That Stockholm Thing 2/7 (J2 AU, NC-17)
Title: That Stockholm Thing
Author: dijisun
Pairing: Jensen/Jared, mention of Jensen/Danneel and Jared/Sandy
Rating: NC-17, AU
Summary: Jensen gets kidnapped.
Warnings: angst, language, some violence, some schmoop, DARK themes, explicit m/m
Disclaimer: pure fiction, none of it happened.
Feedback: yes please!
A/N: unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own. I'm a bit unsure about this fic, not sure it went how I wanted it to.
He goes to sleep blaming himself. He dreams about Danneel, and when he wakes up his sheets are damp with guilty sweat and his ankle throbbing from all the tossing and turning.
He knows that he’s not to blame. Whatever Jared did, he did on his own initiative. Knowing this doesn’t stop Jensen feeling responsible for the psycho’s actions. Then he starts really scaring himself. What if Jared decides Jensen’s family don’t love him, decides he’s better off without them?
He tries not to dwell on that, but he can’t help it. The thoughts are just there, cramming his head, spilling over into room. They hung in the air, oppressive and tangible.
Almost as oppressive is his stink. He reeks. His skin hasn’t seen soap and water in over a month. When he runs his tongue over his teeth, he can feel the thick, gunky build-up of plaque. He’s probably got particles of food merrily fermenting in his molars.
He feels non-human next to Jared who looks and smells so good, clean-shaven face and shower fresh skin. He is Jared’s pet chimp on a chain. A chained chimp with a steak knife in his hand.
He and Jared are sitting across from each other on the bed, dinner trays on their laps. They’re sitting close. He could lunge and sink the serrated knife into that soft dip between Jared’s collar bones.
He hacks off a chunk of steak, bites it off his fork, simmers. Doesn’t understand why Jared persists on tempting him in this way. One of these days, Jensen just might lunge. Not today, though.
Today, he’s being nice to Jared, as he has been for the past couple of weeks and will continue to be for a few more. See it dawned on him - a very slow dawning - that the nicer he is to Jared, the more he’ll get from Jared. More of the chat and enthusiastic happiness.
A chatty-happy Jared stacks their trays on the floor and sprawls across the foot of the bed. He is all smiles and dimples, relaxed, as though here on the sweat stained comforter is the awesomest place he could be.
Being nice to Jared comes easy - unnervingly so, sometimes - therefore Jensen can keep at it, ply Jared with quick grins and dry humor and reciprocal chatting, ply him with lazy laughter and indulgent glances, softly spoken thanks for the little gifts he keeps bringing, smack him around the head with a pillow when he’s being tiresomely goofy.
And one of these days, Jared will be so relaxed he won’t see the knife coming. He’ll be spread out like he is now, head pushed back and throat exposed, and Jensen will sink the blade right there in the soft dip at the base of his throat. Twist it in, fucking bleed him. Make him writhe and hurt.
A dark little shiver skitters up his spine. He drags his gaze down Jared’s body, gets snared by the insane hipbones that peek over the top of Jared’s low riding jeans. He wants to work his tongue on those pronounced bones.
He works his tongue to say, ‘you gonna let me off this chain so I can shower?’
‘I thought you’d never ask,’ Jared bounces off the bed.
It seriously can’t be that simple.
It seriously is. Jared kneels at his feet, slots in the tiny iron key into the manacle, turns it. And simple as that, Jensen’s off the chain, he’s free.
Too simple. Jared’s going to make with the threats now: don’t try nothing unless you want me to break your legs.
What Jared threatens him with is, ‘mind if I change the sheets while you’re in the shower?’
Jensen shakes his head. He feels weird, kind of affectionate and pissed. Kind of warm. ‘Thanks, man,’ he pats Jared’s shoulder and almost runs to the shower room.
*
God, the things he used to take for granted. Rushed showers without really appreciating the smell of the soap or the feel of hot water sluicing his back.
He appreciates it now. Scours his skin with the lathered wash cloth, and when he’s done that, he shampoos his hair three times, conditions it twice and appreciates every second he spends in the steam warmed shower enclosure. Even appreciates the stinging when the soapy water runs over his blistered ankle.
He’s humming as he towels dry on the bath mat. Humming is really not conducive to teeth brushing and gargling, so he shelves the upbeat tune, wipes the fogged mirror and looks his face over while attacking the plaque.
So, this is what Jared sees when he looks at him, wide green eyes in a ginger hairball. He doesn’t care what Jared sees. When he rifles through the cabinet looking for a razor, he’s not doing it so Jared can behold the hotness of him. He’s a tad vain, likes to behold his own hotness. There are worse crimes.
He finds his toilet bag behind a row of products on the cabinet’s top shelf. His shaving kit’s in the bag, nail scissors too. Dirt ingrained half-moons fall into the sink as he clips his nails. The half-moons are soon joined by tufts of red-brown beard.
He sets the scissors on the counter, grabs the shaving cream and lathers up. The razor cuts a smooth path through the froth on his cheek, and he’s weirdly happy to see them again, the freckles. Banes of his existence.
His hair’s grown out, Dean Winchester wouldn’t approve. Jensen’s cool with the in-between length. It’s clean, that’s what matters.
He leaves the bathroom, humming again. Pitches a grin at Jared, who half rises from the bed and sort of gets stuck that way, not quite standing and not quite sitting. Hovering in mid-rise, his lips a candy pink O, his gaze hot and greedy, stuttering all over Jensen like he can’t decide which part of him to look at first. Chest, face, shoulders, face, legs, and yeah, back to Jensen’s face.
Just to make things a little more interesting, Jensen tugs his towel loose, lets it slither to the floor. Jared sinks onto the bed. Jensen turns and strides to the closet, smirks when Jared exhales a gaspy little squeak. Oh, Jared wants. Too bad he isn’t going to get.
‘Phenomenal shower,’ Jensen picks a pair of sweat pants off the shelf. ‘I could’ve stayed in there all night.’
He goes commando. Butt muscles flexing as he bends over to pull up the sweats. He can hear Jared not breathing, and he presses his lips together, trying not to laugh.
‘Could you come here?’ Jared sounds strangled, words thick and forced.
He doesn’t rush over to Jared. Takes his sweet time selecting and pulling on a long-sleeved t-shirt. Then strolls to the bed, stays standing.
‘Let me see your ankle.’
The concerned tone surprises Jensen. He hates surprises, especially from psychos. ‘It’s fine,’ he says.
Jared whips his hand out, and he’s got a grasp on Jensen’s pants’ leg, tugs it up to reveal the ankle. ‘Since when is gangrene fine? You should’ve told me, I’d have…shit Jensen, why didn’t you mention this?’
Jensen’s in a bizarre place. Instead of guilting Jared into a full blown freak out: yeah, look what you did, you asshole. You gave me gangrene…instead of that, he wants to soothe the asshole who gave him gangrene.
‘A couple of blisters aren’t gangrene,’ he says, gruff.
Actually, there’re more than a couple. Cluster of swollen bumps, some of them weeping clear, gluey fluid. Some of them split open, merging to form an area of red, broken skin.
Jared looks stricken. ‘Be right back,’ a few giant strides, and he’s out the door.
Jensen’s heart beat speeds up. It’s thudding at break-neck. His breath comes quick and his brain yells at him to move, run while the door is standing wide open. He could be out on the landing in five seconds, downstairs in another five. But he stays paralyzed where he is, because the part of his brain that’s not yelling is thinking.
Jared planned the abduction in minute detail. He’s not stupid.
If Jared’s not stupid, then he deliberately left the door open for a reason.
Jensen feels stupid because he can’t fathom Jared’s reasoning.
*
He’s still failing to fathom when Jared returns, a tube in his hand.
Jensen strives for casual, ‘what, no coffee?’
‘Just the cream,’ Jared slides to his knees again. He’s unfairly graceful, long fingers folding back the bottom of Jensen’s pants leg. ‘Tea tree’s supposed to have these anti-septic qualities,’ he says cupping one hand around Jensen’s calf. ‘Lift your foot.’
Jared sure likes to give orders. Come here. Lift up. Don’t fight me. And he’s not at all patient, wraps his hands around Jensen’s leg when he gets no compliance. Jared lifts and maneuvers, and Jensen stumbles, but it works out in the end, because he regains balance by clutching Jared’s head, his foot where Jared wants it to be, resting on his thigh.
Jared is talking.
Jensen’s not listening.
He sniffs as the sharp scent of tea-tree pricks his sinuses, feels like he’s still stumbling as gentle fingers salve his ankle. Seems to him that he’s always off-center around Jared, and he is sick of it. This see-saw he’s on: up and down, pure hate for Jared and genuine warmth, loathing and amusement, he’s sick of it.
‘Want me to take care of that too?’ asks Jared.
He glances down. His ankle’s smeared thick with cream and his foot planted back on the floor. His dick is half hard and rising, seemingly intent on pointing at Jared’s mouth.
He twines his fingers in Jared’s hair and draws him in closer, says, ‘why the hell not?’ A mouth’s a mouth, right?
And that mouth, when it latches around his cock-head, is slick and confident. He doesn’t need to coax the way he would with Danneel - that’s so damn good baby…little bit more, I know you can take a bit more - and he doesn’t care to go easy. He rides right in, and Jared just lets him, opens his throat to take him in deep. It’s coarse what he’s doing, fucking Jared’s face like this, watching his spit shiny dick saw in and out of Jared’s mouth.
Pleasure pooling at the base of his spine, he tucks his hips under, drives in harder, deeper, hits the back of Jared’s throat and groans as Jared gags, throat vibrating around him. Then Jared’s pulling back, face flushed and sweaty, string of saliva connecting his lips to Jensen’s cock, glitter of tears on his eyelashes, and Jensen’s never seen anything hotter.
He glides his hands to the back of Jared’s skull, cants his hips so his cock head bumps and slides on Jared’s lips. ‘Open,’ he says, raw and desperate. ‘Open for me.’
Jared does. Flicks him a glance from under wet eyelashes, parts his lips and sucks him in. Does this incredible head twist, lips all tight and sweet, and Jensen fucking loses it, balls tightening and pleasure unspooling as he comes down Jared’s throat. Only stays standing because Jared’s hands clamp his hips, hold him upright through the dizzying after-shocks.
There’s harsh breathing, from him and maybe also from Jared, who has his brow pressed to Jensen’s stomach. And there’s stroking, Jared’s palms running up and down the backs of his thighs, as if he’s trying to gentle the shaky muscles there.
It’s a first. What do you say to your kidnapper who just swallowed your jizz and is now semi-cuddling you?
Thanks, awesome blow job?
Please dude, less of the stroking?
‘Uh, so,’ he says.
‘Hmm?’ hums Jared.
‘We should move, get some sleep.’
‘Totally,’ Jared doesn’t move.
He holds in sigh, looking around the room for inspiration, sees the chain. ‘Chain’s waiting behind you,’ he says. ‘Though you could maybe give my beat up ankle a break, chain the other one?’
‘Give both your ankles a break, Jen. No chain.’
He hears the unauthorized shortening of his name, louder than that he hears: no chain. No chain! ‘No chain? Seriously?’
‘Seriously,’ smile in Jared’s voice.
‘Well alright,’ Jensen grins.
Jared tilts his head back, and like Jensen had guessed, he’s smiling. His lips are red and puffy, used. ‘Jensen,’ he says, ‘I love you.’
Jensen feels his grin dim and die. It’s the sincerity that horrifies him, because no good can come of a psycho-stalker’s sincere love. ‘Hey, come on, I wasn’t that good,’ he jokes, feebly.
‘You are. You’re perfect.’ Jared rises to his feet and full-on hugs him. Long arms wound around him, belly taut against his, hard line of cock burning into him. ‘Know what else?’ Jared dips his head, skimming his lips on Jensen’s earlobe, dips his voice to a whisper, ‘you love me too, sweetheart. You just don’t know it yet. But,’ hint on teeth on Jensen’s earlobe, ‘I’m gonna make you know it.’
All he knows is that Jared’s madness runs deep. Like, bottomless deep.
‘Sleep tight,’ and with one final squeeze, Jared leaves. He shuts the door but doesn’t lock it.
Shivering, Jensen climbs between the fresh sheets. He doesn’t take his eyes off that unlocked door all night.
*
Jared says it every day. Sometimes in the morning when he brings breakfast, sometimes at night before he goes to his own room. Usually he’ll just put it out there casual, on occasion he’ll be giddy about it, and once in a while he’ll go quiet and introspective, say it like it hurts him to feel that way.
‘Shit. I’m in love with you, Jensen.’
‘Decaf, I’m afraid. We’re out of the good stuff…oh, and I love you.’
‘Jesus, Jen! You’re such an asshole sometimes. Don’t even know why I love you.’
‘Yeah, I think I might have a tiny little crush on you, Jensen. What do you think?’
‘Dude, I fucking love you, you know?’
‘I know,’ Jensen sighs. ‘You’re obsessed with me. Now shut up about it already.’
Jared shuts up about it - until the next evening. ‘Did I mention that I love you? Well, I do. So suck it up, Ackles.’
*
Capital crimes and incessant declarations of love aside, Jared comes across as a normal guy. He does normal chores, like laundry, wood chopping in the clearing and can be heard hoovering about twice a week. He takes his dogs for daily runs, just like any normal dog owner would do.
Jared’s interests are mostly normal: cars, tits, sports, video games, movies. Your average, non-gruesome interests. He’ll bring a bottle of tequila, call Jensen a pussy for bowing out at three shots, demonstrate that he’s the man by polishing off half the bottle - then bitch about being hung over in the morning. Typical guy.
‘Kill me,’ he begs, flat on his back on Jensen’s floor, arm flung across his eyes.
‘No,’ Jensen laughs, blessedly not hung over. ‘Wanna watch you suffer.’
‘You’re mean. Go get me Advil, meanie.’
Jensen hugs his pillow. Late breakfast and lounging in bed way past noon, it feels like a Sunday. ‘I don’t have any Advil.’
‘Middle shelf in my bathroom cabinet.’
Grumbling, Jensen pushes off the bed. Yet he’s overawed. He, who’s been to Australia and Europe, traveled all over the States, is fiendishly grateful for being given the freedom to travel the short distance down the hall to Jared’s room.
He drinks in every detail, the massive bed in the center of the spacious room, laptop partially hidden under the rumpled dark blue beddings. The French doors that open onto a balcony and the sunshine splashing in through the doors to puddle on the teak floor.
He cracks open the wardrobe door and smirks at the awful lot of pink on the hangers. Steps over a pile of dirty laundry on the floor to get a closer look at the photo on the wall. It’s one of those family photos with mom and dad standing behind the kids.
Jared’s family doesn’t look out of the ordinary. He has a big brother and a baby sister, same as him. He studies the portrait of the regular family and wonders what flipped Jared. What made him step out of ordinary and into a place where abduction is perfectly acceptable.
He shouldn’t but he does it anyway, goes over to the dressing table and snoops through the drawers. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. Mobile phone, crumpled till receipts, jelly bracelet, an expensive looking watch, candy, few skin magazines. Black velvet jewelers’ box.
He opens it. Platinum band nestled on white silk. There’s an inscription on the inside of the ring: yours forever, Sandy.
A jagged breath kicks out of Jensen. He snaps the box shut, tosses it back into the drawer. Who the hell is…actually, it’s none of his business.
Advil is his business. That’s what he’s here for, Advil. He finds it in the bathroom on the middle shelf of the cabinet - nestled between a bottle of lube and a box of condoms.
Wishful Jared, he thinks, smirking.
He grabs the pain pills, picks up a glass from the counter, fills it with water and returns to his room. Jared is tucked up in his bed, lightly snoring. Jensen thuds the pills and water on the nightstand and retreats to the windowsill from where he glares at the annoying hump in his bed.
They’re not in a relationship. Jared has no right invading his space like this, crashing in his bed and drooling on his pillow…and he feels kind of queasy as he experiences another slow dawning.
They are in a relationship, to Jared’s way of thinking. This isn’t kidnap. It’s shacking up, boyfriends living together. That’s why the unlocked door and no chain, the increasing freedom. Can’t have a normal relationship without trust. Jared wants normal.
It’s like he’s saying, I’m letting you off the chain, I’m leaving the door unlocked and giving you golf clubs. I’m trusting you, and I want you to trust me back.
Trust Jared?
Yeah, he can do that, trust Jared. He’ll just develop sudden amnesia and wipe out the last two and a half months, forget the fact that Jared’s holding him hostage.
But, and this is where his mind starts suffocating, but either he starts showing Jared some trust, or he can kiss goodbye to the increasing freedom and any hope of escaping.
He goes over and kneels on the bed, rubs Jared’s shoulder. ‘Jared, I got your Advil,’ he says, sweet as pie.
Jared cracks one bloodshot eye open. ‘Huh?’
‘Got your pills,’ he repeats with a patience he doesn’t feel. ‘Sit up and take them.’
Groaning like a dying man, Jared complies then curves an arm around Jensen’s waist and tackles him to the mattress. Jensen allows the jostling, doesn’t protest as Jared curls around him - spoons him, for fuck’s sake.
‘Love you,’ sighs Jared, humid puff of air on Jensen’s nape.
Jensen grits his teeth.
*
A shaft of light from the hallway falls across him as Jared pushes the door open and shuffles into his room. He’s gritting his teeth even before Jared slips into his bed and wraps around him without shame or apology.
These bed invasions are taking place earlier each morning. It’s not yet light outside, and here Jared is, clinging to him like a barnacle, nose rooting behind his ear.
‘Seriously man,’ he twitches his head away, ‘what’s wrong with your own bed?’
‘You’re not in it,’ says Jared. His voice is groggy, his arms a warm and heavy clutch.
Although Jensen’s irritated - his skin’s sparking at each point of contact with Jared, that’s how irritated he is - so yes, although he’s staticky with irritation, he has to marvel at Jared’s persistence. The guy’s a superbug, like MRSA or something. Can’t fucking shake him off.
Jensen’s tried before, hard jabs with his elbow, harder kicks at Jared’s shin with his heel. Nothing he does shakes Jared off of him. The horrible truth is that he’s starting to get used to the heartbeat thudding into his back and the breath heating his nape and the palm sitting warm on his belly.
He’s getting used to Jared saying it in his ear, so now he doesn’t kick or jab but waits for the whisper, ‘love you Jen,’ before falling back to sleep.
*
Light wakes him again, this time it’s coming in from the window. Jared’s wearing a t-shirt and black jogging pants, and he’s floating outside the window. Tapping a metal object on it and yelling, ‘open the window, Jensen. It’s freezing out here!’
He watches Jared’s words turn into puffs of fog and the wind muss up his already mussed hair. Huh. How’s he doing that, floating outside the window?
‘Jensen!’ roars Jared, ‘get your ass out of bed and open this damn window!’
He pats the nightstand for his glasses, slips them on. His vision sharpens. The metal object is a crowbar and Jared’s floating with the aid of a ladder. Also, he can now see that Jared’s shivering. Serves him right, the idiot. Going out in the cold dressed like that.
He rolls out of bed and, ‘you idiot,’ he says, sliding the window up and open. ‘What were you thinking?’
Jared tumbles in with a rush of words and cold air. ‘I’m thinking I need to work up a sweat. You too. Need to get you all hot and sweaty, work off some of that pent up energy.’
Jensen backs up a step, shooting a glance at the bed and back to Jared. ‘What are you talking about, pent up energy? My energy levels are just fine.’
‘Dude, are you blushing?’
‘No,’ he says, blushing hotter under Jared’s scrutiny.
‘I made you blush,’ Jared crows. ‘It’s my awesome, you can’t resist it.’
‘Oh fuck you.’
Laughing, Jared goes to the wardrobe. He grabs a pair of sneakers, socks and sweat pants, throws them on the bed.
‘You gonna get dressed or what?’ he asks.
Jensen pulls the sweatpants on over his boxer-briefs. Socks, sneakers, and he’s following Jared out into the hallway, secretly thinking Jared is a little bit awesome for taking the slats off the window.
*
He’s working up a sweat for damn sure, pounding the treadmill alongside Jared. Turns out the room between their rooms is a home gym. It’s smaller but not so different from the gym room in Jensen’s hotel. Has the standard equipment - weight bench, barbells, dumbbells, a rowing machine, punch bag, and a mini-fridge stocked with water in the corner.
He likes that, likes the universal feel of it. Makes it so easy to imagine he’s in a gym elsewhere, free to come and go. That said, he knows there’s no restrictions to when and how often he can use the home gym. He can trust Jared on that, because Jared doesn’t do backsies, never takes back the bits of freedom he hands over. It’s kinda like an unspoken invitation; Jensen’s allowed to roam the upstairs hallway anytime he wants, hang in Jared’s room whenever he feels like it.
He felt like it the other day. Went into Jared’s room and sat out on the balcony. Jared found him there and smiled this dazzling smile, hugged him like he’d done something amazing.
The running feels pretty amazing. Tide of air surging in and out of his lungs, burn in his thigh muscles and pound of Jared’s feet keeping his feet company, it feels amazing. They’re on the same five-mile program, breathing synchronized, treadmills whining louder towards a sprint finish.
Jensen’s done by the time the program slows for the cool down. He reaches for his bottle of water as he turns a grin on Jared - and grasps at air, missing the bottle. Aim completely fucked up because Jared took his shirt off.
He took his shirt off. And he is ripped. Sculpted chest glossy with sweat. Biceps doing things, nasty wrong things as he swings his arms, long legs easy-strolling to a stop. Waist of his jogging pants hanging too low, showing off those hipbones and the jut of his ass and sweet Jesus, his motherfucking abs.
The uncalled-for cuddling clued him in that Jared has muscle on him, but no, he had not realized just how good Jared carries the bulk. He’s gorgeous, so fucking hot. The burn in Jensen’s thighs muscles climbs to his groin and smolders in his belly. Aching pulses in his cock and his skin tightens with that staticky irritation.
Except it’s not irritation, probably never was.
Jared glances at him, catches him staring, and the casual glance goes intense, smoky. Then Jared’s leaning in slow, purposeful, and Jensen just can’t seem to recover his breath, tension pulling at him when Jared holds still with their lips almost touching. So close he can taste the heat and salt on Jared’s skin.
It’s up to Jensen now, to lean in the final fraction and close the gap.
He twists away and steps off the treadmill. ‘I’m gonna take a shower.’
‘Don’t use up all the cold water,’ Jared sounds faintly amused.
*
Two red-blooded guys stuck indoors twenty-four seven with nothing to do but look at each other, spending hours in the same bed, their bodies coiled together under the duvet, situation like that, attraction is bound to spring up. It’s no big deal, not worth having an identity crisis over.
He turns off the shower tap, secure once more in his heterosexuality.
Chapter Three
Author: dijisun
Pairing: Jensen/Jared, mention of Jensen/Danneel and Jared/Sandy
Rating: NC-17, AU
Summary: Jensen gets kidnapped.
Warnings: angst, language, some violence, some schmoop, DARK themes, explicit m/m
Disclaimer: pure fiction, none of it happened.
Feedback: yes please!
A/N: unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own. I'm a bit unsure about this fic, not sure it went how I wanted it to.
He goes to sleep blaming himself. He dreams about Danneel, and when he wakes up his sheets are damp with guilty sweat and his ankle throbbing from all the tossing and turning.
He knows that he’s not to blame. Whatever Jared did, he did on his own initiative. Knowing this doesn’t stop Jensen feeling responsible for the psycho’s actions. Then he starts really scaring himself. What if Jared decides Jensen’s family don’t love him, decides he’s better off without them?
He tries not to dwell on that, but he can’t help it. The thoughts are just there, cramming his head, spilling over into room. They hung in the air, oppressive and tangible.
Almost as oppressive is his stink. He reeks. His skin hasn’t seen soap and water in over a month. When he runs his tongue over his teeth, he can feel the thick, gunky build-up of plaque. He’s probably got particles of food merrily fermenting in his molars.
He feels non-human next to Jared who looks and smells so good, clean-shaven face and shower fresh skin. He is Jared’s pet chimp on a chain. A chained chimp with a steak knife in his hand.
He and Jared are sitting across from each other on the bed, dinner trays on their laps. They’re sitting close. He could lunge and sink the serrated knife into that soft dip between Jared’s collar bones.
He hacks off a chunk of steak, bites it off his fork, simmers. Doesn’t understand why Jared persists on tempting him in this way. One of these days, Jensen just might lunge. Not today, though.
Today, he’s being nice to Jared, as he has been for the past couple of weeks and will continue to be for a few more. See it dawned on him - a very slow dawning - that the nicer he is to Jared, the more he’ll get from Jared. More of the chat and enthusiastic happiness.
A chatty-happy Jared stacks their trays on the floor and sprawls across the foot of the bed. He is all smiles and dimples, relaxed, as though here on the sweat stained comforter is the awesomest place he could be.
Being nice to Jared comes easy - unnervingly so, sometimes - therefore Jensen can keep at it, ply Jared with quick grins and dry humor and reciprocal chatting, ply him with lazy laughter and indulgent glances, softly spoken thanks for the little gifts he keeps bringing, smack him around the head with a pillow when he’s being tiresomely goofy.
And one of these days, Jared will be so relaxed he won’t see the knife coming. He’ll be spread out like he is now, head pushed back and throat exposed, and Jensen will sink the blade right there in the soft dip at the base of his throat. Twist it in, fucking bleed him. Make him writhe and hurt.
A dark little shiver skitters up his spine. He drags his gaze down Jared’s body, gets snared by the insane hipbones that peek over the top of Jared’s low riding jeans. He wants to work his tongue on those pronounced bones.
He works his tongue to say, ‘you gonna let me off this chain so I can shower?’
‘I thought you’d never ask,’ Jared bounces off the bed.
It seriously can’t be that simple.
It seriously is. Jared kneels at his feet, slots in the tiny iron key into the manacle, turns it. And simple as that, Jensen’s off the chain, he’s free.
Too simple. Jared’s going to make with the threats now: don’t try nothing unless you want me to break your legs.
What Jared threatens him with is, ‘mind if I change the sheets while you’re in the shower?’
Jensen shakes his head. He feels weird, kind of affectionate and pissed. Kind of warm. ‘Thanks, man,’ he pats Jared’s shoulder and almost runs to the shower room.
*
God, the things he used to take for granted. Rushed showers without really appreciating the smell of the soap or the feel of hot water sluicing his back.
He appreciates it now. Scours his skin with the lathered wash cloth, and when he’s done that, he shampoos his hair three times, conditions it twice and appreciates every second he spends in the steam warmed shower enclosure. Even appreciates the stinging when the soapy water runs over his blistered ankle.
He’s humming as he towels dry on the bath mat. Humming is really not conducive to teeth brushing and gargling, so he shelves the upbeat tune, wipes the fogged mirror and looks his face over while attacking the plaque.
So, this is what Jared sees when he looks at him, wide green eyes in a ginger hairball. He doesn’t care what Jared sees. When he rifles through the cabinet looking for a razor, he’s not doing it so Jared can behold the hotness of him. He’s a tad vain, likes to behold his own hotness. There are worse crimes.
He finds his toilet bag behind a row of products on the cabinet’s top shelf. His shaving kit’s in the bag, nail scissors too. Dirt ingrained half-moons fall into the sink as he clips his nails. The half-moons are soon joined by tufts of red-brown beard.
He sets the scissors on the counter, grabs the shaving cream and lathers up. The razor cuts a smooth path through the froth on his cheek, and he’s weirdly happy to see them again, the freckles. Banes of his existence.
His hair’s grown out, Dean Winchester wouldn’t approve. Jensen’s cool with the in-between length. It’s clean, that’s what matters.
He leaves the bathroom, humming again. Pitches a grin at Jared, who half rises from the bed and sort of gets stuck that way, not quite standing and not quite sitting. Hovering in mid-rise, his lips a candy pink O, his gaze hot and greedy, stuttering all over Jensen like he can’t decide which part of him to look at first. Chest, face, shoulders, face, legs, and yeah, back to Jensen’s face.
Just to make things a little more interesting, Jensen tugs his towel loose, lets it slither to the floor. Jared sinks onto the bed. Jensen turns and strides to the closet, smirks when Jared exhales a gaspy little squeak. Oh, Jared wants. Too bad he isn’t going to get.
‘Phenomenal shower,’ Jensen picks a pair of sweat pants off the shelf. ‘I could’ve stayed in there all night.’
He goes commando. Butt muscles flexing as he bends over to pull up the sweats. He can hear Jared not breathing, and he presses his lips together, trying not to laugh.
‘Could you come here?’ Jared sounds strangled, words thick and forced.
He doesn’t rush over to Jared. Takes his sweet time selecting and pulling on a long-sleeved t-shirt. Then strolls to the bed, stays standing.
‘Let me see your ankle.’
The concerned tone surprises Jensen. He hates surprises, especially from psychos. ‘It’s fine,’ he says.
Jared whips his hand out, and he’s got a grasp on Jensen’s pants’ leg, tugs it up to reveal the ankle. ‘Since when is gangrene fine? You should’ve told me, I’d have…shit Jensen, why didn’t you mention this?’
Jensen’s in a bizarre place. Instead of guilting Jared into a full blown freak out: yeah, look what you did, you asshole. You gave me gangrene…instead of that, he wants to soothe the asshole who gave him gangrene.
‘A couple of blisters aren’t gangrene,’ he says, gruff.
Actually, there’re more than a couple. Cluster of swollen bumps, some of them weeping clear, gluey fluid. Some of them split open, merging to form an area of red, broken skin.
Jared looks stricken. ‘Be right back,’ a few giant strides, and he’s out the door.
Jensen’s heart beat speeds up. It’s thudding at break-neck. His breath comes quick and his brain yells at him to move, run while the door is standing wide open. He could be out on the landing in five seconds, downstairs in another five. But he stays paralyzed where he is, because the part of his brain that’s not yelling is thinking.
Jared planned the abduction in minute detail. He’s not stupid.
If Jared’s not stupid, then he deliberately left the door open for a reason.
Jensen feels stupid because he can’t fathom Jared’s reasoning.
*
He’s still failing to fathom when Jared returns, a tube in his hand.
Jensen strives for casual, ‘what, no coffee?’
‘Just the cream,’ Jared slides to his knees again. He’s unfairly graceful, long fingers folding back the bottom of Jensen’s pants leg. ‘Tea tree’s supposed to have these anti-septic qualities,’ he says cupping one hand around Jensen’s calf. ‘Lift your foot.’
Jared sure likes to give orders. Come here. Lift up. Don’t fight me. And he’s not at all patient, wraps his hands around Jensen’s leg when he gets no compliance. Jared lifts and maneuvers, and Jensen stumbles, but it works out in the end, because he regains balance by clutching Jared’s head, his foot where Jared wants it to be, resting on his thigh.
Jared is talking.
Jensen’s not listening.
He sniffs as the sharp scent of tea-tree pricks his sinuses, feels like he’s still stumbling as gentle fingers salve his ankle. Seems to him that he’s always off-center around Jared, and he is sick of it. This see-saw he’s on: up and down, pure hate for Jared and genuine warmth, loathing and amusement, he’s sick of it.
‘Want me to take care of that too?’ asks Jared.
He glances down. His ankle’s smeared thick with cream and his foot planted back on the floor. His dick is half hard and rising, seemingly intent on pointing at Jared’s mouth.
He twines his fingers in Jared’s hair and draws him in closer, says, ‘why the hell not?’ A mouth’s a mouth, right?
And that mouth, when it latches around his cock-head, is slick and confident. He doesn’t need to coax the way he would with Danneel - that’s so damn good baby…little bit more, I know you can take a bit more - and he doesn’t care to go easy. He rides right in, and Jared just lets him, opens his throat to take him in deep. It’s coarse what he’s doing, fucking Jared’s face like this, watching his spit shiny dick saw in and out of Jared’s mouth.
Pleasure pooling at the base of his spine, he tucks his hips under, drives in harder, deeper, hits the back of Jared’s throat and groans as Jared gags, throat vibrating around him. Then Jared’s pulling back, face flushed and sweaty, string of saliva connecting his lips to Jensen’s cock, glitter of tears on his eyelashes, and Jensen’s never seen anything hotter.
He glides his hands to the back of Jared’s skull, cants his hips so his cock head bumps and slides on Jared’s lips. ‘Open,’ he says, raw and desperate. ‘Open for me.’
Jared does. Flicks him a glance from under wet eyelashes, parts his lips and sucks him in. Does this incredible head twist, lips all tight and sweet, and Jensen fucking loses it, balls tightening and pleasure unspooling as he comes down Jared’s throat. Only stays standing because Jared’s hands clamp his hips, hold him upright through the dizzying after-shocks.
There’s harsh breathing, from him and maybe also from Jared, who has his brow pressed to Jensen’s stomach. And there’s stroking, Jared’s palms running up and down the backs of his thighs, as if he’s trying to gentle the shaky muscles there.
It’s a first. What do you say to your kidnapper who just swallowed your jizz and is now semi-cuddling you?
Thanks, awesome blow job?
Please dude, less of the stroking?
‘Uh, so,’ he says.
‘Hmm?’ hums Jared.
‘We should move, get some sleep.’
‘Totally,’ Jared doesn’t move.
He holds in sigh, looking around the room for inspiration, sees the chain. ‘Chain’s waiting behind you,’ he says. ‘Though you could maybe give my beat up ankle a break, chain the other one?’
‘Give both your ankles a break, Jen. No chain.’
He hears the unauthorized shortening of his name, louder than that he hears: no chain. No chain! ‘No chain? Seriously?’
‘Seriously,’ smile in Jared’s voice.
‘Well alright,’ Jensen grins.
Jared tilts his head back, and like Jensen had guessed, he’s smiling. His lips are red and puffy, used. ‘Jensen,’ he says, ‘I love you.’
Jensen feels his grin dim and die. It’s the sincerity that horrifies him, because no good can come of a psycho-stalker’s sincere love. ‘Hey, come on, I wasn’t that good,’ he jokes, feebly.
‘You are. You’re perfect.’ Jared rises to his feet and full-on hugs him. Long arms wound around him, belly taut against his, hard line of cock burning into him. ‘Know what else?’ Jared dips his head, skimming his lips on Jensen’s earlobe, dips his voice to a whisper, ‘you love me too, sweetheart. You just don’t know it yet. But,’ hint on teeth on Jensen’s earlobe, ‘I’m gonna make you know it.’
All he knows is that Jared’s madness runs deep. Like, bottomless deep.
‘Sleep tight,’ and with one final squeeze, Jared leaves. He shuts the door but doesn’t lock it.
Shivering, Jensen climbs between the fresh sheets. He doesn’t take his eyes off that unlocked door all night.
*
Jared says it every day. Sometimes in the morning when he brings breakfast, sometimes at night before he goes to his own room. Usually he’ll just put it out there casual, on occasion he’ll be giddy about it, and once in a while he’ll go quiet and introspective, say it like it hurts him to feel that way.
‘Shit. I’m in love with you, Jensen.’
‘Decaf, I’m afraid. We’re out of the good stuff…oh, and I love you.’
‘Jesus, Jen! You’re such an asshole sometimes. Don’t even know why I love you.’
‘Yeah, I think I might have a tiny little crush on you, Jensen. What do you think?’
‘Dude, I fucking love you, you know?’
‘I know,’ Jensen sighs. ‘You’re obsessed with me. Now shut up about it already.’
Jared shuts up about it - until the next evening. ‘Did I mention that I love you? Well, I do. So suck it up, Ackles.’
*
Capital crimes and incessant declarations of love aside, Jared comes across as a normal guy. He does normal chores, like laundry, wood chopping in the clearing and can be heard hoovering about twice a week. He takes his dogs for daily runs, just like any normal dog owner would do.
Jared’s interests are mostly normal: cars, tits, sports, video games, movies. Your average, non-gruesome interests. He’ll bring a bottle of tequila, call Jensen a pussy for bowing out at three shots, demonstrate that he’s the man by polishing off half the bottle - then bitch about being hung over in the morning. Typical guy.
‘Kill me,’ he begs, flat on his back on Jensen’s floor, arm flung across his eyes.
‘No,’ Jensen laughs, blessedly not hung over. ‘Wanna watch you suffer.’
‘You’re mean. Go get me Advil, meanie.’
Jensen hugs his pillow. Late breakfast and lounging in bed way past noon, it feels like a Sunday. ‘I don’t have any Advil.’
‘Middle shelf in my bathroom cabinet.’
Grumbling, Jensen pushes off the bed. Yet he’s overawed. He, who’s been to Australia and Europe, traveled all over the States, is fiendishly grateful for being given the freedom to travel the short distance down the hall to Jared’s room.
He drinks in every detail, the massive bed in the center of the spacious room, laptop partially hidden under the rumpled dark blue beddings. The French doors that open onto a balcony and the sunshine splashing in through the doors to puddle on the teak floor.
He cracks open the wardrobe door and smirks at the awful lot of pink on the hangers. Steps over a pile of dirty laundry on the floor to get a closer look at the photo on the wall. It’s one of those family photos with mom and dad standing behind the kids.
Jared’s family doesn’t look out of the ordinary. He has a big brother and a baby sister, same as him. He studies the portrait of the regular family and wonders what flipped Jared. What made him step out of ordinary and into a place where abduction is perfectly acceptable.
He shouldn’t but he does it anyway, goes over to the dressing table and snoops through the drawers. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. Mobile phone, crumpled till receipts, jelly bracelet, an expensive looking watch, candy, few skin magazines. Black velvet jewelers’ box.
He opens it. Platinum band nestled on white silk. There’s an inscription on the inside of the ring: yours forever, Sandy.
A jagged breath kicks out of Jensen. He snaps the box shut, tosses it back into the drawer. Who the hell is…actually, it’s none of his business.
Advil is his business. That’s what he’s here for, Advil. He finds it in the bathroom on the middle shelf of the cabinet - nestled between a bottle of lube and a box of condoms.
Wishful Jared, he thinks, smirking.
He grabs the pain pills, picks up a glass from the counter, fills it with water and returns to his room. Jared is tucked up in his bed, lightly snoring. Jensen thuds the pills and water on the nightstand and retreats to the windowsill from where he glares at the annoying hump in his bed.
They’re not in a relationship. Jared has no right invading his space like this, crashing in his bed and drooling on his pillow…and he feels kind of queasy as he experiences another slow dawning.
They are in a relationship, to Jared’s way of thinking. This isn’t kidnap. It’s shacking up, boyfriends living together. That’s why the unlocked door and no chain, the increasing freedom. Can’t have a normal relationship without trust. Jared wants normal.
It’s like he’s saying, I’m letting you off the chain, I’m leaving the door unlocked and giving you golf clubs. I’m trusting you, and I want you to trust me back.
Trust Jared?
Yeah, he can do that, trust Jared. He’ll just develop sudden amnesia and wipe out the last two and a half months, forget the fact that Jared’s holding him hostage.
But, and this is where his mind starts suffocating, but either he starts showing Jared some trust, or he can kiss goodbye to the increasing freedom and any hope of escaping.
He goes over and kneels on the bed, rubs Jared’s shoulder. ‘Jared, I got your Advil,’ he says, sweet as pie.
Jared cracks one bloodshot eye open. ‘Huh?’
‘Got your pills,’ he repeats with a patience he doesn’t feel. ‘Sit up and take them.’
Groaning like a dying man, Jared complies then curves an arm around Jensen’s waist and tackles him to the mattress. Jensen allows the jostling, doesn’t protest as Jared curls around him - spoons him, for fuck’s sake.
‘Love you,’ sighs Jared, humid puff of air on Jensen’s nape.
Jensen grits his teeth.
*
A shaft of light from the hallway falls across him as Jared pushes the door open and shuffles into his room. He’s gritting his teeth even before Jared slips into his bed and wraps around him without shame or apology.
These bed invasions are taking place earlier each morning. It’s not yet light outside, and here Jared is, clinging to him like a barnacle, nose rooting behind his ear.
‘Seriously man,’ he twitches his head away, ‘what’s wrong with your own bed?’
‘You’re not in it,’ says Jared. His voice is groggy, his arms a warm and heavy clutch.
Although Jensen’s irritated - his skin’s sparking at each point of contact with Jared, that’s how irritated he is - so yes, although he’s staticky with irritation, he has to marvel at Jared’s persistence. The guy’s a superbug, like MRSA or something. Can’t fucking shake him off.
Jensen’s tried before, hard jabs with his elbow, harder kicks at Jared’s shin with his heel. Nothing he does shakes Jared off of him. The horrible truth is that he’s starting to get used to the heartbeat thudding into his back and the breath heating his nape and the palm sitting warm on his belly.
He’s getting used to Jared saying it in his ear, so now he doesn’t kick or jab but waits for the whisper, ‘love you Jen,’ before falling back to sleep.
*
Light wakes him again, this time it’s coming in from the window. Jared’s wearing a t-shirt and black jogging pants, and he’s floating outside the window. Tapping a metal object on it and yelling, ‘open the window, Jensen. It’s freezing out here!’
He watches Jared’s words turn into puffs of fog and the wind muss up his already mussed hair. Huh. How’s he doing that, floating outside the window?
‘Jensen!’ roars Jared, ‘get your ass out of bed and open this damn window!’
He pats the nightstand for his glasses, slips them on. His vision sharpens. The metal object is a crowbar and Jared’s floating with the aid of a ladder. Also, he can now see that Jared’s shivering. Serves him right, the idiot. Going out in the cold dressed like that.
He rolls out of bed and, ‘you idiot,’ he says, sliding the window up and open. ‘What were you thinking?’
Jared tumbles in with a rush of words and cold air. ‘I’m thinking I need to work up a sweat. You too. Need to get you all hot and sweaty, work off some of that pent up energy.’
Jensen backs up a step, shooting a glance at the bed and back to Jared. ‘What are you talking about, pent up energy? My energy levels are just fine.’
‘Dude, are you blushing?’
‘No,’ he says, blushing hotter under Jared’s scrutiny.
‘I made you blush,’ Jared crows. ‘It’s my awesome, you can’t resist it.’
‘Oh fuck you.’
Laughing, Jared goes to the wardrobe. He grabs a pair of sneakers, socks and sweat pants, throws them on the bed.
‘You gonna get dressed or what?’ he asks.
Jensen pulls the sweatpants on over his boxer-briefs. Socks, sneakers, and he’s following Jared out into the hallway, secretly thinking Jared is a little bit awesome for taking the slats off the window.
*
He’s working up a sweat for damn sure, pounding the treadmill alongside Jared. Turns out the room between their rooms is a home gym. It’s smaller but not so different from the gym room in Jensen’s hotel. Has the standard equipment - weight bench, barbells, dumbbells, a rowing machine, punch bag, and a mini-fridge stocked with water in the corner.
He likes that, likes the universal feel of it. Makes it so easy to imagine he’s in a gym elsewhere, free to come and go. That said, he knows there’s no restrictions to when and how often he can use the home gym. He can trust Jared on that, because Jared doesn’t do backsies, never takes back the bits of freedom he hands over. It’s kinda like an unspoken invitation; Jensen’s allowed to roam the upstairs hallway anytime he wants, hang in Jared’s room whenever he feels like it.
He felt like it the other day. Went into Jared’s room and sat out on the balcony. Jared found him there and smiled this dazzling smile, hugged him like he’d done something amazing.
The running feels pretty amazing. Tide of air surging in and out of his lungs, burn in his thigh muscles and pound of Jared’s feet keeping his feet company, it feels amazing. They’re on the same five-mile program, breathing synchronized, treadmills whining louder towards a sprint finish.
Jensen’s done by the time the program slows for the cool down. He reaches for his bottle of water as he turns a grin on Jared - and grasps at air, missing the bottle. Aim completely fucked up because Jared took his shirt off.
He took his shirt off. And he is ripped. Sculpted chest glossy with sweat. Biceps doing things, nasty wrong things as he swings his arms, long legs easy-strolling to a stop. Waist of his jogging pants hanging too low, showing off those hipbones and the jut of his ass and sweet Jesus, his motherfucking abs.
The uncalled-for cuddling clued him in that Jared has muscle on him, but no, he had not realized just how good Jared carries the bulk. He’s gorgeous, so fucking hot. The burn in Jensen’s thighs muscles climbs to his groin and smolders in his belly. Aching pulses in his cock and his skin tightens with that staticky irritation.
Except it’s not irritation, probably never was.
Jared glances at him, catches him staring, and the casual glance goes intense, smoky. Then Jared’s leaning in slow, purposeful, and Jensen just can’t seem to recover his breath, tension pulling at him when Jared holds still with their lips almost touching. So close he can taste the heat and salt on Jared’s skin.
It’s up to Jensen now, to lean in the final fraction and close the gap.
He twists away and steps off the treadmill. ‘I’m gonna take a shower.’
‘Don’t use up all the cold water,’ Jared sounds faintly amused.
*
Two red-blooded guys stuck indoors twenty-four seven with nothing to do but look at each other, spending hours in the same bed, their bodies coiled together under the duvet, situation like that, attraction is bound to spring up. It’s no big deal, not worth having an identity crisis over.
He turns off the shower tap, secure once more in his heterosexuality.
Chapter Three