Fic: An Offer He Can't Refuse (Jensen/Jared)
Fandom: J2
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17 -- Wordcount: 4,700
Warnings: Escort!AU, D/s, mild exhibitionism, toys - despite the inherently large amount of porn, it's really just a massive excuse for schmoop.
Notes: Follows Ace Up His Sleeve in the Escort!AU. gedry is a terrible, terrible enabler and as such, there has to be at least one story to follow this. Once you get to the end, it should be pretty obvious what that story will be but I won't spoiler anything here. I have been kidnapped by kink and cannot escape.
Summary - Don’t read anything into it, he keeps telling himself. Just because it’s a ring box doesn’t mean there’s a ring inside. It could be anything, really.
The plain, slim cord snags on Jared's Adam's apple, too thin to really imitate his collar satisfyingly, but good enough with the thick girth of Jensen's cock pressing deep into his throat; good enough with jade-green eyes locked on him like he's the only thing that matters. He'd told Jensen that he'd wear the collar to the restaurant, not embarrassed about what people might - rightly - read into it. Jared's not ashamed of what they are, but then he doesn't really think Jensen is either. It’s just that Jensen's always had a very finely honed sense of discretion and this is a place he brings clients sometimes. Jared can respect that - it’s not like he really needs the pressure around his neck to remind him who he belongs to anyway.
They've never really done this out in public before. Not, in public in public - 'no sharing' is one of the rules they'd both agreed to emphatically when they went from Jensen and Jared to JensenandJared and as far as he's concerned, other people looking at Jensen's cock definitely counts as sharing - but tucked into the bathroom of a three Michelin star restaurant isn't exactly what Jared would call private either.
Jensen's gotten over some of his weirdness about only having sex in specific, pre-approved locales, for which Jared is eternally grateful. They've now christened every - literally every; Jensen still does this funny little pause every time he has to go into the storage room in the garage - room in the house, plus a couple of choice locations around the pool and they've even had sex a couple of places that skirted right at the edges of propriety and/or legality. Jared's quite proud of the excellent job he's done corrupting Jensen. Still, they've never scened anywhere but the privacy of their own home - not even the weekend they spent in that hotel with the wrought iron bed that had Jared’s wrists itching to be tied to it. And then, miraculously, tonight as they were getting ready to go out, Jensen had slipped this tiny choker necklace - leather cord barely as thick as a strand of spaghetti - on him and just as easily as he slipped into Dom mode.
If it wasn't for Jensen's other little present, Jared probably would have blown his wad before they got their appetizers.
The thrill of being surrounded by other people is stinging-hot, nibbling at the back of his mind with whispers about somebody waiting for the bathroom to free up, maybe overhearing the soft, deep noises Jensen's not quite managing to bite back or the wet sound of his cock plunging in and out of Jared’s mouth. Maybe someone noticing that they left the table abandoned or seeing how Jared's hair is mussed from Jensen using it as a finger-hold or the red pout of his lips like a flashing neon sign for cocksucking; the bulge just barely concealed by the tight dress pants Jensen picked out for him. Someone knowing exactly what they got up to in here and seething with envy because they didn't get to be the one in Jared's place.
He's more than well-versed in his own exhibitionist streak; can't even pretend that Jensen pulling his chair out and putting his napkin in his lap for him, ordering for him, feeding him occasional little bites off of Jensen's own plate all hasn't been nailing him like a goddamn hand on his dick. Doesn't even want to pretend that Jensen reaching across the console when they arrived and pulling Jared's dick out in the fucking parking lot to put a cockring around his shaft and sac - diamond studded cockring, thank you very much; not something of Jared's, something Jensen bought special, all on his own - hadn't almost made him come like a bullet-train. Jared knows very, very well that showing himself off, showing off what they are together, is a big part of the reason he's getting off on this; he just never expected that Jensen would be into it too.
Jensen's hips push forward again; crisp brush of trimmed hair around the base chafing at Jared's lips, darkening them up even more, and he shifts his head from side to side as much as he can manage to really grind his mouth against the rough curls. He’s kneeling on expensive, metallic-brushed tile in an even more expensive suit - a weird mesh of his own style and Jensen’s; Armani suit, over a leather vest and an almost-transparent black silk shirt - trapped between his boyfriend’s body and the textured wall. Jensen’s hand cupped around the back of his head is the only thing keeping his skull from bumping the wall on each brutal, merciless, fucking perfect thrust.
Sometimes Jensen will cuff him for this, others just make him hold his hands behind his back, but he hadn’t said anything about it when he’d commanded Jared to his knees, nor when Jared rested his palms on Jensen’s hips urging him on, so he’s taken that as permission. His thumb slots effortlessly into the darkened splotch of the semi-permanent bruise on Jensen’s hip, the one that sends an acid-burn of possessiveness zipping up Jared’s spine each time he sees it. Pressing in gets a bitten-off noise of surprise from above along with a sudden, trapped twitch of the length weighing down his tongue. There aren’t words in the English language to adequately describe how much Jared adores that Jensen likes a little pain mixed in with his pleasure too.
Rolling his hips gets him as close to hell as it does to heaven; instinctual relief at the friction of his pants - no underwear tonight by Jensen’s order, not that Jared bothers with them much anyway - butting up against the knowledge that it’s not really going to get him a damn thing, that he’s really just torturing himself a little extra. If he could get any air to his vocal chords - any air anywhere - he'd be moaning like a whore. Probably for the best then that Jensen's keeping his cockhead friendly with Jared's tonsils.
Jared is a very happy boy.
Air crackles wetly from Jensen's throat, a punch of sound without voice behind it because Jensen's so careful, so damn polite, doesn't want to make a spectacle even though they probably already have, all things considered. Jared knows what that sound would have been, though, can see on Jensen's face how close he is even before he mutters, "Swallow for me," like it's some kind of imposition.
Jared loves that he gets to have the sharp, bitterness of his boyfriend’s pleasure - nobody but him - loves even more that Jensen knows he likes his mouth full of it first so the taste lingers on the insides of his cheeks and the back of his palate as its own memory. He's got the head just resting on his tongue, sucking hard when the first spurt hits, the next and the next and the next flooding in, filling him up with a flavor that's worth so much more than the hundreds of dollars they’re going to be dropping on dinner; pure Jensen. It builds up thick, and so much - he swims through a tiny hit of delight every time he thinks about how much more Jensen comes than he used to; how much more his body makes because it's adjusted to giving it up so often to Jared - on his tongue, swishing over his cheeks and trickling slowly down the back off his throat before he finally swallows with a gut-wrenched groan. Fuck yeah, he's a totally come slut for Jensen, total any-kind-of slut for Jensen, and it's sort of Jared's favorite thing in the world. He is 100% gone over this man.
A protesting twinge shoots through his legs as Jensen hauls him back to his feet, knees sore from hard tile and hard thrusts. Still nothing compared to the honey-sweet ache between his legs - been stiff as steel for what feels like hours - reminding him that Jensen’s in charge, Jensen says when.
Jensen kisses him soft and slow, come-flavored swipes of tongue with a solar-flare's worth of heat behind it so it's really not Jared's fault at all that he melts. It doesn't matter, Jensen's there to hold him up; effortlessly as always, like Jared hasn’t got three inches and thirty pounds on him.
Murmurs of, "so good, Jay," and, "always so good for me," and, "I love you so much," turn him gooey and liquid inside and he would be perfectly content to spend the rest of the night standing here, full-up and needy, pressing against Jensen's warmth in the fucking mood-lit bathroom. And much to his surprise, Jensen doesn't seem compelled to hurry him along, just keeps kissing over his cheek and temple and neck despite the fact that there's bound to be somebody waiting to take a piss by now.
He doesn't have a clue what's gotten into his boyfriend tonight, but the thoroughly approves.
"You ok?" Jensen asks after what feels like a long while, less like a question than it sounds. Jared answers with a nod and a low sound that might have been a word if there were a couple more consonants thrown in. Strong fingers comb the hair back from Jared's face, attempt in vain to force it into some semblance of order even though it always does whatever the hell it wants anyway. He still probably looks marginally less 'mauled by a sex-crazed fiend' for the effort, so he should theoretically be grateful. He can’t seem to muster up enough energy to care about anything but the feel of Jensen’s hands on him.
Jensen nods, “Good,” and possibly something more that Jared totally misses because then Jensen’s hand is sliding up under the back of his shirt and lightly dragging fingernails down Jared’s spine. Goddamn, he really wishes he had the physical capacity to purr; there’s just not another accurate summation of his feelings at this moment.
"Now here’s what you’re going to do,” whispers against Jared’s ear. All of Jared’s attention is immediately honed on the tickle of sound and breath. There’s not much point trying to hold back his shiver, so he just decides, fuck it, and clings a little closer to Jensen’s front as it rolls through him like a tidal wave. “You’re going to go back out there, sit down and put your napkin in your lap. Then I want you to get this out for me,” his fingers rub tenderly at the crown of Jared’s cock through his pants, slamming him with sensory overload that turns the world white for a fraction of a second, “take off the ring and put it over on my side of the table. Don't touch yourself after that, and don't come. Understood?"
Breathing harshly is as close to a reply as Jared can get. He absolutely understands; complying is a whole separate matter. He kind of wants to point out to Jensen how genuinely impressive it is that he didn’t just nut himself on the spot thinking about it, ring or no fucking ring. Then, miraculously, he feels himself nodding, the motion jerky and stilted. Jensen’s pleased smirk is entirely worth the effort, not that it helps much with the not-spooging-his-pants goal.
The actual walk from the bathroom to the table is approximately 8,462 miles longer than it was when he was following Jensen in there to get his mouth fucked. Despite the fact that he no longer has Jensen’s dick corking his throat, he still can’t seem to get anything even vaguely resembling a scrap of oxygen. It’s a totally bizarre sensation; the high of walking right along the drugged edge of subspace - of having walked along it for such an extended period of time - all mixed up with the hungry want that he feels with Jensen every second of every day and an aimless heat that is equal parts anticipation and trepidation. Whatever it is that Jensen’s up to - and he’s definitely up to something if he’s pulling them both this far out of the comfort zone - it’s hitting Jared in places he didn’t even know he had and sticking around just to toy with him.
Shame isn’t much in Jared’s repertoire anymore; he’d hammered out whatever nebulous semblance of it he was born with years ago, but he can still feel his cheeks burning as he gingerly sits down, every motion feathering his neglected hard-on with almost-enough-too-much sensations. Every eye in the place can’t actually be on him because, glancing around, nobody seems to even be looking at their round little booth tucked into the corner, but he can’t seem to communicate that fact with his brain. It just keeps slamming him with ‘someone’s watching, someone will see’ and the fear-desire of it leaves him biting the inside of his cheek to hold back a moan at the careful touch of his fingers hidden under his napkin and the gentle vibration as he slides his zipper down. His cock pops free entirely of its own accord like a fugitive running for his life, the soft weave of the imported linen covering his lap doing nothing at all to disguise the unnatural levels of hard he has managed to achieve.
Taking the cockring off apparently requires an advanced degree or something because Jared just cannot get the damn catch to give way and the fact that he can’t fucking see it sure as hell isn’t helping. A part of him wants to say screw it and wait for Jensen to come to the table and help him - where the hell is he? What is he doing? Is he watching right now? - but Jensen told him to do this himself, wants him to, and there’s not much left on the planet at the moment that Jared wants more than to do exactly what Jensen tells him.
The moment the pressure relents, Jared’s too swept up to actually hang on to the ring, just lets it nestle against his inner thighs because he could crack this table in half with his bare hands easier than he could stop himself from coming and he needs every available iota of his consciousness to manage it. He’s still going to fail spectacularly; he can just feel it, like trying to fight gravity after you’ve already jumped off the bridge.
Jensen’s hand - he’s got his eyes squeezed shut so tight tears are forming, but he knows it’s Jensen’s hand and no one else’s - settles warm on top of his own where it’s bunching the fabric of his pants into a bone-cracking fist and the waves of nownownownownow slink back into pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, dragging him away from the summit by the skin of his damn teeth.
It takes another minute for him to be able to calm down enough to actually open his eyes and see Jensen smiling at him, soft with pride and love - yes, love, because Jensen, against all odds, loves Jared right back, hard as that still is for him to believe. Glass-sharp desperation mellows under it, letting that hazy-rich feeling from a minute ago in the bathroom ooze back in. They could do this for a thousand years and it would still never cease to amaze Jared what his boyfriend can do to him with just a look.
Jensen gently disentangles Jared’s fingers from his wrinkled slacks, pulls them up to his lips to kiss the knuckles softly - a heady ease zip-zip-zipping up Jared’s arm like a low-grade electric shock - before he sets it flat on the table under his own. Jared doesn’t have to be told to mirror it with his other hand; doesn’t even have to tell his own body to do it, just feels it happen on reflex.
The waiter appearing out of nowhere slaps him back to a reality he hadn’t even realized he’d zoned out on. He garners a strange look from the guy, like he’s about to start question Jared about food allergies or something but Jensen’s low, firm, “thank you,” gets rid of him, so it’s just the two of them again. It’s not until a couple of snail’s-pace seconds later that he realizes the man left a plate between them; some sort of fancy chocolate concoction that looks more like a modern art piece than food with some sort of foam and goldleaf and the whole shebang.
They each have a spoon at their impeccably laid out place setting but Jensen’s still pinning Jared’s hand with the weight of his smaller one, no pressure behind it besides the unspoken command in his touch to keep it there. He opens his mouth docilely to accept the bite Jensen dishes up for him, cleans the spoon with his tongue and doesn’t taste a goddamn thing because his brain can’t process this much input at once. His cheeks are hot again, nothing even tangentially related to embarrassment this time; more like spill-over because his cock can’t possibly hold one more drop of blood. How is it physically possible that every goddamn thing Jensen does is the hottest thing ever?
The next spoonful is in his mouth before Jensen really moves again and it is only through some latent self-preservation instinct that Jared manages not to bite through the polished silver between his lips and his own fucking tongue. Jensen’s fingers - the ones not busy plying Jared with sweets - have now slid beneath the napkin covering Jared’s raging erection and splayed out around the throbbing shaft, petting gently at waxed-bare, sensitive skin and whisper-touching his dick like an accident. If he wasn’t absolutely certain he’d catch hell for it, he’d bang his head on the table.
“You’re doing so well,” Jensen murmurs husky-low, a little up-tic at the corner of his mouth when Jared’s cock leaks like Pavlov’s fucking dog at the sound. He’s fidgeting fitfully in his seat, being split in half by the urge to rub himself up against Jensen’s hand and the knowledge that he’s not supposed to. He swallows the next soft lump of mousse-thing that Jensen feeds him with an audible gulp, smooth sweetness going down like sand and hot sauce. Jensen’s smile warms a little extra, thumb sneaking into the open fall of Jared’s fly to tease the thin, tight skin of his sac. Any second now Jared is going to prove the accuracy of the theory of spontaneous human combustion.
He can only assume that Jensen eats some of the dessert too, although he has no verifiable proof of that since every part of the world not directly linked to Jensen’s fingers slowly massaging at the flesh all around his dick like he’s working a sore muscle has fuzzed out into a frosted-glass haze. Still, it is a fact that the chocolate disappears, Jensen’s spoon clinking lightly against the empty dish as he sets it aside. The heat of him as he slides in close across the seat hits Jared like a stiletto-shod kick to the gut, instantly soaks his senses through with the warmth and scent and sense of Jensen.
Jensen usually keeps a little stubble, an edge on the prim front he puts up for his clients, but tonight his cheek is smooth as it slides against Jared’s, easily tucking his face into the crook of Jensen’s neck, hidden away from the rest of the restaurant.
“You’re beautiful like this, you know,” he says, even quieter than before, the sound like hot molasses dripping down Jared’s spine. “Perfect, the way you do as you’re told, the way you want to. Even when it’s making you crazy to hold back, you still give in to me, trust me. You’re so much more than I could have ever hoped for, Jay. More than I could have dreamed I wanted. You make me so happy, baby.” Plush lips kiss along the curve of Jared’s ear and he shivers so hard he’s surprised the booth doesn’t shake. He loves it dirty and sweat-steeped and debauched - no question of that after the couple of hours he just spent - but this right here? Fuck buttons, this bypasses every single one of his kinks and fetishes and hot spots and routes directly into the deepest, most private part of him, lobotomizing him with fulfillment.
And then Jensen whispers, “Now come.”
It might be the loudest orgasm in recorded history. It might be completely silent. Jared honest to fuck hasn’t got a clue because all he can hear-feel-see-smell-taste is the way Jensen just plucked that single, hair-fine need buried under the mess of all of Jared’s other wants; the one he’s built so many of the others on the foundation of. He didn’t even know it was there and it’s his own fucking psyche but Jensen reached in and strummed along it like he’s just been waiting for the right moment. Is it any wonder he adores this man?
Jared’s not sure when his breathing evened out or his tense muscles went loose, but it must have been quite a while ago because when he drifts back to reality, the restaurant around them is a lot less busy than it was when he fuzzed out. At some point Jensen must have cleaned him up and tucked him back in because his clothes are neat and clean as he half-sits, half-lays, practically on top of his boyfriend.
No one’s watching, so he must not have made too much of a spectacle of himself, not that he particularly cares at the moment. In fact, right now, the only things registering on his I-give-a-shit-ometer is Jensen’s thumb rubbing slow circles in the hollow behind the hinge of his jaw and the warm shuff of his boyfriend’s breath against his temple. He could very easily go to sleep right here.
Jensen must sense he’s in the land of the living, though, because he hums a pleased sound that simmers under Jared’s skin like warm water and says, “Welcome back.” Jared snuffles something approximating a response against the long line of delicate throat exposed to him and starts to uncoordinatedly suck a mark to the surface.
He’s doing a damn fine job of turning into a human puddle, at least until that hand that was caressing over his jaw, slips back and does something that makes his place-holder collar go slack. The whine that works out of him is pitiful, but he hasn’t got anywhere near the self-consciousness to be embarrassed about it. He’s enjoying himself, damnit; he’s not ready for it to be over yet.
“I know,” Jensen soothes, sliding the fine chord off of Jared anyway, “You can have it back soon, I promise, but I need us to be on the same page for a minute, ok?”
Jared groans a complaint, but nods, forcing himself to sit up a bit and take a portion of his own weight. It’s then that he clues in on the little black velvet box sitting on the bare tablecloth in front of him. His heart does a funny hitch-kick in his chest like it can’t decide between taking off at a sprint or grinding to a halt.
He flicks a glance at Jensen whose smile has a nervous tilt, cheeks slowly staining themselves pink. The air in his lungs freezes solid, so cold it burns.
Don’t read anything into it, he keeps telling himself. Just because it’s a ring box doesn’t mean there’s a ring inside. It could be anything, really. A new toy or something. And even if it was a ring - which it’s probably not - it wouldn’t be, like, a ring ring. It would just be, like a here’s something pretty that made me think of you kind of thing and definitely not a let’s make a serious, long-term commitment to one another because I want to be with you for the rest of my life kind of thing. Jensen’s way too practical to just jump into something like that this soon. He’d need at least five years, maybe ten, before he’d even think of taking a step like that with Jared which is totally not frustrating or hair-pulling-out worthy at all. Nope. Totally not.
Wow, awesome job with the not reading anything into it, huh?
Ok, well, the best solution is just to suck it up and open it, right? Right. So he reaches out for the box - damn his stupid hands for shaking; this is not that big of a deal, alright? - the soft fabric covering on it heating instantly in his slightly damp palm. It seems so tiny in his hand to feel like something so big and-
Fuck he’s completely overthinking this. Just open it. Just fucking open it.
It’s not a ring.
It’s not even vaguely ring-esque, in fact. He’s not exactly sure what it is, but a ring is definitely not in the running. Jared quietly swallows back whatever vital organ that was that was trying to force its way past his epiglottis.
It’s pretty, whatever it is; raw steel that looks like it’s been lasercut into some sort of design and attached to a small spoke of some sort. Taking it carefully out of its cushioned bed shows that the little piece on the back is threaded like it’s meant to screw into something, which doesn’t really help clarify what the hell it’s for at all. Looking at it from the back, at least, finally resolves what the design is, since it’s suddenly the right way around from this angle. Two ‘J’s intertwined in a simple pattern, delicate but still dynamic.
“It’s a brand,” Jensen supplies quietly. Jared’s eyes snap to him, heart apparently having made a decision about stopping or starting as it beatboxes erratically inside his chest. “For both of us. If you want.”
He hasn’t got a chance to try and remind himself how to talk, because Jensen rushes right on, eyes not quite meeting Jared’s as he babbles out, “We don’t have to, obviously, it’s your choice. I just - well, rings wouldn’t really be practical in our line of work and I didn’t want something we’d always have to take off, so I thought this would be something both permanent and private, but it’s entirely your prerogative not to want to, I certainly won’t hold it against you or punish you or anything like that. I know it’s soon to ask for something as intimate as this, so if you want to say no-“
“Jensen, have I ever turned you down?” He really didn’t intend for his voice to come out quiet that soft and awed.
“But you don’t have to say yes.”
“Nothing to do with have to. I want to,” he promises, catching Jensen’s hand before it can slip away and help Jensen to pull in on himself.
His boyfriend still looks skeptical. “It’s not like a tattoo. Getting rid of it would require skin grafts and there would still be scarring. It’s functionally irremovable.”
Jensen doesn’t have to say all the rest of it, about commitment and the challenges of their relationship and the odds of this falling apart. It’s a talk they had enough times Jared could do the whole run-through in his head anyway. Jared can see it in Jensen’s eyes, knows to the inch what it means for his boyfriend to offer up a permanent part of himself like this. Every last particle of Jared’s skin is tingling.
“I’ve been pretending you were mine since the day we met,” is the answer he gives. It’s the truth; maybe Jensen’s only been in this for a year, but Jared’s got twice that under his belt, at least on the inside, and a good eighteen months of willingness to take a step like this. He’s always been a whole-heart kind of guy, and it hadn’t taken very long for him to figure out that the whole of his heart could belong to Jensen, no problem at all.
Jensen’s mouth spasms slightly, turns up a little at the corners and then blooms into a full-on grin, the kind only Jared is ever gifted with. He leans his head over on his boyfriend’s - fiancé’s? - shoulder again, tipping his mouth up in an offer for Jensen to kiss him stupid. Jensen brushes Jared’s hair behind his ear even though he’s pretty sure none of it had fallen loose, presses his still-smiling mouth against Jared’s and does exactly that.
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17 -- Wordcount: 4,700
Warnings: Escort!AU, D/s, mild exhibitionism, toys - despite the inherently large amount of porn, it's really just a massive excuse for schmoop.
Notes: Follows Ace Up His Sleeve in the Escort!AU. gedry is a terrible, terrible enabler and as such, there has to be at least one story to follow this. Once you get to the end, it should be pretty obvious what that story will be but I won't spoiler anything here. I have been kidnapped by kink and cannot escape.
Summary - Don’t read anything into it, he keeps telling himself. Just because it’s a ring box doesn’t mean there’s a ring inside. It could be anything, really.
The plain, slim cord snags on Jared's Adam's apple, too thin to really imitate his collar satisfyingly, but good enough with the thick girth of Jensen's cock pressing deep into his throat; good enough with jade-green eyes locked on him like he's the only thing that matters. He'd told Jensen that he'd wear the collar to the restaurant, not embarrassed about what people might - rightly - read into it. Jared's not ashamed of what they are, but then he doesn't really think Jensen is either. It’s just that Jensen's always had a very finely honed sense of discretion and this is a place he brings clients sometimes. Jared can respect that - it’s not like he really needs the pressure around his neck to remind him who he belongs to anyway.
They've never really done this out in public before. Not, in public in public - 'no sharing' is one of the rules they'd both agreed to emphatically when they went from Jensen and Jared to JensenandJared and as far as he's concerned, other people looking at Jensen's cock definitely counts as sharing - but tucked into the bathroom of a three Michelin star restaurant isn't exactly what Jared would call private either.
Jensen's gotten over some of his weirdness about only having sex in specific, pre-approved locales, for which Jared is eternally grateful. They've now christened every - literally every; Jensen still does this funny little pause every time he has to go into the storage room in the garage - room in the house, plus a couple of choice locations around the pool and they've even had sex a couple of places that skirted right at the edges of propriety and/or legality. Jared's quite proud of the excellent job he's done corrupting Jensen. Still, they've never scened anywhere but the privacy of their own home - not even the weekend they spent in that hotel with the wrought iron bed that had Jared’s wrists itching to be tied to it. And then, miraculously, tonight as they were getting ready to go out, Jensen had slipped this tiny choker necklace - leather cord barely as thick as a strand of spaghetti - on him and just as easily as he slipped into Dom mode.
If it wasn't for Jensen's other little present, Jared probably would have blown his wad before they got their appetizers.
The thrill of being surrounded by other people is stinging-hot, nibbling at the back of his mind with whispers about somebody waiting for the bathroom to free up, maybe overhearing the soft, deep noises Jensen's not quite managing to bite back or the wet sound of his cock plunging in and out of Jared’s mouth. Maybe someone noticing that they left the table abandoned or seeing how Jared's hair is mussed from Jensen using it as a finger-hold or the red pout of his lips like a flashing neon sign for cocksucking; the bulge just barely concealed by the tight dress pants Jensen picked out for him. Someone knowing exactly what they got up to in here and seething with envy because they didn't get to be the one in Jared's place.
He's more than well-versed in his own exhibitionist streak; can't even pretend that Jensen pulling his chair out and putting his napkin in his lap for him, ordering for him, feeding him occasional little bites off of Jensen's own plate all hasn't been nailing him like a goddamn hand on his dick. Doesn't even want to pretend that Jensen reaching across the console when they arrived and pulling Jared's dick out in the fucking parking lot to put a cockring around his shaft and sac - diamond studded cockring, thank you very much; not something of Jared's, something Jensen bought special, all on his own - hadn't almost made him come like a bullet-train. Jared knows very, very well that showing himself off, showing off what they are together, is a big part of the reason he's getting off on this; he just never expected that Jensen would be into it too.
Jensen's hips push forward again; crisp brush of trimmed hair around the base chafing at Jared's lips, darkening them up even more, and he shifts his head from side to side as much as he can manage to really grind his mouth against the rough curls. He’s kneeling on expensive, metallic-brushed tile in an even more expensive suit - a weird mesh of his own style and Jensen’s; Armani suit, over a leather vest and an almost-transparent black silk shirt - trapped between his boyfriend’s body and the textured wall. Jensen’s hand cupped around the back of his head is the only thing keeping his skull from bumping the wall on each brutal, merciless, fucking perfect thrust.
Sometimes Jensen will cuff him for this, others just make him hold his hands behind his back, but he hadn’t said anything about it when he’d commanded Jared to his knees, nor when Jared rested his palms on Jensen’s hips urging him on, so he’s taken that as permission. His thumb slots effortlessly into the darkened splotch of the semi-permanent bruise on Jensen’s hip, the one that sends an acid-burn of possessiveness zipping up Jared’s spine each time he sees it. Pressing in gets a bitten-off noise of surprise from above along with a sudden, trapped twitch of the length weighing down his tongue. There aren’t words in the English language to adequately describe how much Jared adores that Jensen likes a little pain mixed in with his pleasure too.
Rolling his hips gets him as close to hell as it does to heaven; instinctual relief at the friction of his pants - no underwear tonight by Jensen’s order, not that Jared bothers with them much anyway - butting up against the knowledge that it’s not really going to get him a damn thing, that he’s really just torturing himself a little extra. If he could get any air to his vocal chords - any air anywhere - he'd be moaning like a whore. Probably for the best then that Jensen's keeping his cockhead friendly with Jared's tonsils.
Jared is a very happy boy.
Air crackles wetly from Jensen's throat, a punch of sound without voice behind it because Jensen's so careful, so damn polite, doesn't want to make a spectacle even though they probably already have, all things considered. Jared knows what that sound would have been, though, can see on Jensen's face how close he is even before he mutters, "Swallow for me," like it's some kind of imposition.
Jared loves that he gets to have the sharp, bitterness of his boyfriend’s pleasure - nobody but him - loves even more that Jensen knows he likes his mouth full of it first so the taste lingers on the insides of his cheeks and the back of his palate as its own memory. He's got the head just resting on his tongue, sucking hard when the first spurt hits, the next and the next and the next flooding in, filling him up with a flavor that's worth so much more than the hundreds of dollars they’re going to be dropping on dinner; pure Jensen. It builds up thick, and so much - he swims through a tiny hit of delight every time he thinks about how much more Jensen comes than he used to; how much more his body makes because it's adjusted to giving it up so often to Jared - on his tongue, swishing over his cheeks and trickling slowly down the back off his throat before he finally swallows with a gut-wrenched groan. Fuck yeah, he's a totally come slut for Jensen, total any-kind-of slut for Jensen, and it's sort of Jared's favorite thing in the world. He is 100% gone over this man.
A protesting twinge shoots through his legs as Jensen hauls him back to his feet, knees sore from hard tile and hard thrusts. Still nothing compared to the honey-sweet ache between his legs - been stiff as steel for what feels like hours - reminding him that Jensen’s in charge, Jensen says when.
Jensen kisses him soft and slow, come-flavored swipes of tongue with a solar-flare's worth of heat behind it so it's really not Jared's fault at all that he melts. It doesn't matter, Jensen's there to hold him up; effortlessly as always, like Jared hasn’t got three inches and thirty pounds on him.
Murmurs of, "so good, Jay," and, "always so good for me," and, "I love you so much," turn him gooey and liquid inside and he would be perfectly content to spend the rest of the night standing here, full-up and needy, pressing against Jensen's warmth in the fucking mood-lit bathroom. And much to his surprise, Jensen doesn't seem compelled to hurry him along, just keeps kissing over his cheek and temple and neck despite the fact that there's bound to be somebody waiting to take a piss by now.
He doesn't have a clue what's gotten into his boyfriend tonight, but the thoroughly approves.
"You ok?" Jensen asks after what feels like a long while, less like a question than it sounds. Jared answers with a nod and a low sound that might have been a word if there were a couple more consonants thrown in. Strong fingers comb the hair back from Jared's face, attempt in vain to force it into some semblance of order even though it always does whatever the hell it wants anyway. He still probably looks marginally less 'mauled by a sex-crazed fiend' for the effort, so he should theoretically be grateful. He can’t seem to muster up enough energy to care about anything but the feel of Jensen’s hands on him.
Jensen nods, “Good,” and possibly something more that Jared totally misses because then Jensen’s hand is sliding up under the back of his shirt and lightly dragging fingernails down Jared’s spine. Goddamn, he really wishes he had the physical capacity to purr; there’s just not another accurate summation of his feelings at this moment.
"Now here’s what you’re going to do,” whispers against Jared’s ear. All of Jared’s attention is immediately honed on the tickle of sound and breath. There’s not much point trying to hold back his shiver, so he just decides, fuck it, and clings a little closer to Jensen’s front as it rolls through him like a tidal wave. “You’re going to go back out there, sit down and put your napkin in your lap. Then I want you to get this out for me,” his fingers rub tenderly at the crown of Jared’s cock through his pants, slamming him with sensory overload that turns the world white for a fraction of a second, “take off the ring and put it over on my side of the table. Don't touch yourself after that, and don't come. Understood?"
Breathing harshly is as close to a reply as Jared can get. He absolutely understands; complying is a whole separate matter. He kind of wants to point out to Jensen how genuinely impressive it is that he didn’t just nut himself on the spot thinking about it, ring or no fucking ring. Then, miraculously, he feels himself nodding, the motion jerky and stilted. Jensen’s pleased smirk is entirely worth the effort, not that it helps much with the not-spooging-his-pants goal.
The actual walk from the bathroom to the table is approximately 8,462 miles longer than it was when he was following Jensen in there to get his mouth fucked. Despite the fact that he no longer has Jensen’s dick corking his throat, he still can’t seem to get anything even vaguely resembling a scrap of oxygen. It’s a totally bizarre sensation; the high of walking right along the drugged edge of subspace - of having walked along it for such an extended period of time - all mixed up with the hungry want that he feels with Jensen every second of every day and an aimless heat that is equal parts anticipation and trepidation. Whatever it is that Jensen’s up to - and he’s definitely up to something if he’s pulling them both this far out of the comfort zone - it’s hitting Jared in places he didn’t even know he had and sticking around just to toy with him.
Shame isn’t much in Jared’s repertoire anymore; he’d hammered out whatever nebulous semblance of it he was born with years ago, but he can still feel his cheeks burning as he gingerly sits down, every motion feathering his neglected hard-on with almost-enough-too-much sensations. Every eye in the place can’t actually be on him because, glancing around, nobody seems to even be looking at their round little booth tucked into the corner, but he can’t seem to communicate that fact with his brain. It just keeps slamming him with ‘someone’s watching, someone will see’ and the fear-desire of it leaves him biting the inside of his cheek to hold back a moan at the careful touch of his fingers hidden under his napkin and the gentle vibration as he slides his zipper down. His cock pops free entirely of its own accord like a fugitive running for his life, the soft weave of the imported linen covering his lap doing nothing at all to disguise the unnatural levels of hard he has managed to achieve.
Taking the cockring off apparently requires an advanced degree or something because Jared just cannot get the damn catch to give way and the fact that he can’t fucking see it sure as hell isn’t helping. A part of him wants to say screw it and wait for Jensen to come to the table and help him - where the hell is he? What is he doing? Is he watching right now? - but Jensen told him to do this himself, wants him to, and there’s not much left on the planet at the moment that Jared wants more than to do exactly what Jensen tells him.
The moment the pressure relents, Jared’s too swept up to actually hang on to the ring, just lets it nestle against his inner thighs because he could crack this table in half with his bare hands easier than he could stop himself from coming and he needs every available iota of his consciousness to manage it. He’s still going to fail spectacularly; he can just feel it, like trying to fight gravity after you’ve already jumped off the bridge.
Jensen’s hand - he’s got his eyes squeezed shut so tight tears are forming, but he knows it’s Jensen’s hand and no one else’s - settles warm on top of his own where it’s bunching the fabric of his pants into a bone-cracking fist and the waves of nownownownownow slink back into pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, dragging him away from the summit by the skin of his damn teeth.
It takes another minute for him to be able to calm down enough to actually open his eyes and see Jensen smiling at him, soft with pride and love - yes, love, because Jensen, against all odds, loves Jared right back, hard as that still is for him to believe. Glass-sharp desperation mellows under it, letting that hazy-rich feeling from a minute ago in the bathroom ooze back in. They could do this for a thousand years and it would still never cease to amaze Jared what his boyfriend can do to him with just a look.
Jensen gently disentangles Jared’s fingers from his wrinkled slacks, pulls them up to his lips to kiss the knuckles softly - a heady ease zip-zip-zipping up Jared’s arm like a low-grade electric shock - before he sets it flat on the table under his own. Jared doesn’t have to be told to mirror it with his other hand; doesn’t even have to tell his own body to do it, just feels it happen on reflex.
The waiter appearing out of nowhere slaps him back to a reality he hadn’t even realized he’d zoned out on. He garners a strange look from the guy, like he’s about to start question Jared about food allergies or something but Jensen’s low, firm, “thank you,” gets rid of him, so it’s just the two of them again. It’s not until a couple of snail’s-pace seconds later that he realizes the man left a plate between them; some sort of fancy chocolate concoction that looks more like a modern art piece than food with some sort of foam and goldleaf and the whole shebang.
They each have a spoon at their impeccably laid out place setting but Jensen’s still pinning Jared’s hand with the weight of his smaller one, no pressure behind it besides the unspoken command in his touch to keep it there. He opens his mouth docilely to accept the bite Jensen dishes up for him, cleans the spoon with his tongue and doesn’t taste a goddamn thing because his brain can’t process this much input at once. His cheeks are hot again, nothing even tangentially related to embarrassment this time; more like spill-over because his cock can’t possibly hold one more drop of blood. How is it physically possible that every goddamn thing Jensen does is the hottest thing ever?
The next spoonful is in his mouth before Jensen really moves again and it is only through some latent self-preservation instinct that Jared manages not to bite through the polished silver between his lips and his own fucking tongue. Jensen’s fingers - the ones not busy plying Jared with sweets - have now slid beneath the napkin covering Jared’s raging erection and splayed out around the throbbing shaft, petting gently at waxed-bare, sensitive skin and whisper-touching his dick like an accident. If he wasn’t absolutely certain he’d catch hell for it, he’d bang his head on the table.
“You’re doing so well,” Jensen murmurs husky-low, a little up-tic at the corner of his mouth when Jared’s cock leaks like Pavlov’s fucking dog at the sound. He’s fidgeting fitfully in his seat, being split in half by the urge to rub himself up against Jensen’s hand and the knowledge that he’s not supposed to. He swallows the next soft lump of mousse-thing that Jensen feeds him with an audible gulp, smooth sweetness going down like sand and hot sauce. Jensen’s smile warms a little extra, thumb sneaking into the open fall of Jared’s fly to tease the thin, tight skin of his sac. Any second now Jared is going to prove the accuracy of the theory of spontaneous human combustion.
He can only assume that Jensen eats some of the dessert too, although he has no verifiable proof of that since every part of the world not directly linked to Jensen’s fingers slowly massaging at the flesh all around his dick like he’s working a sore muscle has fuzzed out into a frosted-glass haze. Still, it is a fact that the chocolate disappears, Jensen’s spoon clinking lightly against the empty dish as he sets it aside. The heat of him as he slides in close across the seat hits Jared like a stiletto-shod kick to the gut, instantly soaks his senses through with the warmth and scent and sense of Jensen.
Jensen usually keeps a little stubble, an edge on the prim front he puts up for his clients, but tonight his cheek is smooth as it slides against Jared’s, easily tucking his face into the crook of Jensen’s neck, hidden away from the rest of the restaurant.
“You’re beautiful like this, you know,” he says, even quieter than before, the sound like hot molasses dripping down Jared’s spine. “Perfect, the way you do as you’re told, the way you want to. Even when it’s making you crazy to hold back, you still give in to me, trust me. You’re so much more than I could have ever hoped for, Jay. More than I could have dreamed I wanted. You make me so happy, baby.” Plush lips kiss along the curve of Jared’s ear and he shivers so hard he’s surprised the booth doesn’t shake. He loves it dirty and sweat-steeped and debauched - no question of that after the couple of hours he just spent - but this right here? Fuck buttons, this bypasses every single one of his kinks and fetishes and hot spots and routes directly into the deepest, most private part of him, lobotomizing him with fulfillment.
And then Jensen whispers, “Now come.”
It might be the loudest orgasm in recorded history. It might be completely silent. Jared honest to fuck hasn’t got a clue because all he can hear-feel-see-smell-taste is the way Jensen just plucked that single, hair-fine need buried under the mess of all of Jared’s other wants; the one he’s built so many of the others on the foundation of. He didn’t even know it was there and it’s his own fucking psyche but Jensen reached in and strummed along it like he’s just been waiting for the right moment. Is it any wonder he adores this man?
Jared’s not sure when his breathing evened out or his tense muscles went loose, but it must have been quite a while ago because when he drifts back to reality, the restaurant around them is a lot less busy than it was when he fuzzed out. At some point Jensen must have cleaned him up and tucked him back in because his clothes are neat and clean as he half-sits, half-lays, practically on top of his boyfriend.
No one’s watching, so he must not have made too much of a spectacle of himself, not that he particularly cares at the moment. In fact, right now, the only things registering on his I-give-a-shit-ometer is Jensen’s thumb rubbing slow circles in the hollow behind the hinge of his jaw and the warm shuff of his boyfriend’s breath against his temple. He could very easily go to sleep right here.
Jensen must sense he’s in the land of the living, though, because he hums a pleased sound that simmers under Jared’s skin like warm water and says, “Welcome back.” Jared snuffles something approximating a response against the long line of delicate throat exposed to him and starts to uncoordinatedly suck a mark to the surface.
He’s doing a damn fine job of turning into a human puddle, at least until that hand that was caressing over his jaw, slips back and does something that makes his place-holder collar go slack. The whine that works out of him is pitiful, but he hasn’t got anywhere near the self-consciousness to be embarrassed about it. He’s enjoying himself, damnit; he’s not ready for it to be over yet.
“I know,” Jensen soothes, sliding the fine chord off of Jared anyway, “You can have it back soon, I promise, but I need us to be on the same page for a minute, ok?”
Jared groans a complaint, but nods, forcing himself to sit up a bit and take a portion of his own weight. It’s then that he clues in on the little black velvet box sitting on the bare tablecloth in front of him. His heart does a funny hitch-kick in his chest like it can’t decide between taking off at a sprint or grinding to a halt.
He flicks a glance at Jensen whose smile has a nervous tilt, cheeks slowly staining themselves pink. The air in his lungs freezes solid, so cold it burns.
Don’t read anything into it, he keeps telling himself. Just because it’s a ring box doesn’t mean there’s a ring inside. It could be anything, really. A new toy or something. And even if it was a ring - which it’s probably not - it wouldn’t be, like, a ring ring. It would just be, like a here’s something pretty that made me think of you kind of thing and definitely not a let’s make a serious, long-term commitment to one another because I want to be with you for the rest of my life kind of thing. Jensen’s way too practical to just jump into something like that this soon. He’d need at least five years, maybe ten, before he’d even think of taking a step like that with Jared which is totally not frustrating or hair-pulling-out worthy at all. Nope. Totally not.
Wow, awesome job with the not reading anything into it, huh?
Ok, well, the best solution is just to suck it up and open it, right? Right. So he reaches out for the box - damn his stupid hands for shaking; this is not that big of a deal, alright? - the soft fabric covering on it heating instantly in his slightly damp palm. It seems so tiny in his hand to feel like something so big and-
Fuck he’s completely overthinking this. Just open it. Just fucking open it.
It’s not a ring.
It’s not even vaguely ring-esque, in fact. He’s not exactly sure what it is, but a ring is definitely not in the running. Jared quietly swallows back whatever vital organ that was that was trying to force its way past his epiglottis.
It’s pretty, whatever it is; raw steel that looks like it’s been lasercut into some sort of design and attached to a small spoke of some sort. Taking it carefully out of its cushioned bed shows that the little piece on the back is threaded like it’s meant to screw into something, which doesn’t really help clarify what the hell it’s for at all. Looking at it from the back, at least, finally resolves what the design is, since it’s suddenly the right way around from this angle. Two ‘J’s intertwined in a simple pattern, delicate but still dynamic.
“It’s a brand,” Jensen supplies quietly. Jared’s eyes snap to him, heart apparently having made a decision about stopping or starting as it beatboxes erratically inside his chest. “For both of us. If you want.”
He hasn’t got a chance to try and remind himself how to talk, because Jensen rushes right on, eyes not quite meeting Jared’s as he babbles out, “We don’t have to, obviously, it’s your choice. I just - well, rings wouldn’t really be practical in our line of work and I didn’t want something we’d always have to take off, so I thought this would be something both permanent and private, but it’s entirely your prerogative not to want to, I certainly won’t hold it against you or punish you or anything like that. I know it’s soon to ask for something as intimate as this, so if you want to say no-“
“Jensen, have I ever turned you down?” He really didn’t intend for his voice to come out quiet that soft and awed.
“But you don’t have to say yes.”
“Nothing to do with have to. I want to,” he promises, catching Jensen’s hand before it can slip away and help Jensen to pull in on himself.
His boyfriend still looks skeptical. “It’s not like a tattoo. Getting rid of it would require skin grafts and there would still be scarring. It’s functionally irremovable.”
Jensen doesn’t have to say all the rest of it, about commitment and the challenges of their relationship and the odds of this falling apart. It’s a talk they had enough times Jared could do the whole run-through in his head anyway. Jared can see it in Jensen’s eyes, knows to the inch what it means for his boyfriend to offer up a permanent part of himself like this. Every last particle of Jared’s skin is tingling.
“I’ve been pretending you were mine since the day we met,” is the answer he gives. It’s the truth; maybe Jensen’s only been in this for a year, but Jared’s got twice that under his belt, at least on the inside, and a good eighteen months of willingness to take a step like this. He’s always been a whole-heart kind of guy, and it hadn’t taken very long for him to figure out that the whole of his heart could belong to Jensen, no problem at all.
Jensen’s mouth spasms slightly, turns up a little at the corners and then blooms into a full-on grin, the kind only Jared is ever gifted with. He leans his head over on his boyfriend’s - fiancé’s? - shoulder again, tipping his mouth up in an offer for Jensen to kiss him stupid. Jensen brushes Jared’s hair behind his ear even though he’s pretty sure none of it had fallen loose, presses his still-smiling mouth against Jared’s and does exactly that.