silicone has to be right off the bat. He’s never seen one in real life, though, and he’s certainly never thought about putting one in his ass. He’s not even sure he wants anything going in his ass, let alone something that reminds him, in the most perverse possible way, of his sister’s Barbies. But then it occurs to him that Jensen does want it; that Jensen spent his time and money to pick this out just for him, thinking about what he wanted Jared to do with it, carefully selecting just the right one - because Jensen’s totally OCD about buying things, he does all kinds of research and reads all of the reviews even when he’s just getting a new pair of tennis shoes - and that’s… Christ, Jared’s going to develop carpal tunnel if he keeps beating off this often.
Monday he’s one giant ball of nerves the whole day at school, all anticipation and juddery nerves and this paranoid fear that somebody is going to end up opening up his backpack and digging to the very bottom and unwrapping the two pairs of socks he’s got the thing wrapped up in because it keeps tell-tale hearting on him like a neon sex-show stuffed next to his AP Econ book. That worry is enough to distract him from the fact that he’s going to have to actually do something with that thing in the near future until the little bell over the shop door dings as he enters and snaps him back to reality.
Crap. Oh really, truly, crap.
Jensen’s eyes are on him like a starved animal sizing up a steak and Jared’s just standing there in the middle of the doorway, having lost whatever shot he might have had at making his brain communicate with his legs. The tension just hangs and hangs and hangs, Jared’s heart trying to claw its way out of his chest at the same time that his dick is mimicking the move against his zipper.
It seems like everybody has to see, has to know what’s going on because how could they possibly miss that Jensen is sending him telepathic messages to shove some pink plastic up his ass and that Jared’s absolutely going to do it, even if it makes him feel like he’s about to piss himself he’s so nervous.
Then Chris shouts, “Not refrigerating the street, kid!” and something in the atmosphere just breaks, allowing life to slide back into rhythm. He still feels like several important organs have settled into electro-shock twitching but at least he can move again and smile when the guys say ‘hey’ and respond when they ask him how it’s going. And, on the plus side, when he covertly shoves the roll of sock-wrapped surprise into his pocket and excuses himself to the bathroom, he gets to walk out with the image of Jensen crushing his still-full Starbucks cup in his fist with this incredible, shocked/turned-the-fuck-on expression twisting his face.
Jared’s worked on this a little, but the plug doesn’t exactly slide right in. The silicone's not perfectly smooth, there's a very fine, almost velvety texture there like... not, like skin, because that would be weird and totally inappropriate to think about some part of a person's body going into him like that, especially if there happens to be a face and a name to that person he might theoretically be thinking about and super-especially if that name and face belong to a person who happens to be his hot-like-the-sun boss who may or may not have been leaving him sexually-overtoned notes and gifts for the last couple of months. Yeah, wrong. And definitely not what he's thinking about. Jesus, where's the fucking lube, he needs this thing in him, like, now.
It's really not that big, but it still feels like an impossibly tight fit as it slides through the mess of too much lube that his fingers forced up inside. Somewhere around what should be the widest part of the flare - it's unbelievably hard to measure around the heat swamping him that just flat our refuses to settle into either pleasure or pain - he's positive he's not going to make it. It's been up in there before but it's not going to fit this time, it's just not, at least not before he collapses from the overflow of sensation rattling from his fingertips to his toenails. Then he thinks about Jensen; Jensen watching him, Jensen thinking about him, Jensen unguarded and overwhelmed like he'd looked when Jared had snuck back here and he feels his body relax just a fraction and it just goes, just slots right in like it’s a part of him.
Once it’s there he knows without a doubt that he’s going to cream himself without so much as a finger on his dick but he does manage to get in three lightning-fast, unsteady strokes before he makes a mess of his hand - and subsequently his dick and balls and thighs because the note didn’t say anything about not doing that anymore and maybe Jared kind of gets off on it now, a little. He has very rapidly come to the realization that this is entirely too fucked up for him to be enjoying and also that he in no way cares because it’s the most stupidly hot thing in the history of ever.
He knows he's still flushed and maybe a little hazy looking when he makes his way back to the front desk, every inch of his body tingling like his nerve endings spontaneously quadrupled in the last couple of minutes, but nobody says anything. In fact, nobody but Jensen seems to notice and if the way his tongue keeps compulsively wetting his lips and he reflexively palms the bulge at the front of his jeans is anything to go by, he doesn't disapprove.
He doesn't take his eyes off of Jared for a single moment from the time he walks in, plug shifting inside of him with each step like a whisper of a tease, until he sits down at the desk and nearly loses it all over again because holyfuckinghell. He didn't even know his body was capable of containing that much sensation.
That afternoon Jensen has to excuse himself to the bathroom almost as often as Jared.
They still don’t talk about it, and for the most part, Jared’s ok with that. He really doesn’t need to have some big heartfelt discussion or hash out all of the whatever they’ve been doing. He’d sort of like to be able to kiss Jensen though, because his lips were seriously made for it, and in a weird, maybe childish way, he’d also like to know if he’s the only one Jensen’s messing around with. Not that what they’re doing exactly qualifies as messing around since they’ve never even done anything within five feet of each other, nor does he have any actual right to ask or expectation that Jensen would not be getting his rocks off with someone else, it’s just he’d really like to be the only one.
Maybe more to the point, he’d really like to think that this is more than just a little kink with some one-sided pining. But even if that's all it is, it’s so much better than anything else Jared’s ever had that he doesn’t want to push and risk ruining it, because he knows that if Jensen doesn’t feel the same and he found out that Jared was all doe-eyed over him that he’d call it off and probably feel really bad about leading Jared on. He’d honestly just prefer to be led.
That’s how things go for a few weeks; the two of them hanging out and joking around and pretending that Jared’s not getting occasional little notes that tell him when he should and shouldn’t wear The Tristan - which, yes, does mentally announce itself in Jensen’s sexed- up gruff every time he thinks about it - and introduce him to the wild world of cockrings - God, that was a day - and once, provide him with a shirt that is about three sizes too small for him to be wearing but which makes Jensen spend the entire day dropping things and run long on every single appointment he has. It’s a pretty good relationship as far as Jared’s concerned, even if it’s mostly just pervy teasing with a guy who has somehow along the way become his best friend.
On to Part 2
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17 -- Wordcount: 10,100 (whole fic)
Warnings: AU, tattoo!artist!Jensen, moderate D/s themes, toys, slight underage (Jared is 17 for part of it), tattoo!kink, possibly very mild crack - depending on the scrupulous level of "this could really happen" you expect in your RPS PWP
Notes: In case you hadn't heard, my stories almost never turn into what I intended them to be. This is no exception. I blame naidaildri for encouraging my body!mod kink, everyone who asked for me to finish this on the WIP post and my friend who works in a sex toy shop for telling me about "The Tristan" (yes, it's real, though I don't think it comes in pink.
Summary: Most high school kids who got lewd, cryptic notes from their bosses would probably have said bosses sued for sexual harassment. Most high school kids don't have bosses like Jensen.
Now with an awesome podfic by reena_jenkins - download here! or check it out at audiofic with drool-worthy coverart by cybel
Like so many of the brilliantly bad ideas in Jared’s life, it starts with his brother. See, the Padalecki’s have this thing; they pick people up. Not just like, for hookups and stuff like that, but just in general, they attract people, pull them into their orbit like gravity. It happens all the time so none of them really thinks anything about it when Jeff finally follows through with his years’ old threat to get a tattoo and ends up coming home with new ink across his right shoulder blade and his new tattoo artist friend, Jensen.
Jared’s family probably doesn’t think anything about because it’s normal - Jared doesn’t think anything about it because he lost the capacity for coherent thought when his big brother walked through the door with the embodiment of every wet dream he’s ever had plus a couple he hasn’t gotten around to yet.
He’d never thought much about guys with tattoos, but then he’d never seen a guy like Jensen before either. Jensen’s, like, perfect. Spiky, dark-blonde hair and grass-green eyes and these ridiculously plush lips with the thin shine of a silver ring encircling the bottom one, resting like a racing stripe in that little divot in the center. Just daring Jared to lick it. And then there’s his skin; pale honey-tones with cinnamon-dusted freckles and rich swirls of ink that highlight the smooth power of his muscles under a shirt so worn-soft and perfectly molded to his body that it ought to be illegal. Not to mention the way he laughs, eyes crinkling up at the corners because he’s not holding anything back, just putting himself out there and fuck anybody who doesn't like it.
And, fine, yeah, Jared might be projecting a little like a girl with her first crush, but whatever, Jensen’s epic.
Inevitably at some point during the dinner, Jared’s mom has to chime in with “Oh, Jared’s an artist too,” which is kind of like saying ‘oh, Jared’s seen birds before, he can probably fly’. Sure, he’s one of the top students in his high school art class, but Jensen - his art gets permanently imbedded in people’s skin. That’s like, a whole other level. All of which he informs his mother of - which, win!, makes Jensen give him this totally soul-melting grin - but makes exactly zero difference in his being ordered to go upstairs and get his sketchbook.
Jensen’s really nice about the whole thing - oh course he is, because he’s perfect - so he looks over Jared’s stuff and they end up talking for a long time, bridging out from art to music and movies and steadily into ordinary things about their lives. By the time Jensen leaves that night, he’s no longer ‘Jeff’s tattoo artist friend’, he’s ‘Jared’s awesome, hot friend/part time boss’.
Working at the shop is kind of great, even aside from the fact that it means he gets to ogle Jensen pretty much on demand. Misha and Chris are both really cool, even if they do make a game out of swapping the most obscene sex stories they can come up with just to make Jared blush. The job is mostly just answering phones and sweeping up, but sometimes he’ll help one of the guys out if they’re sketching out a special request and the money’s better than what he could get flipping burgers or slinging coffee. Jared completely loves his job.
Ok, he loves his job, and maybe just a tiny bit, Jensen. Not, like, in a creepy stalker way, like he’s collaging pictures of himself and Jensen all over his room or something, just in a ‘hey, that freakishly hot guy is also the coolest person I’ve ever known, maybe I’ll try not to faint every time he talks to me’ kind of way. It’s fine, he knows it’s not ever going to happen.
The fact that Jensen happens to be gay - or maybe it’s just bi, Jared’s never really gotten a clear answer on that one - would totally be a bonus, except that Jensen’s also Jensen which means that Jared’s chances with him would be slightly lower than those of banana slugs even if he wasn’t still in freaking high school. Jensen’s just a nice guy who puts up with Jared’s gawky, stumbling attention and helps him with his art and stuff. He’s amazing and any guy in the western hemisphere with even a passing interest in dick would fall all over himself to have a shot with him, so yeah, short of nuclear holocaust, it’s really unlikely that Jared’s ever going to get to do more than enjoy the scenery.
That very practical rationale is the reason he doesn’t think anything of it at first when the white envelope of cash Jensen stuffs into Jared’s back-pack at some point every Friday also has a note in it one week along with a slim, leather cuff-bracelet. The unsigned note explains that he’s to wear the cuff to work every time he comes in as part of his uniform, which doesn’t really make sense because as far as he knows he doesn’t have a uniform, but he puts it on anyway before he goes in to work - it fits perfectly; butter-soft leather, just snug enough - just in case. Nobody mentions anything else about uniforms, but he’d almost swear that he catches Jensen looking over at him a lot more than usual.
He takes to wearing the cuff all the time, because it’s comfortable and he likes the way it looks, and for several weeks, that’s the last he thinks of it.
When the next note comes, it presence is almost as shocking as the contents. See, the bracelet was weird, but it was just a bracelet - hard to read anything into that. The new addition to his ‘uniform’ - or should he say, omission - is, well… The note says, very succinctly and with no further explanation, that he’s not to wear underwear under his jeans anytime he comes into the shop. That’s it. The end. Jared flips the piece of paper back and forth several times as though more information is going to suddenly appear.
He comes this close to ignoring the note all together - he’s never really been a commando kind of guy and it’s tough enough to avoid getting hard all the time around Jensen without any added stimuli - except that he knows Jensen’s the one who always puts the pay envelope into his bag, which means the odds are good Jensen’s the one who wrote the note, which practically makes his dick explode when he thinks about Jensen thinking about him without any underwear on. Wanting to think about Jared that way.
The next time he goes to work it’s with the soft chuff of denim against his not-so-soft cock. This time there’s no doubt in his mind about what that look in Jensen’s eyes is or why he can’t seem to peel them away from Jared for most of the afternoon. It makes something hot and completely foreign curl up in the pit of his belly - he can't remember anybody making him feel like this before.
The thing that confuses him about all of this is that they don’t talk about it - ever - and it’s not like there aren’t opportunities. Jensen’s part owner of the shop and he lives, literally, out back, not fifty yard's from the shop's back door. Because of that, most of the time when Jared does the sweeping and locks up, it’s just him and Jensen shooting the breeze. Their conversations don’t change, don’t even pick up any more innuendo than Jensen seems to throw in with everybody he interacts with, and Jared can’t for the life of him figure out what that means. He’s tried bringing it up a couple of times, but whenever he does, Jensen gives him this look like a warning and changes the subject.
Sometimes, in the darkest parts of the night, with his heartbeat fighting to slow down and jizz clinging to the webbing of his fingers, he worries maybe he imagined it all - that he’s losing his friggin’ mind over this stupid crush. But then he looks down at the cuff molded to his wrist like it's always belonged there and remembers that can’t be true.
Other times he thinks maybe it’s Misha or Chris dicking with him, because pretty much every human being or high-functioning animal who’s ever seen Jared at the shop knows he’s into Jensen and sometimes the guys can be jerks. The problem is, there’s no payoff for it, if it was the guys; they’ve never pantsed him or any other dumbass thing that would reveal that he’s not wearing anything under his jeans, and it’s been like a month - if they were going to get a laugh out of this, they would have done it by now. That only leaves Jensen and… and that’s basically as far as Jared can get with that train of logic.
Jensen’s an enigma, and whatever his reasons are, it’s become readily apparent to Jared that the only chance he’s got at finding out what it all means is to keep going and wait Jensen out. Nobody ever said Jared wasn’t stubborn.
It’s not an awesome plan, but it works - at least up until he gets the next note.
He can see how at most places of employment, routinely - every shift - jacking off in the employee bathroom might be frowned upon. Even in the shop, he would understand if Jensen considered it inappropriate - although if he did, Jared just might have to snap and point out that it’s not his fault he keeps getting hard from all the contact friction and the way his boss walks around looking like sex on a stick - but it’s totally out of left field when what the note says about his jerking it at work is not to stop, but what to do once he’s finished.
Right there in crisp, white paper and black ink, it outlines, in detail, how Jared’s supposed to cup his fingers around the head when he comes to catch it all - he’s been doing that anyway, he’s not some gross freak who’s going to leave come all over the employee bathroom - then slick it down over his shaft and his balls and his thighs until it’s all rubbed in and absorbed. And then he’s supposed to do up his jeans, wash his hands and go back into the shop like nothing happened.
Now he has to jack off twice a day at work because just thinking about the slick heat of come smoothing over his skin, the tight, tacky feel of it drying on him, being absolutely filthy with it underneath his clothes - about Jensen knowing he’s doing it; telling him to do it - makes him too stone-stiff to function on basic levels. Jensen just smirks at him every single fucking time Jared slips into the back of the shop. Jared can’t decide if he wants to kill the guy or marry him.
He’s completely, 100% positive that it can’t possibly get any better-worse than this because if it does, his sanity is going to crack into tiny, shattered pieces that he'll never be able to puzzle back together again. Of course, he’s absolutely wrong.
It’s only two weeks since he got the last note when another shows up in his backpack, only this time, there’s a small, non-descript cardboard box along with it. He opens the note first - still unsigned; both maddening and somehow thrilling all at once - which outlines how he’s allowed to practice with his present as much as he wants, but he’s not to wear it in front of anyone else until Monday. On Monday, he’s to bring it in to work with him in his bag and go to the bathroom first thing to put it in. He’s not allowed to remove it until he’s off the clock that night. Also, it’s apparently called “The Tristan”, which for no good reason at all, makes Jared feel all warm and fuzzy inside even though he doesn’t even know what “The Tristan” is.
His stomach does a funny little salsa step, palm sweating around the cardboard in his hand. He’s stuck somewhere between terrified and ready to shoot off in his pants and it takes a long few minutes of rocket-hot adrenaline trying to shut down his lung functions before he finally works up the courage to open the box.
Pink, is the first thing that hits him. Really, really, really pink. Like, it’s possible it might emit its own source of light, it’s so pink. And it’s not that he doesn’t like pink, it’s just, there’s a difference between a nice pink shirt and a small, flared, pink buttplug. Kind of a lot of difference actually. Because he’s almost certain he’s never had to lie back on his bed and jerk himself off right this second while staring at a pink shirt.
He’s not completely uneducated about gay sex, he’s seen porn, so he recognizes what that little piece of smooth silicone has to be right off the bat. He’s never seen one in real life, though, and he’s certainly never thought about putting one in his ass. He’s not even sure he wants anything going in his ass, let alone something that reminds him, in the most perverse possible way, of his sister’s Barbies. But then it occurs to him that Jensen does want it; that Jensen spent his time and money to pick this out just for him, thinking about what he wanted Jared to do with it, carefully selecting just the right one - because Jensen’s totally OCD about buying things, he does all kinds of research and reads all of the reviews even when he’s just getting a new pair of tennis shoes - and that’s… Christ, Jared’s going to develop carpal tunnel if he keeps beating off this often.
Monday he’s one giant ball of nerves the whole day at school, all anticipation and juddery nerves and this paranoid fear that somebody is going to end up opening up his backpack and digging to the very bottom and unwrapping the two pairs of socks he’s got the thing wrapped up in because it keeps tell-tale hearting on him like a neon sex-show stuffed next to his AP Econ book. That worry is enough to distract him from the fact that he’s going to have to actually do something with that thing in the near future until the little bell over the shop door dings as he enters and snaps him back to reality.
Crap. Oh really, truly, crap.
Jensen’s eyes are on him like a starved animal sizing up a steak and Jared’s just standing there in the middle of the doorway, having lost whatever shot he might have had at making his brain communicate with his legs. The tension just hangs and hangs and hangs, Jared’s heart trying to claw its way out of his chest at the same time that his dick is mimicking the move against his zipper.
It seems like everybody has to see, has to know what’s going on because how could they possibly miss that Jensen is sending him telepathic messages to shove some pink plastic up his ass and that Jared’s absolutely going to do it, even if it makes him feel like he’s about to piss himself he’s so nervous.
Then Chris shouts, “Not refrigerating the street, kid!” and something in the atmosphere just breaks, allowing life to slide back into rhythm. He still feels like several important organs have settled into electro-shock twitching but at least he can move again and smile when the guys say ‘hey’ and respond when they ask him how it’s going. And, on the plus side, when he covertly shoves the roll of sock-wrapped surprise into his pocket and excuses himself to the bathroom, he gets to walk out with the image of Jensen crushing his still-full Starbucks cup in his fist with this incredible, shocked/turned-the-fuck-on expression twisting his face.
Jared’s worked on this a little, but the plug doesn’t exactly slide right in. The silicone's not perfectly smooth, there's a very fine, almost velvety texture there like... not, like skin, because that would be weird and totally inappropriate to think about some part of a person's body going into him like that, especially if there happens to be a face and a name to that person he might theoretically be thinking about and super-especially if that name and face belong to a person who happens to be his hot-like-the-sun boss who may or may not have been leaving him sexually-overtoned notes and gifts for the last couple of months. Yeah, wrong. And definitely not what he's thinking about. Jesus, where's the fucking lube, he needs this thing in him, like, now.
It's really not that big, but it still feels like an impossibly tight fit as it slides through the mess of too much lube that his fingers forced up inside. Somewhere around what should be the widest part of the flare - it's unbelievably hard to measure around the heat swamping him that just flat our refuses to settle into either pleasure or pain - he's positive he's not going to make it. It's been up in there before but it's not going to fit this time, it's just not, at least not before he collapses from the overflow of sensation rattling from his fingertips to his toenails. Then he thinks about Jensen; Jensen watching him, Jensen thinking about him, Jensen unguarded and overwhelmed like he'd looked when Jared had snuck back here and he feels his body relax just a fraction and it just goes, just slots right in like it’s a part of him.
Once it’s there he knows without a doubt that he’s going to cream himself without so much as a finger on his dick but he does manage to get in three lightning-fast, unsteady strokes before he makes a mess of his hand - and subsequently his dick and balls and thighs because the note didn’t say anything about not doing that anymore and maybe Jared kind of gets off on it now, a little. He has very rapidly come to the realization that this is entirely too fucked up for him to be enjoying and also that he in no way cares because it’s the most stupidly hot thing in the history of ever.
He knows he's still flushed and maybe a little hazy looking when he makes his way back to the front desk, every inch of his body tingling like his nerve endings spontaneously quadrupled in the last couple of minutes, but nobody says anything. In fact, nobody but Jensen seems to notice and if the way his tongue keeps compulsively wetting his lips and he reflexively palms the bulge at the front of his jeans is anything to go by, he doesn't disapprove.
He doesn't take his eyes off of Jared for a single moment from the time he walks in, plug shifting inside of him with each step like a whisper of a tease, until he sits down at the desk and nearly loses it all over again because holyfuckinghell. He didn't even know his body was capable of containing that much sensation.
That afternoon Jensen has to excuse himself to the bathroom almost as often as Jared.
They still don’t talk about it, and for the most part, Jared’s ok with that. He really doesn’t need to have some big heartfelt discussion or hash out all of the whatever they’ve been doing. He’d sort of like to be able to kiss Jensen though, because his lips were seriously made for it, and in a weird, maybe childish way, he’d also like to know if he’s the only one Jensen’s messing around with. Not that what they’re doing exactly qualifies as messing around since they’ve never even done anything within five feet of each other, nor does he have any actual right to ask or expectation that Jensen would not be getting his rocks off with someone else, it’s just he’d really like to be the only one.
Maybe more to the point, he’d really like to think that this is more than just a little kink with some one-sided pining. But even if that's all it is, it’s so much better than anything else Jared’s ever had that he doesn’t want to push and risk ruining it, because he knows that if Jensen doesn’t feel the same and he found out that Jared was all doe-eyed over him that he’d call it off and probably feel really bad about leading Jared on. He’d honestly just prefer to be led.
That’s how things go for a few weeks; the two of them hanging out and joking around and pretending that Jared’s not getting occasional little notes that tell him when he should and shouldn’t wear The Tristan - which, yes, does mentally announce itself in Jensen’s sexed- up gruff every time he thinks about it - and introduce him to the wild world of cockrings - God, that was a day - and once, provide him with a shirt that is about three sizes too small for him to be wearing but which makes Jensen spend the entire day dropping things and run long on every single appointment he has. It’s a pretty good relationship as far as Jared’s concerned, even if it’s mostly just pervy teasing with a guy who has somehow along the way become his best friend.
On to Part 2