Indigo Repost
This fic used to be up at a community that is now defunct
it was written by myself and raeschae
Being a hotel manager isn't exactly the career every little boy dreams of when he's growing up. Jensen Ackles knows that, but he likes his job. It's never boring, for one thing. There's always new and exciting people to meet, issues and concerns to deal with, and interests and hobbies to cater to. His best friend, Chris, says that he's crazy for taking a job where he does nothing but bend over to satisfy other people. Says he might as well just become a prostitute - could probably make more money that way.
Of course, there are times when people get on his nerves, but Jensen's never had a problem keeping himself distracted. His new gig at the helm of the swanky Hotel Indigo in downtown Houston provides more distractions than most. There are people further down the food chain that he could order to handle the task at hand but Jensen really doesn't mind. Quiet time alone is good, too.
Now, if he could only get these bows to look even. He's seen rooms like this before: bed filled to overflowing with gift baskets and boxes from whatever company is bringing this guy in, already appreciating everything he's going to do for them. There is fruit, and shower products, and candy, and alcohol. Jensen's seen it before, but never quite like this. He doesn't know who Jared Padalecki is, but if someone's grateful enough to make sure his entire king-sized bed is covered in gifts, then the least Jensen can do is make them look presentable.
Which is how he finds himself in the midst of the madness, bottle of champagne in one hand, and a block of gold foil-wrapped chocolate in the other. The red bow that he ripped off of the wire basket is draped loosely around his neck, and he'll re-attach it just as soon as he figures out how to fit everything back inside the piece-of-shit-passing-for-modern-art container. And this time, the damn bow won't look like someone stepped on it first.
The plan is good, but when he hears the front door of the suite crashing open and a heavy sigh from who he can only pray is Mr. Padalecki, Jensen kind of panics a little bit. Pushing baskets out of the way, he ambles off the bed and barely makes it to his feet, before he hears a deep, “Hello?” from the front room of the suite.
Eyes wide, he searches for a place to set the bottle, but he's too late. The shadow falls and Jensen looks up, expression guilty, to find the biggest fucking brick house of a man grinning wildly in his direction.
“Well, hell,” the man laughs, shrugging out of the blazer he's wearing and letting his eyes rake unabashedly over Jensen's body. His own jacket is back at the front desk, and he feels half-naked under the hazel gaze of the Adonis checking him out. “You sure are prettier than the usual guy,” he winks.
There's no time to so much as process the words before Mr. Padalecki is pressing him back against the bed, pulling the champagne and chocolate from his hand and sweeping half of the baskets Jensen's already arranged onto the floor with his long arms.
His fingers deftly untie the bow from Jensen's neck and he blushes down to his toes when Mr. Padalecki says, “Best fuckin' present they ever sent over.”
He's naked with three of those long, strong fingers between his lips and there's a faint nagging in the back of his mind that this is fucking weird and he's supposed to be working and he doesn't know shit one about this guy pawing at him and sucking the side of his neck. But before he can process the thoughts, his brain shuts down completely at the overwhelming sensations of hard, sweat-slicked skin and soft, spit-slicked lips sliding all over his body, so he doesn't really have time to think beyond, 'yes' and 'fuck' and 'sweetJesusgood.'
In fact, it's not until he's lying boneless under this guy's enormous frame, having come hard and fast like a cheap whore, that Jensen realizes that's exactly what Mr. Padalecki thinks he is. Prettier than the last one. Present they sent over. He thinks Jensen is a motherfucking prostitute.
When Mr. Padalecki rolls to his side and chuckles to himself, hand trailing his own stomach as he catches his breath, Jensen takes the opportunity to scramble to his weak legs and grab his pants from the floor. His eyes catch on the long, tanned lines of the man's thighs he blinks and shakes his head to chase off the errant 'stay' thought that wanders in from some dark corner.
“So much better than the last one,” Mr. Padalecki chuckles again, having hoisted himself up onto his elbows to watch Jensen scramble around the room.
He knows that his cheeks are blazing, though he's not sure if it's because this guy thinks Jensen's the best prostitute he's ever had, or if it's because he thinks Jensen's a fucking prostitute in the first place. For a brief moment, he wonders if the last manager experienced this on his third day at Indigo.
“Um,” he stammers when he's managed to button his shirt, hands smoothing over his hair. There is not a chance in hell he's going to look like he's been arranging gift baskets by the time he gets the lobby. “Enjoy your stay at Hotel Indigo, and let us know if we can be of any further assistance,” he says in a rush, fighting to keep from running to the front door.
As it slams behind him, all Jensen can hear is the bellowing laugh of the man on the bed, and he can only hope that nobody stops him between here and his office.
Jensen takes a moment in the elevator to check his hair, (it’s thrashed), check his tie, (he has to retie it three times with shaking hands before it looks right), and check his general, just fuckededness, (it’s there in spades, his lips are swollen, there’s a hickey on his neck and he’s got stubble burn on his face.) He smoothes his shirt with his palms, straightens his shoulders and tries to bypass his head concierge to get to his office. He’s never been that lucky.
“Jensen, what the hell happened to you?”
Jensen leans over the front desk, letting it support some of his weight. “That’s what I’d like to know. I was arranging the gift baskets for Mr. Padalecki and then…”
“You fucked Mr. Padalecki?”
“Well, technically he… wait, how do you know?”
“First, you look about as freshly fucked as any human I’ve ever known and second, Tom was late.”
“Tom?”
“Mr. Padalecki’s usual.”
Jensen narrowed his eyes. “Usual what?”
Danneel just stared at him, tilting her head like she thought his naïveté was cute.
“We do that?”
“Of course we do. You’re the one who wanted to leave the corporate shoebox of well known chains, well, welcome to the seedy underbelly of boutique (she used air quotes) hotels. We provide a (air quotes again) Complete Experience of Unparalleled Customer Service.”
“Stop quoting the brochure to me. Who is this Tom guy and are there others?”
Danneel laughed and waved at a tall man with broad shoulders and an angry expression. “He slammed the door in my face. I’m not gonna get paid.”
“You were late. We had to go with someone else.”
“Someone else? Who? I’m always called for Mr. P.”
“Well, we found someone who can say his whole name. Now go home. We’ll call if we need you.”
“But…”
Danneel glared and Tom left.
Jensen, whose ass was starting to hurt, and was having an odd moment of being turned on by the just got laid smell that Mr. Padalecki had coated him with, stared at her. “We do this? This is something we do? Provide people”, he lowered his voice, “prostitutes for our clients.”
“Yes, we do this, and we do it well we match what he wants and what the client is willing to pay, you were a generous gift from a major employer in our fair city.”
“Danneel!”
She looked up at him. “Yes?”
He shook his head. “Nothing, just… don’t get caught.”
“Please, I use one of the most discreet escort services in the area. Now why don’t you go get cleaned up. Your assistant has been looking for you; I think you have a meeting.”
“Oh shit, Junecorp! I’m on my way.”
Jensen leans against the front desk; there are no guests in the lobby and he’s been working non stop for the last four hours trying to organize the Miller-Blanchard rehearsal dinner. His event planner got engaged to the groom from the last wedding and everything’s more of a mess than even Danneel can sort out on her own. As a result he hasn’t checked recently to see if a certain Mr. Padalecki has a reservation. Today seems to be all groups of rooms for companies and events. He turns to tell Danneel something and feels a large hand wrapping around his tie.
“Thank god they sent you again; I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.”
Jensen yelps. It’s not something he’s proud of, but it’s absolutely what he does, and then Mr. Padalecki’s mouth is on his and no sound is forthcoming as he’s bent backwards over the desk. He can hear himself blushing. He can feel Danneel staring at him and smirking.
He doesn’t even try to say anything as he’s pulled by the tie twisted twice around Jared's hand. In the elevator Jared presses him against the wall, his knee in interesting and important places, his hands already starting the process of removing Jensen's clothes.
By the time they’re in the suite Jensen's shirt is unbuttoned, his jacket is half off his shoulders but the tie is still there, tethering him to Jared almost as much as his dirty wrong desire is.
Mr. Padalecki tosses him on the bed and stands over him. “You’re so fucking hot, haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
“Right here.” Did that just come out of his mouth? Jensen wonders what the hell is happening to him and then Mr. Padalecki is naked and he doesn’t care about anything but what’s happening to his body.
It’s better than it was before, like Mr. Padalecki has cataloged the things Jensen likes, and now it’s nothing but the top ten of everything Jensen wants. Hands, mouth, hot, soft, sharp and sudden, slow and sultry, all combined until he’s face down and whimpering into the pillow with his ass in the air like the whore he’s pretending to be. He considers for a minute how much money he wasted on college if this is what it’s like to be a whore.
But once he comes, and Mr. Padalecki has as well, and tossed the condom, he feels a sharp slap on his ass and comes back to reality, retrieving his clothes and pulling himself back together. The hotel manager in him comes back online. “Would you like something from our…*ahem* the room service menu?”
“Naaah, I’ve got a booze and snooze later. I’m gonna sleep for a couple hours before I head back out. “You were great” Mr. Padalecki waves at an envelope on the table. “That’s for you.”
Jensen's face turns, he’s sure, some shade of red heretofore only seen on pomegranates and bricks. “Thank you sir but I’m already adequately compensated.”
Mr. Padalecki raises an eyebrow. “An escort turning down money? That’s new.”
“Thank you sir.” And Jensen leaves, taking a moment to lean against the wall and catch his breath before he heads out the back door and bums a cigarette off of one of the catering staff. He quit smoking years ago but Mr. Padalecki is changing all the rules.
They say that insanity is repeating the same actions and expecting different results. Well, despite the fact that he’s pretending to be a hooker for sex with a really fucking hot guy he still refers to as ‘mister.’ Jensen’s not insane. So he’s not going to fight with the baskets all over Mr. Padalecki’s bed on an afternoon in early October. Experience has taught him that all of his hard work will not be appreciated when the Mr. Padalecki pushes them all onto the floor.
So he sets about meticulously moving each basket from the thick comforter to the marble top of the bar on the opposite side of the room. Why he didn’t think of this the first time, he doesn’t know. Though he suspects it could have something to do with the way he didn’t realize he’d be thrown onto said bed and ravished like a buffet before a starving man.
The layout is pretty spectacular this time, if he does say so himself. Arranged by size, color, and content, Jensen has spent the better part of fifteen minutes making sure that everything is in place and nothing has been forgotten. And before anyone asks, he absolutely does this for every guest at Indigo.
“Thank God you’re already here,” the exasperated voice sounds behind him as he’s fixing the last basket to the exact perfect angle.
The 'Welcome back, Mr. Padalecki' is on the tip of Jensen's tongue, but it catches there when he turns to see Mr. Padalecki throw his jacket onto the bed and rip his tie from beneath his collar. Then it's all groping and lips and there are bottles falling, fruit thudding, and cellophane crinkling as it hits the floor. So much for the bar, Jensen thinks, just before the buttons of his shirt scatter and he finds himself twirled as though he weighs nothing and pressed hard into the cold marble.
"Just arranged those," he grits, eyes falling on the crushed and broken baskets.
"Fuck 'em," is the response growled in his ear, and it's hard to think about baskets of bath soap when there's an enormous palm cupped around his rapidly hardening cock. "Been thinkin' about you for the last three hours," Mr. Padalecki growls, and Jensen doesn't think about the fact that he's naked and sprawled, face first, over the bar in his own damn hotel. Because if he thinks about that, he will tell this pushy fucker to get off of him so he can go back to work, and frankly, Jensen doesn't want to go back to work. Not when Mr. Padalecki's lips are pressing hot and wet against the back of his neck, and he's interrupting his own kisses to say things like, "So fuckin' hard thinkin' 'bout fuckin' this tight ass."
It's not the most comfortable position Jensen's ever been in, but there are enough positives to this scenario that he doesn't think about the way his left knee keeps knocking the bar's wooden base, how his chest will probably be bruised all the way across from the way he keeps getting pushed into the smooth top. In fact, by the time he's been fucked, lifted onto the bar and fucked again, and then joined up there and fucked some more? Jensen can't even remember where he is, let alone how uncomfortable he was a few minutes ago.
When he's regained reasonable use of his legs, he slides from the bar and sets about gathering his clothes again. He has a job to do, after all. Isn't actually a hooker, though it's really hard to remember that with the soreness in his ass and the dried come on his belly. "Alright, well," he starts, stepping into his boxers and looking anywhere but up at the man who is peeling a chocolate orange from one of the baskets they managed not to send over the edge of the bar. "Enjoy your stay," he mutters, hopefully somewhat cheerfully. He still is all about customer service.
But as Jensen turns to go, Mr. Padalecki grabs his wrist and spins him back, pulling until Jensen's standing directly between his spread, naked thighs. “What's your hurry?” he asks, head tilting to the side as he considers Jensen's face. “You're always so quick to run the fuck outta here.”
Without warning, he leans forward and thrusts the half eaten section of chocolate between Jensen's lips.
Sweet Jesus. He thought that being fucked by this perfect specimen of a man was going to be the highlight of his day, but this candy? Fuck all, it's orgasmic. The low rumble of a moan that escapes from his lips proves as much. He can feel his eyes roll back in his head as it melts against his tongue and then slides back down his throat.
“Fuck,” Mr. Padalecki groans as Jensen's tongue pushes the chocolate back into his mouth and his lips wrap around the other man's fingers to keep them in place until he's swallowed. “Prettiest lips I've ever fuckin' seen on a whore,” he mumbles when Jensen releases his hand.
Mr. Padalecki leans in, possibly to share the flavor of the chocolate from Jensen's tongue, when his words sink in. “Hey!” he exclaims, and when the fuck did he brace his hands against the hard lines of this guy's legs anyway? Prettiest lips I've ever fuckin' seen is not the worst compliment he's ever gotten. It's the on a whore that Jensen doesn't really know what to do with.
“You prefer 'escort'?” Mr. Padalecki asks, amused. “Maybe prostitute? Lady of the night?” When Jensen just rolls his eyes, the other man laughs. “What's your name?”
“Whatever you want it to be,” he answers and then thinks maybe he's taking this 'playing a hooker' thing a little too far.
Mr. Padalecki laughs from deep in his belly - Jensen knows because his eyes are kind of fixated on the way the taut muscles of his abdomen roll beneath his tight skin when he does it. “That's terrible,” he finally says.
“Jensen,” he concedes when their eyes meet again. “I prefer Jensen.”
A long, thick thumb swipes over his bottom lip, and if he was both stupid and insane, Jensen might think it was something other than humor in the Mr. Padalecki’s hazel eyes. “I prefer Jensen, too,” he winks, dipping his head to nip at the skin of Jensen's shoulder, not even bothering to blush when Jensen rolls his eyes and points out that his line was slightly better than that bull shit.
God, it would be easy to stay. He really wishes he had a reason to, other than the shouting of do it, do it, do it, in the back of his brain, but Jensen can't deny that it wouldn't suck to spend his afternoon here, eating chocolate and fucking around with this business man from fuck knows where. Easy, but a really, terribly awful idea.
“I better get going,” he smiles when he pulls away, eyes fixed on the man staring back at him.
“Why?” Mr. Padalecki asks, refusing to fully release his grip on the Jensen’s wrist.
“Mr. Padalecki, please,” he begs, though he hopes it doesn't sound like begging. Because that would be kind of embarrassing. If he doesn't let go soon, Jensen's not going to be able to walk away. And he really needs to get back to the front desk. He hasn't seen enough of Danneel's knowing looks to last him quite an entire lifetime yet.
The only response is Mr. Padalecki staring at him until Jensen lifts his head and meets his eyes. “Call me Jared,” he says. “Do you have another appointment?”
Does he have another . . . he's not a fucking prostitute! Except that, for some reason, he can't say that, and he has no fucking idea why. Instead, he shakes his head. “No, but,” he starts, only to have another piece of chocolate orange pressed smoothly between his lips. Dirty, dirty pool.
He can't help wondering if the orange-infused candy tastes better because he doesn't normally allow himself obscenely expensive candy for no reason, or if it's because Mr. Pada - Jared - is feeding him, fingers brushing over his lips, smearing chocolate there and promising to lick it off later.
It's a pretty heady sensation, what with the adrenaline and the endorphins, and the contracting thighs beneath his flexing fingers. Add the chocolate and it's no wonder Jensen doesn't so much realize that Jared is leading him toward his lap like a puppy with a treat. When he does figure that out, he wonders if it's more or less demeaning than being treated like a prostitute.
Of course, when Jared wipes his chocolate-slicked fingers against the inside of his thigh, Jensen's licking and sucking at the sweetness without preamble or consideration, and he has to admit that he's kind of dog-like in his exuberance. He's not wagging his tail or anything, but there's definitely licking, and possibly drooling as he savors the flavor of the candy against the saltiness of Jared's skin. If he did bother to stop and think about what he was doing, the hand on the back of his head is pretty much all the confirmation he needs of what’s expected of him.
Now, Jensen? he asks himself. Is now the time he lets Jared know that he's not actually the hooker Jared thinks he is?
“Come on, Jen,” Jared protests, hips sliding forward until the head of his cock rubs over Jensen's lips. “Yeah. Now, man. C'mon.”
Fuck protesting. Maybe Jensen missed his motherfucking calling in life. He's whimpering and writhing and following directions from the man seated in front of him, the weight of Jared on his tongue even more exquisite than those chocolate oranges. It should be weird - blowing a guy he doesn't even know and has only seen three times in his life. It's not.
Or, if it is, Jensen doesn't notice because his brain overloads and short-circuits and he's being pulled off with a fucking whine, as Jared slips from his mouth and strokes himself to completion.
Leaning forward, weight almost completely supported by the bar, he mumbles. “You're killin' me, man.”
Jared just smirks and slides off the bar, patting Jensen's ass on his way toward his suitcase. “You takin' off now or stickin' around for awhile?”
He needs a shower. Desperately. But he's not about to ask a guest if he can use the shower to clean himself up. Even if a hooker would. Which, he doesn't know, because he's not a fucking hooker.
Instead, he shakes his head and gathers his clothes, hoping he can make it to the laundry room without anyone noticing. He really should remember to bring a change of clothes to the room with him next time, instead of leaving it in his office. “See ya 'round, Jared,” he smiles briefly, aiming for aloof, cooler-than-you hooker. Unfortunately, he's pretty sure it sounds more like a crushed-out schoolgirl.
As the manager, checking for high profile reservations is part of his job. Jensen takes it a step further and checks daily for new reservations for Mr. Padalecki. It’s six weeks before the name pops up. He stares at it for almost a full minute, biting his nail and debating what to do before he calls the spa and books an appointment for himself. Full body wrap, pore cleansing and a wax. After all, he owes it to his client, erm, patron, erm, Mr. Padalecki, to look his best.
He’s in the room arranging gift baskets and wondering what the hell it is Mr. Padalecki, Jared, does for a living that earns him more peanut brittle and sandalwood body wash than he can carry.
He spends almost an hour after the arranged check in time in the room. Mr. Padalecki never arrives.
He makes himself visible in the lobby, adjusting and arranging displays and inspecting the area, hoping he doesn’t look like what he feels like, a hooker trying to look casual while waiting for his John. Jared never shows. Jensen goes home at midnight.
The next day he feels oddly dejected and entirely stupid. Hookers do not get upset when a client doesn’t show. He is convincing himself of that, reminding himself that he is not a hooker and debating ordering his usual working dinner, (turkey on rye with mustard and a pickle) when Jared blows in, grabs Jensen's hand and drags him to the elevator.
Jensen is naked, and covered in his own come while Jared is tossing the condom, before Jensen really has a chance to say anything.
“You were scheduled for yesterday.”
“New assistant, he’s still learning the ropes. Doesn’t think to call the hotel and let them know. They would have let you know, I guess.”
“Um, yeah, just, I guess I waited.”
“I’m sorry. You still got paid, right? I mean…”
“What? Yeah, it’s not about the money.”
Jared's mouth twitches in a way Jensen is learning means that he is trying not show his amusement. “You feeling neglected? ‘Cause last time I checked, you’re kind of doing this for the money, right?”
“What? Yeah? Just… I waited, and… you never showed.”
“If it were a date you’d have every right to be mad, kinda why I don’t date.”
“Yeah well…” Jensen stands up, reaching for his pants, ready to go order his turkey sandwich.
“Hey, since there’s no way you have another appointment tonight…”
“You don’t know that.”
Jared stars at him 'til he slumps.
“No appointments.”
“Well, I’m starving, and the Rangers are playing the Astros so, I can order some room service and we can, you know, eat, and watch the game. You look a little tense.”
“What would you like?” Jensen falls quickly into hotel manager mode.
“I’ll call; just tell me what you want.”
“Really?”
“Really, couple of steaks? I think I can swing the cost.”
Jensen blushes; he doesn’t know why he is so surprised. Even if the cheapest steak on the menu is a $75.00 Kobe beef strip steak, he guesses Jared can probably afford that and an ala carte potato.. Seeing Jared’s questioning look, he nods. “Medium rare, fries, not the baked potato.”
“Excellent. See if anyone sent those chocolate oranges you like so much.”
Jensen doesn’t know who he is, because even in his regular normal sex life in his own apartment he doesn’t walk around naked but here he is, in his motherfucking place of employment rifling through a bunch of gift baskets, naked, looking for chocolate oranges.
He checks his watch. Jared orders at eight twenty two. The food shouldn’t take more than twenty five minutes. They sit in bed, Jensen showing Jared how this TV remote works, the same way he’d learned when he’d done his two weeks as a bellman. He hears the knock on the door, at eight forty nine, someone’s getting written up, and he disappears into the bathroom to “freshen up”. There’s no reason for the kitchen staff to see him naked and in a guest’s bed.
There’s no reason for him to be naked and in a guest’s bed, but that’s a different issue entirely.
He takes a whore’s bath, (never a more accurate phrase) and emerges in one of the hotel robes.
Jared had the food set up on the bed, but pulls on the tie of Jensen's robe and then tugs once in just the right spot so it slithers off his shoulders and onto the floor. “Much better. C’mon, food’s getting cold.” He slaps Jensen's ass. Jensen yelps but joins him on the bed where Jared feeds him steak and French fries and generally is astoundingly good at getting forgiven for standing Jensen up.
When they’re done, and Jared has licked the last drip of steak sauce from Jensen's lips, they turn their attention to the game. Well, Jared does. Jensen spends the time studying Jared's body. Long and muscular sort of go without saying but there’s more to his appeal than the time he spend at the gym, or his god given wide mouth, big hands and really to be fair, amazingly proportional cock.
Jared is so comfortable in his own skin Jensen wants to ask how he does it. How he sits naked next to a virtual stranger, running a hand through his sex tousled hair without a bit of self consciousness. Is it just because he thinks Jensen's paid to deal with it?
Jensen is about to ask him when Jared's hand lands high up on Jensen's thigh. It’s not, Jensen knows, a precursor to sex, at least at the moment, it’s just a comfortable spot. Jensen feels his body respond, his thighs creep open a little more, and his cock gets a minor blood rush, filling half way at the possibility of more contact. The heat from Jared's hand radiates through his thigh until Jensen feels boneless and sinks a little deeper into the mattress.
Jared looks over at him, smiling. “Tired huh? Did I wear you out?”
Jensen thinks now might be a good time to assert his ability to do more than show up naked and speak occasionally between sex, and steak and the glorious feel of Jared's hands on him; what he comes up with is, “mmmphf.” He hears Jared chuckle before his eyes close.
When he wakes up it’s almost an hour later and he’s somehow migrated 'til his head is on Jared's chest and his body is using Jared as a pillow.
He sits up quickly and Jared smiles. “I wore out a professional, should I be impressed with myself of complaining to your supervisor?”
“Mmmph? What?”
Jared coats Jensen's lips with a wedge of orange chocolate and Jensen's tongue comes out to trace the line while trying to find a way to right himself without becoming Mr. Grabby Hands with Mr. Padalecki. Eventually Jared helps him and they sit and watch the game. “Astros are up 7 - 4 “.
“Good, kinda hate the Rangers.”
“Doesn’t everyone.”
“So um, what do you do?”
“Huh?”
“For a living. How come people send you, you know, gift baskets and liquor, and… me?”
“Oh, I consult on organizational development of functional fields and sectors.”
“Oh.”
“It doesn’t mean anything, so don’t feel bad if you can’t make those words make sense.”
“So what do you do?”
“I do consulting for companies with more money than sense. I have a bit of a rep so they go out of their way to be nice to me. Trust me... it’s pretty much the same thing you do, only your job is more straightforward.”
“I just make sure that each guest is satisfied with their experience.” And Jensen bites his lip, that’s what he does as a hotel manager… that’s not what Jared meant.”
“Exactly. So, this can’t be what you set out to do.”
“Well, no, but I went to college.”
“You did?” And Jensen is once again hit with that urge to smack the back of Mr. Padalecki’s head. “I did.”
“What was your major?”
“I was undeclared but then I found out about the hospitality industry…”
“Perfect fit.” Jared's dimples are really deep. Jensen can’t help smiling.
“I guess, and here I am.”
“Well, I’m actually glad you’re here.”
“What do you do with all this stuff when you leave, it won’t all fit on a plane?”
“I just leave it. I figure housekeeping can use it.”
“You should donate it to a charity, housekeeping gets paid but there are kids who don’t get presents.”
“And they should get martini glasses and bottles of gray goose?”
“Those can go to staff but…”
“Okay, I’ll tell them to donate it on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You take the chocolate oranges. I wanna think of your tongue following the line of one of those things when I’m in Cleveland next week.”
“Cleveland, huh?”
“I traveled forty three weeks last year. I know every city in the US at this point.”
“You got a hooker in every port?”
“Not every port.”
And Jensen's flare of jealously is insane. Knowing that doesn’t make it die down. Instead he rolls over on top of Mr. Padalecki and kisses him, sharing the last bite of chocolate orange.
Jensen sneaks out of the room at four in the morning.
When he returns to the hotel at noon he makes sure that there is a note to donate the stuff from Mr. Padalecki’s Room to Star of Hope. He snags the chocolate oranges and splits the alcohol between Danneel, himself, and the staff who gets the gifts to the program.
Jared has already left but not without, according to Danneel, stopping at the front desk to make a reservation for the middle of November, just about a month from now. She mentions three times that he came to the desk and made the reservation himself, something he apparently never does.. Jensen wants to blame Jared's new assistant’s incompetence equally as much as he wants to think it had nothing to do with that.
Jensen makes note of the date and focuses on his real job.
Jensen put Jared out of his head for a while. The situation was ridiculous, the sex was great but no matter how much fun they had watching the game or eating chocolate together, it wasn’t a ‘relationship’ and so there was no need to dwell. The next several times Jared, Mr. Padalecki is in Houston they have a good time, fucking, and laughing and eating and leaving. Mr. Padalecki is excellent at all of them. Even when his stay is over a week long and covering several companies, and things start to feel comfortable, when it’s time to check out, he does so without hesitation, and Jensen tells himself that it’s the best thing for them and that he has no lingering thoughts either.
He tells himself that over and over again as he deals with guest complaints, watching Tom come in and out of the hotel, clearly at the behest of someone, for the relief of someone else, and of course overseeing fucking Indigo, one of the top rated high end Houston hotels. Nope, he doesn’t think about it at all and if he makes a particular effort to this time stack the gift baskets on the dining table that never seemed to get used? That was just good organizational skills, the kind he learned in college where he got his degree in hospitality and hotel management. Thank you very much.
He also did not, not at all, not even a little bit, notice that a lot more of the baskets seemed to contain fruit infused chocolate, nope.
He also, just for the record, isn’t waiting for Jared in his room; he is simply checking the room for guest satisfaction and setup. He’s almost finished when Jared arrives. Instead of the usual boisterous greeting followed by a playful mauling and some quite enjoyable manhandling… with maybe a side of ravishment there is just a weary sigh. Jensen turns, his smile, the one meant to match Jared's, dies right there. Jared isn’t smiling. He’s standing like his arms weigh a thousand pounds each and his coat is too heavy a burden to bear, his shoulders hunched, his face a little flushed and, as Jensen steps forward he realizes it’s also covered in a sheen of sweat.
He doesn’t hesitate; sliding Jared's coat off of him, and then removing his shirt, making quick work of his belt and pants, feeling the heat radiating off the man as he does it. He pulls the covers back and bustles Jared into bed.
Jared reaches out for him, croaking out something about rescheduling and Jensen can’t help it, he rolls his eyes and then tucks Jared in with the blankets tight around him. Once he’s convinced Jared's in a good place to sweat out the fever he calls down for some chicken soup, juice and ginger ale, crackers and Tylenol. Jared's asleep long before he’s done with his exacting orders to the staff.
It’s not some server who brings the items up though, and Jensen will admit that he was expecting this. It’s kind of Danneel's job to handle things like this, both for guests and as his friend, for Jensen. He is cowed by her disapproving look, though.
“So you’re not just his handy piece of ass, now you’re his nursemaid?”
“He’s sick; I’m just helping a guest.”
“A guest who keeps fucking you because he thinks some company is providing you for just that service.”
“That’s not entirely his fault.”
“Oh for the love of… you’d be better off letting me hire Tom for you. At least that would be more honest.”
“Danneel. Did you bring the thermometer?”
Danneel sighs and hands him the box of disposable thermometers. He breaks it open and holds tone against Jared's forehead. “102.3, so just leave us alone; he’ll probably be fine in a couple of days. Can you call his assistant and have whatever meeting he has scheduled for tomorrow postponed, or cancelled?”
Danneel stares at him and he can see the wheels turning as she goes through the things she wants to tell him but in the end, she nods, rolls the cart just inside the room and leaves.
Jensen breathes a sigh of relief when she’s gone and goes back to the master bedroom.
“Jared. Jared.” He singsongs it, trying to wake the man gently… he ends up shaking his shoulder so hard that if this suite were sharing a wall someone would get the wrong…or usually right but wrong this time, idea about what was going on in here.
Jared finally wakes up, grumpy, groggy, and green around the edges.
Jensen gets the Tylenol into him with some ginger ale, and moves the soup aside.
“I’ve gotta…”
Jensen smoothes Jared's hair off of his forehead and shushes him. “You’re sick. Just sleep for a while okay?”
Jared nods and practically passes out once his head hits the pillow. Jensen thinks maybe he should go downstairs, go to work, but he’s worried about Jared, about his fever spiking, about how it seems like maybe he’s been working through this flu/cold/plague thing for a while now. He lies down next to him with his hand splayed across Jared's heart, so he’ll feel it when he wakes up.
There’s a throbbing in his head, a dull ache in his arms and legs, and the weight of something settling on his chest. Groaning at the effort it takes to pry an eye open, Jared lifts his head from the pillow and the sound bites off when he realizes that Jensen is tucked in close to his side, hand resting heavy against Jared’s chest.
The clock beside his bed says that it’s 2:30 in the morning. And while it’s not unusual that Jared fall into bed with a hooker, waking up next to one six hours after arriving isn’t exactly his M.O. “Jensen,” he says, but the word makes his throat burn, and it sounds like someone’s been standing on his windpipe for an hour or twelve.
Shifting when he receives no response, Jared blinks his eyes slowly open to stare at the ceiling above him, and wills himself not to think about how stiff his left arm feels under Jensen’s weight. The weirdest part is that he doesn’t care. He’d rather let this guy sleep than pull his arm back and kick him out of bed, like he would with any other prostitute his clients send him.
He wasn’t supposed to become the guy who travels 43 weeks out of the year and sleeps with hookers in every town. This wasn’t his dream growing up or anything. Being successful, and having more money than he really knows what to do with is nice. He’s built a reputation for himself, and it’s an impressive one. He’s proud of his accomplishments, and of the perks that those accomplishments bring him.
In order to bring Jared into a company, he has to be booked almost a year in advance, and always with the understanding that he won’t be able to stay for more than a week. Occasionally, if the incentive package is tempting enough, he can be goaded into two, but he tries to spread himself out as much as possible, to meet the demand.
If he’s honest with himself, that’s probably why he’s shivering, sweating, and aching now. His mother says he works too hard, that he doesn’t stop long enough to take care of himself and that he’s going to make himself sick someday. If he called her right now, he’s sure she’d have that stupid ‘I told you so’ dance ready for him,.
He misses them. His parents live in San Antonio, only about ten minutes away from his house, but Jared was only home for nine weeks out of the last 60 and most of that he spent enjoying the comfort of his own bed. He has a routine there, and it just doesn’t involve spending a lot of time with his folks. Or anyone, really.
At his side, Jensen huffs in his sleep and rolls his face, his stubbled cheek pressing against Jared’s shoulder. It’s strange that this random hooker in the middle of wherever the fuck he is takes better care of him than anyone he knows, right? That’s not normal hooker behavior.
Of course, Jared’s learning that Jensen’s not the average hooker. With his other, er, gifts, Jared walks into the room, places his order (not at all unlike room service), and then kicks back to enjoy the night that his company of the week is providing. Tom used to be an excellent part of the package he had here. But Jensen? Jensen’s in another league entirely.
Jared’s never really been the kind of guy who gets attached. It’s probably why he’s been able to adapt to the traveling consultant lifestyle so easily. He doesn’t really need a set routine for stability in his life or anything, so he doesn’t get used to the specific men waiting for him in hotel rooms around the country. They’re not only interchangeable, they’re also about as mobile as the television stand mounted to the floor. His brain knows that he can’t actually have them, and his body seems to follow suit with that understanding.
And now this guy, who really doesn’t act like any hooker Jared’s ever fucked around with, is making Jared stay in bed while he calls the kitchen and demands soup and juice. He’s pretty sure he heard Jensen ordering the concierge to keep the hallway clear of noise and guests so that Jared could get some uninterrupted sleep. It’s possible that Jensen isn’t real at all. That he’s some kind of angel. And that Jared’s meant to marry him.
Of course, he’d have to stop being a hooker for Jared to marry him. He has standards, after all. Or, rather, his mother does. It wouldn’t be that hard to get Jensen to quit, though, he figures. He’s a good guy, and he seems to like Jared. He could propose, over dinner, that Jensen leave his current pimp, or handler, or whatever the fuck he calls the guy who books his appointments. He could offer to buy out Jensen’s contract, all romantic-comedy, grand-gesture style, and then rip it up symbolically, just before sweeping Jensen up in his arms and carrying him over the threshold of the house that once felt too empty, and is now full of Jensen and love.
“Fuck,” Jensen growls at his side, and Jared didn’t even realize the guy was awake. “You’re still burning up.” His hand presses against Jared’s forehead and cheeks, and he chases the touch with his face when Jensen pulls back.
He doesn't say anything, though. Just lays back and fights to keep his eyes opened. The fever is clearly making him delusional (he can't marry a hooker - this isn't Canada), and he’s wasted too much time sleeping already today. “Meeting,” Jared croaks and Jensen shakes his head, fingers trailing over the slick skin of Jared’s chest.
“At three in the morning?" Jensen challenges. Jared can feel his lips quirk at the sarcastic tone in Jensen's voice.
He's really pretty, Jensen is, and Jared figures he should know that. "You're hot," he slurs, eyes closed as Jensen keeps trailing fingers over him arm. "Hottest fuckin' hooker I ever seen."
Thanks," Jensen mutters and then stops the journey of his hand over Jared's forehead. "Wait," he says. "The fuck," and then he stops himself again. He looks flattered and confused at the same time, but being as Jared's out of his head, it's possible that he's seeing things. "Go back to sleep, Jared," he says before sliding out of the bed
When Jared wakes the second time, sunlight is pouring through the windows of his room, and his body feels like it weighs a metric ton. His tongue feels thick and there might be someone trying to pound their way out of his skull. "Fuck . . . me," he growls, the words scratching at his vocal chords, and the cough takes him over before he has a chance to realize it's coming. He pulls himself up in the bed and accepts the glass of water being offered him before he sees that it's attached to Jensen. "You're still here." He tries to smile, but it's possible he just looks insane.
Jensen's smile, on the other hand, does not look insane. He's wearing the same perfectly-tailored pants he always wears for their appointments, and a soft-looking white dress shirt hangs open, revealing a hint of tanned, shower-fresh skin. If he didn't feel like absolutely shit, Jared would think that he had lucked out and ended up in heaven overnight.
He struggles out of the covers and manages to sit up and get his feet on the floor before a round of dizziness catches him off guard and sends him wobbling. At least, it feels like he's wobbling. "Hey," Jensen's there, on his knees in front of Jared, with his hands anchored on Jared's thighs. "Take it easy, man," his voice is velvety smooth and soothing. "Lay back, okay?" He's pushing and Jared's body is following as though he doesn't have important business to attend to or something.
"Meeting," he protests.
Jensen shakes his head and sits on the side of the bed, manhandling Jared into a semi-seated position against the headboard of the bed. "Don't worry about the meeting, alright?" Jared raises an eyebrow, and it feels like it's trying to rip a hole in his face. "I, uh," Jensen stammers and looks at his hands and then back up. "I had the manager call your assistant and tell them you were going to be out of a commission for a few days."
He's been every bit a man since the moment Jared met him, but right now? Jensen looks like a small child, a little boy hoping his mom doesn't get mad at him for bringing her tulips, even though he ripped them out of her flower bed. "You . . . assistant. . ." he stops trying to make sense of the words and looks at Jensen with a furrowed brow. "No work?"
Standing, Jensen points to his chest. "I have to work. You have to lay here and get some rest." With a soft smile, he grabs something from the table and tosses it. Jared's not so much aware of what's going on, so the television remote drops to his side with a soft thud, and it makes Jensen grin bigger. "I'll stop in later tonight and see how you're feelin', okay?"
The squeeze in Jared's chest is either jealousy over the fact that the guy is leaving to go suck someone else's dick while Jared lies here suffering, or it could be because everyone caters to his every desire, but nobody's really given a damn about his needs in a long fucking time. It's most definitely because Jensen's unlike any other prostitute Jared's ever met. Or it could be he's coming down with an upper respiratory infection.
Yeah, it's definitely the last one. For sure.
Once Jared is fully recuperated from what turned out to be a mild case of pneumonia, he leaves, packing up everything including his house call prescribed antibiotics and disappearing without so much as a goodbye.
Jensen tells himself that it’s okay, because really, who stays to say goodbye to their hooker?
He’d think about it more but the holiday season is upon them all and Jensen spends most of his days overseeing large events planned by corporations and families who don’t feel like handling the clean up themselves.
He marvels at the insanity of the request. “No ma’am, we can’t allow monkeys or a pony inside the hotel. Yes, it is the holidays, but we still have to follow health codes.”
“Of course we can do a holiday party with no theme of holiday, winter, religion or the colors red, green, blue, silver, gold, orange or purple.”
“Of course sir, only top shelf liquor and four bartenders.”
He’s so busy he almost doesn’t notice that he’s worried about Jared but when he does he realizes he’s been ignoring his personal life in order to stay available as the hooker in Houston for Jared. It sounds fucked, even to Jensen, who‘s doing it, so he accepts the offer of dinner from Paul, who runs the linen service he uses.
On the third date, when he has no excuse not to take things beyond after dinner groping in the car or by the door, he calls an audible, claiming an early morning racquetball match. He spends a lot of time making sure someone else deals with the linen delivery from then on. He goes out once with a guest who owns some major company across town but can’t help wondering if it’s one that Jared consults for. He never returns that guy’s calls either.
He’s heading towards his office with a sandwich when he gets shanghaied by Danneel who’s glaring at him and refusing to allow him to get by. “You’re holding out for a guy who thinks you’re a hooker.”
“I am not.”
Her eyes narrow and he drops his head a little. “A guy who’s as much fun and as interesting as Mr. Padalecki, not necessarily Jared himself.”
“So what are you gonna do the next time he shows up here?”
“Hide and have the service send someone else.”
‘Someone else? You think he won’t notice?”
“He didn’t seem to care I wasn’t Tom. We can send Tom back.”
“Tom?”
“Tom.”
“Tom went back to school. He’s getting his master’s in history.”
“Really?”
“All that paid time you freed up for him made him think it was time to do what he always said he would.”
‘Well then, who else does the service have?”
‘I don’t know, you talk to Chad more than I do lately.”
“Chad? Michael Murray? Chad? What’s he got to do with…?”
“Chad runs MaleMaster.”
“Wait, M - A - L - E master? I thought it was M - A - I - L like, postage and shit.”
“You think he can afford only top shelf liquor, the platinum hors d’oeuvres package and a sit down surf and turf on mail? No, he’s also the owner of BeaverDam but they have their party next week.”
“Chad, skinny blonde kid, that’s who my pimp’s supposed to be?”
“Kid’s a marketing genius, by the way. You want me to ask him or do you just want to peek into the party and pick someone out for Jared yourself.”
“We’re throwing a party for hookers, a whole room full of hookers?”
“And bookers, and assistants and admins, and how is that different from what we usually do?”
“Just… never mind. Just get someone else for Jared.”
“Uh huh.”
Jensen peeks into the party to make sure one of their most upscale events of the year is going well. Chad is standing on chair.
“Shut up. Listen you mother fuckers!” He whistles between two fingers. “Whores! Listen up. There are kids who need stuff. Put the money or the presents over there. You get paid to take a dick up your ass, don’t cheap out now.” After a moment he nods. “I return you to the open bar and free grub. Ya mooches.” And the music and revelry starts again.
Jensen shakes his head. The best party of the year is held by, and for, hookers.
He spends New Years Eve making sure no one is choking on their own vomit.
He spends New Year’s Day nodding determinedly as he reminds himself that this year he will not sleep with anyone who thinks he’s a prostitute.
Turns out, it’s not really an issue. All of January passes without a single booking for Mr. Padalecki. Valentines Day goes by in a flurry of hearts and flower themed champagne engagement dinners for guests. Tom occasionally takes an old guy out to dinner but there’s a new MaleMaster catering to the upscale business client and Jensen is settling back into the job he loves.
It’s all going as planned, sort of.
Jensen doesn't want to be flattered by the fact that Jared grabs his wrist and drags him through the lobby when he finally decides to make an appearance in mid-March. He doesn't want to feel the thud of his heart in his chest and the spike of adrenaline running through his veins. He doesn't want to feel fucking relieved that Jared is growling filth in his ear during the entire elevator ride. And he sure as hell doesn't want to be this fucking hard by the time Jared rips his shirt and shoves him, face down, on the bed.
Danneel's getting fired. She was supposed to find someone else for Mr. Padalecki if he ever decided to stay with them again. She was supposed to make sure that Jensen knew Mr. Padalecki was checking in, so that he could lock his office door and hide under his desk until time to go home for the night. She was supposed to do her fucking job, and her ass is getting fired.
Of course, he's not really thinking about firing her when Jared lays back on the bed, naked as the day he was born, and winks in Jensen's direction. “You have any idea how many times I've thought about you in the last couple months?” he asks and Jensen flushes.
He wants to admit the same, but then Jared goes on to talk about how hard it is to find a decent whore in fucking Toledo, and Jensen remembers exactly why he's not supposed to be doing this anymore. Almost spills the whole truth.
And then Jared says, “So why don't you come over here and remind me why I love that tight little ass so much,” and it shouldn't make him stutter, but Jensen can hardly remember his own name. Really only remembers the feeling of Jared inside him, and he's working himself open with three fingers while Jared jerks him slow and mutters dirty things in that low voice again. Maybe one last good-bye isn't the worst thing in the world.
When he's come so hard he's pretty sure his legs won't work for the next week, Jensen rolls onto his own side of the bed and fixes his eyes on the ceiling. Would it be so terrible if he kept the charade up a little bit longer? Really? It's not like he can't plan some parties and check on other guests while occasionally spending a few extra hours with Mr. Padalecki whenever his schedule allows him time to blow into town. I mean, what's a few extra hours?
“So, I wanted to, um,” Jared starts at his side, pushing himself up onto an elbow and looking intently at Jensen. “I wanted to thank you. For making sure that I was taken care of back when I was sick.” It seems like Jared is maybe a little bit better at taking gratitude from other people than he is as giving it. “I know that's not part of your job description or whatever, but it was . . . it was nice.”
Jensen wants to tell Jared that it was nothing, but he can't. It is above the call for most people in Jensen's chosen profession (the one he didn't chose), but he wasn't just going to let the guy pass out, or worse, either.
Instead, he just shrugs his shoulders. “Not that nice, really,” he plays it off. “I mean, you die and I get no more chocolate oranges, so . . .”
“So you're just using me for my candy then?” Jared's eyebrow shoots up, crooked smirk on his lips.
“Well, obviously,” Jensen replies. “What? Did you think it was because of your awesome body and your perfect cock? C'mon, man.”
Jared laughs, and it's this amazing sound that Jensen can't even describe. There are low chuckles against his skin during sex that turn him inside out, but then there's this full-belly, shoulder shaking laugh that bounces off all four walls in the room. That's the one that he can't tell Danneel about. That's the one that has him in deeper than he's willing to admit, even to himself.
“You're somethin' else, you know that?” Jared angles his muscled body toward Jensen and rests a hand on his thigh. “You should come with me.”
Jensen quirks an eyebrow. “To work?”
“Yeah,” Jared huffs a laugh. “Cause I'm sure the suits at Telecom wanna see how I play with the toys they send me,” he rolls his eyes and goes on. “What I meant is that I have this ball-numbing trip coming up in the Midwest. Contrary to what you may think, being spanked with the Bible belt is not sexy or remotely exciting.” When Jensen doesn't speak, Jared squeezes his thigh. “Come on. What do you say? Six weeks with me? Get you outta here for awhile? I'll buy you all the chocolate oranges you can choke down.”
“I can't,” Jensen answers, eyes fixed on the hand resting against his skin. Fuck if he doesn't want to, but he just can't. “I have to work.”
“Well, I'm not askin' you to do it for free,” Jared scoffs like that much should be obvious. “I can afford you on my own, ya know?”
And just like that, the house of cards crumbles. Pulling himself out of the bed, Jensen can't meet Jared's eye as he begins to gather his clothes from the floor. “I'm not a hooker, Jar . . . Mr. Padalecki,” he mumbles as he bends over to retrieve his shirt.
“What?”
Straightening, Jensen steps into his pants and pulls them over his hips. This conversation was never going to be easy, but naked would be a thousand times worse. Probably. “I'm not a hooker, okay? I don't . . . What we do . . . I don't,” he stops and sighs, running his hand over his face before slipping his arms into the sleeves of his shirts. “I don't get paid to have sex with men for a living.”
The expression on Jared's face can only be confusion. “I don't understand,” he says.
“I'm the manager of Indigo,” Jensen gestures with wide arms to the room around him. “I manage this hotel. I have an graduate degree in Hotel Management and Hospitality. That's why I'm always here when you show up. Why I'm always running out when we're done.” Somehow, he thought that telling the truth was going to be easier. That it wouldn't matter. And maybe that Jared wouldn't look like a kicked puppy. “I never meant for this,” he starts and then stops himself because there's really no excuse for what he's been doing.
“But you were here,” Jared says, brow furrowed as he works through the information Jensen's giving him. “That day . . . with the champagne . . . and the gift baskets.”
Nodding, Jensen tucks his shirt tails into his pants. He wants to point out that Jared never bothered to ask him if he was actually a hooker. Didn't bother with small talk at all. But ultimately, he knows that he was the one who was responsible for ending this charade. And he just never did.
“I was,” he can't help chuckling a little bit, “I was making sure the baskets were arranged. I was going to welcome you to Hotel Indigo and introduce myself. And then you were,” he bites his lip and takes a breath. “Things moved so fast, and I should have told you a thousand different times, but I just . . . I don't know why I didn't.”
Jensen's not sure if Jared even hears him. He just sits there, looking confused and hurt, possibly betrayed. Could be a little bit angry, but Jensen realizes that he doesn't really know what Jared looks like when he's hurt, betrayed, and angry, so maybe he's way off the mark. Maybe he's thinking about something completely different. Like work. Or something.
“I need to get back to work,” Jensen says, smoothing his hand over his hair. He smells like sex and the soreness in his ass is making the walk to the door difficult, but he knows that he can't stay. Turning, he throws one last look at the man on the bed. The man he's had a hell of a good time with over the last nine months, for whatever it's worth. “I'm really sorry, Mr. Padalecki. Please continue to enjoy your stay at Hotel Indigo.”
He kicks himself in the hallway for being a complete ass. That last line was ridiculous, but Jensen's a little bit more concerned with the fact that there are tears pricking the backs of his eyes, and a pain in his chest that has nothing to do with the way Jared left him breathless just a few minutes ago. Walking away shouldn't be this hard. But it is.
Jared checks out at six forty-five the next morning. From his office, Jensen watches him amble through the parking lot, load his suitcase into the back of his rental, and then peel out like a high school kid with mom's car for the weekend. He sinks to his chair, cradles his coffee, and resolves to try and believe he did the right thing.
By ten o'clock, he's up to his eyeballs in an over-booking situation, the lobby filled with enthusiastic high school cheerleaders and costumed Star Trek fans.
At five thirty, he's ready to find a bar, a drink, and a warm body to take his mind off the suck-fest that has become his day. His life.
“You should go,” Danneel advises at 7:30, when the cheerleaders are at the university for their competition and the Trekkies are loaded into the main conference room for the night. “I'll call you if we need you,” she adds.
With a nod, Jensen pulls his car keys from the pocket of his wool coat and tells his concierge to have a good night. But when he turns, his breath hitches in his throat.
Jared is there, and Jensen almost offers his hand so that Jared can pull him away. Instead, he stuffs both into his pockets and waits. Doesn't even flinch away when Jared's hand rests on his shoulder. He can do this. He can be a big boy.
“Come with me,” Jared says, eyes boring into Jensen's with an intensity that almost knocks him back.
“Mr. Padalecki, please. I told you,” Jensen starts to repeat everything he said back in Jared's room.
But the finger pressing over his lips shuts him up pretty quick. “To dinner,” Jared clarifies. “Come with me to dinner.”
Dinner? “Like a date?” Jensen asks, and yes, he's aware that he sounds like a moron. But it's a little bit weird, isn't it? The guy who thought he was a hooker, and now knows that he's just a liar, wants to take him to dinner? What the fuck?
“Nah,” Jared shakes his head and runs his fingers down Jensen's arm, wrapping them gently around his wrist. “Not like a date. An actual date. Where the only way I pay for sex is buying you dinner and pretending to listen to what you have to say about yourself.”
He can't help it. Jensen smiles, pulls his hand from his pocket and squeezes Jared's. “Yeah. Okay.” He tosses a look over his shoulder to find Danneel leaning her elbows against the counter, watching with a shit-eating grin on her lips. “Where do you wanna go?”
Jared shrugs and follows Jensen to the sliding doors at the hotel's entrance. “The only places I go in this town are the offices I work in, and suite 1120. You're gonna have to show me around a little bit.”
Jensen leads the way into the slight chill of the Houston spring time, smiling again when his shoulder bumps against Jared's and the warmth shoots to his toes.
“What's funny?” Jared asks, unlocking his rental with the key fob.
“Nothin',” Jensen answers as he pulls his own door open. “Just thinkin' we have pretty much the best 'this is how we met' story ever.”
it was written by myself and raeschae
Being a hotel manager isn't exactly the career every little boy dreams of when he's growing up. Jensen Ackles knows that, but he likes his job. It's never boring, for one thing. There's always new and exciting people to meet, issues and concerns to deal with, and interests and hobbies to cater to. His best friend, Chris, says that he's crazy for taking a job where he does nothing but bend over to satisfy other people. Says he might as well just become a prostitute - could probably make more money that way.
Of course, there are times when people get on his nerves, but Jensen's never had a problem keeping himself distracted. His new gig at the helm of the swanky Hotel Indigo in downtown Houston provides more distractions than most. There are people further down the food chain that he could order to handle the task at hand but Jensen really doesn't mind. Quiet time alone is good, too.
Now, if he could only get these bows to look even. He's seen rooms like this before: bed filled to overflowing with gift baskets and boxes from whatever company is bringing this guy in, already appreciating everything he's going to do for them. There is fruit, and shower products, and candy, and alcohol. Jensen's seen it before, but never quite like this. He doesn't know who Jared Padalecki is, but if someone's grateful enough to make sure his entire king-sized bed is covered in gifts, then the least Jensen can do is make them look presentable.
Which is how he finds himself in the midst of the madness, bottle of champagne in one hand, and a block of gold foil-wrapped chocolate in the other. The red bow that he ripped off of the wire basket is draped loosely around his neck, and he'll re-attach it just as soon as he figures out how to fit everything back inside the piece-of-shit-passing-for-modern-art container. And this time, the damn bow won't look like someone stepped on it first.
The plan is good, but when he hears the front door of the suite crashing open and a heavy sigh from who he can only pray is Mr. Padalecki, Jensen kind of panics a little bit. Pushing baskets out of the way, he ambles off the bed and barely makes it to his feet, before he hears a deep, “Hello?” from the front room of the suite.
Eyes wide, he searches for a place to set the bottle, but he's too late. The shadow falls and Jensen looks up, expression guilty, to find the biggest fucking brick house of a man grinning wildly in his direction.
“Well, hell,” the man laughs, shrugging out of the blazer he's wearing and letting his eyes rake unabashedly over Jensen's body. His own jacket is back at the front desk, and he feels half-naked under the hazel gaze of the Adonis checking him out. “You sure are prettier than the usual guy,” he winks.
There's no time to so much as process the words before Mr. Padalecki is pressing him back against the bed, pulling the champagne and chocolate from his hand and sweeping half of the baskets Jensen's already arranged onto the floor with his long arms.
His fingers deftly untie the bow from Jensen's neck and he blushes down to his toes when Mr. Padalecki says, “Best fuckin' present they ever sent over.”
He's naked with three of those long, strong fingers between his lips and there's a faint nagging in the back of his mind that this is fucking weird and he's supposed to be working and he doesn't know shit one about this guy pawing at him and sucking the side of his neck. But before he can process the thoughts, his brain shuts down completely at the overwhelming sensations of hard, sweat-slicked skin and soft, spit-slicked lips sliding all over his body, so he doesn't really have time to think beyond, 'yes' and 'fuck' and 'sweetJesusgood.'
In fact, it's not until he's lying boneless under this guy's enormous frame, having come hard and fast like a cheap whore, that Jensen realizes that's exactly what Mr. Padalecki thinks he is. Prettier than the last one. Present they sent over. He thinks Jensen is a motherfucking prostitute.
When Mr. Padalecki rolls to his side and chuckles to himself, hand trailing his own stomach as he catches his breath, Jensen takes the opportunity to scramble to his weak legs and grab his pants from the floor. His eyes catch on the long, tanned lines of the man's thighs he blinks and shakes his head to chase off the errant 'stay' thought that wanders in from some dark corner.
“So much better than the last one,” Mr. Padalecki chuckles again, having hoisted himself up onto his elbows to watch Jensen scramble around the room.
He knows that his cheeks are blazing, though he's not sure if it's because this guy thinks Jensen's the best prostitute he's ever had, or if it's because he thinks Jensen's a fucking prostitute in the first place. For a brief moment, he wonders if the last manager experienced this on his third day at Indigo.
“Um,” he stammers when he's managed to button his shirt, hands smoothing over his hair. There is not a chance in hell he's going to look like he's been arranging gift baskets by the time he gets the lobby. “Enjoy your stay at Hotel Indigo, and let us know if we can be of any further assistance,” he says in a rush, fighting to keep from running to the front door.
As it slams behind him, all Jensen can hear is the bellowing laugh of the man on the bed, and he can only hope that nobody stops him between here and his office.
Jensen takes a moment in the elevator to check his hair, (it’s thrashed), check his tie, (he has to retie it three times with shaking hands before it looks right), and check his general, just fuckededness, (it’s there in spades, his lips are swollen, there’s a hickey on his neck and he’s got stubble burn on his face.) He smoothes his shirt with his palms, straightens his shoulders and tries to bypass his head concierge to get to his office. He’s never been that lucky.
“Jensen, what the hell happened to you?”
Jensen leans over the front desk, letting it support some of his weight. “That’s what I’d like to know. I was arranging the gift baskets for Mr. Padalecki and then…”
“You fucked Mr. Padalecki?”
“Well, technically he… wait, how do you know?”
“First, you look about as freshly fucked as any human I’ve ever known and second, Tom was late.”
“Tom?”
“Mr. Padalecki’s usual.”
Jensen narrowed his eyes. “Usual what?”
Danneel just stared at him, tilting her head like she thought his naïveté was cute.
“We do that?”
“Of course we do. You’re the one who wanted to leave the corporate shoebox of well known chains, well, welcome to the seedy underbelly of boutique (she used air quotes) hotels. We provide a (air quotes again) Complete Experience of Unparalleled Customer Service.”
“Stop quoting the brochure to me. Who is this Tom guy and are there others?”
Danneel laughed and waved at a tall man with broad shoulders and an angry expression. “He slammed the door in my face. I’m not gonna get paid.”
“You were late. We had to go with someone else.”
“Someone else? Who? I’m always called for Mr. P.”
“Well, we found someone who can say his whole name. Now go home. We’ll call if we need you.”
“But…”
Danneel glared and Tom left.
Jensen, whose ass was starting to hurt, and was having an odd moment of being turned on by the just got laid smell that Mr. Padalecki had coated him with, stared at her. “We do this? This is something we do? Provide people”, he lowered his voice, “prostitutes for our clients.”
“Yes, we do this, and we do it well we match what he wants and what the client is willing to pay, you were a generous gift from a major employer in our fair city.”
“Danneel!”
She looked up at him. “Yes?”
He shook his head. “Nothing, just… don’t get caught.”
“Please, I use one of the most discreet escort services in the area. Now why don’t you go get cleaned up. Your assistant has been looking for you; I think you have a meeting.”
“Oh shit, Junecorp! I’m on my way.”
Jensen leans against the front desk; there are no guests in the lobby and he’s been working non stop for the last four hours trying to organize the Miller-Blanchard rehearsal dinner. His event planner got engaged to the groom from the last wedding and everything’s more of a mess than even Danneel can sort out on her own. As a result he hasn’t checked recently to see if a certain Mr. Padalecki has a reservation. Today seems to be all groups of rooms for companies and events. He turns to tell Danneel something and feels a large hand wrapping around his tie.
“Thank god they sent you again; I haven’t been able to get you out of my head.”
Jensen yelps. It’s not something he’s proud of, but it’s absolutely what he does, and then Mr. Padalecki’s mouth is on his and no sound is forthcoming as he’s bent backwards over the desk. He can hear himself blushing. He can feel Danneel staring at him and smirking.
He doesn’t even try to say anything as he’s pulled by the tie twisted twice around Jared's hand. In the elevator Jared presses him against the wall, his knee in interesting and important places, his hands already starting the process of removing Jensen's clothes.
By the time they’re in the suite Jensen's shirt is unbuttoned, his jacket is half off his shoulders but the tie is still there, tethering him to Jared almost as much as his dirty wrong desire is.
Mr. Padalecki tosses him on the bed and stands over him. “You’re so fucking hot, haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
“Right here.” Did that just come out of his mouth? Jensen wonders what the hell is happening to him and then Mr. Padalecki is naked and he doesn’t care about anything but what’s happening to his body.
It’s better than it was before, like Mr. Padalecki has cataloged the things Jensen likes, and now it’s nothing but the top ten of everything Jensen wants. Hands, mouth, hot, soft, sharp and sudden, slow and sultry, all combined until he’s face down and whimpering into the pillow with his ass in the air like the whore he’s pretending to be. He considers for a minute how much money he wasted on college if this is what it’s like to be a whore.
But once he comes, and Mr. Padalecki has as well, and tossed the condom, he feels a sharp slap on his ass and comes back to reality, retrieving his clothes and pulling himself back together. The hotel manager in him comes back online. “Would you like something from our…*ahem* the room service menu?”
“Naaah, I’ve got a booze and snooze later. I’m gonna sleep for a couple hours before I head back out. “You were great” Mr. Padalecki waves at an envelope on the table. “That’s for you.”
Jensen's face turns, he’s sure, some shade of red heretofore only seen on pomegranates and bricks. “Thank you sir but I’m already adequately compensated.”
Mr. Padalecki raises an eyebrow. “An escort turning down money? That’s new.”
“Thank you sir.” And Jensen leaves, taking a moment to lean against the wall and catch his breath before he heads out the back door and bums a cigarette off of one of the catering staff. He quit smoking years ago but Mr. Padalecki is changing all the rules.
They say that insanity is repeating the same actions and expecting different results. Well, despite the fact that he’s pretending to be a hooker for sex with a really fucking hot guy he still refers to as ‘mister.’ Jensen’s not insane. So he’s not going to fight with the baskets all over Mr. Padalecki’s bed on an afternoon in early October. Experience has taught him that all of his hard work will not be appreciated when the Mr. Padalecki pushes them all onto the floor.
So he sets about meticulously moving each basket from the thick comforter to the marble top of the bar on the opposite side of the room. Why he didn’t think of this the first time, he doesn’t know. Though he suspects it could have something to do with the way he didn’t realize he’d be thrown onto said bed and ravished like a buffet before a starving man.
The layout is pretty spectacular this time, if he does say so himself. Arranged by size, color, and content, Jensen has spent the better part of fifteen minutes making sure that everything is in place and nothing has been forgotten. And before anyone asks, he absolutely does this for every guest at Indigo.
“Thank God you’re already here,” the exasperated voice sounds behind him as he’s fixing the last basket to the exact perfect angle.
The 'Welcome back, Mr. Padalecki' is on the tip of Jensen's tongue, but it catches there when he turns to see Mr. Padalecki throw his jacket onto the bed and rip his tie from beneath his collar. Then it's all groping and lips and there are bottles falling, fruit thudding, and cellophane crinkling as it hits the floor. So much for the bar, Jensen thinks, just before the buttons of his shirt scatter and he finds himself twirled as though he weighs nothing and pressed hard into the cold marble.
"Just arranged those," he grits, eyes falling on the crushed and broken baskets.
"Fuck 'em," is the response growled in his ear, and it's hard to think about baskets of bath soap when there's an enormous palm cupped around his rapidly hardening cock. "Been thinkin' about you for the last three hours," Mr. Padalecki growls, and Jensen doesn't think about the fact that he's naked and sprawled, face first, over the bar in his own damn hotel. Because if he thinks about that, he will tell this pushy fucker to get off of him so he can go back to work, and frankly, Jensen doesn't want to go back to work. Not when Mr. Padalecki's lips are pressing hot and wet against the back of his neck, and he's interrupting his own kisses to say things like, "So fuckin' hard thinkin' 'bout fuckin' this tight ass."
It's not the most comfortable position Jensen's ever been in, but there are enough positives to this scenario that he doesn't think about the way his left knee keeps knocking the bar's wooden base, how his chest will probably be bruised all the way across from the way he keeps getting pushed into the smooth top. In fact, by the time he's been fucked, lifted onto the bar and fucked again, and then joined up there and fucked some more? Jensen can't even remember where he is, let alone how uncomfortable he was a few minutes ago.
When he's regained reasonable use of his legs, he slides from the bar and sets about gathering his clothes again. He has a job to do, after all. Isn't actually a hooker, though it's really hard to remember that with the soreness in his ass and the dried come on his belly. "Alright, well," he starts, stepping into his boxers and looking anywhere but up at the man who is peeling a chocolate orange from one of the baskets they managed not to send over the edge of the bar. "Enjoy your stay," he mutters, hopefully somewhat cheerfully. He still is all about customer service.
But as Jensen turns to go, Mr. Padalecki grabs his wrist and spins him back, pulling until Jensen's standing directly between his spread, naked thighs. “What's your hurry?” he asks, head tilting to the side as he considers Jensen's face. “You're always so quick to run the fuck outta here.”
Without warning, he leans forward and thrusts the half eaten section of chocolate between Jensen's lips.
Sweet Jesus. He thought that being fucked by this perfect specimen of a man was going to be the highlight of his day, but this candy? Fuck all, it's orgasmic. The low rumble of a moan that escapes from his lips proves as much. He can feel his eyes roll back in his head as it melts against his tongue and then slides back down his throat.
“Fuck,” Mr. Padalecki groans as Jensen's tongue pushes the chocolate back into his mouth and his lips wrap around the other man's fingers to keep them in place until he's swallowed. “Prettiest lips I've ever fuckin' seen on a whore,” he mumbles when Jensen releases his hand.
Mr. Padalecki leans in, possibly to share the flavor of the chocolate from Jensen's tongue, when his words sink in. “Hey!” he exclaims, and when the fuck did he brace his hands against the hard lines of this guy's legs anyway? Prettiest lips I've ever fuckin' seen is not the worst compliment he's ever gotten. It's the on a whore that Jensen doesn't really know what to do with.
“You prefer 'escort'?” Mr. Padalecki asks, amused. “Maybe prostitute? Lady of the night?” When Jensen just rolls his eyes, the other man laughs. “What's your name?”
“Whatever you want it to be,” he answers and then thinks maybe he's taking this 'playing a hooker' thing a little too far.
Mr. Padalecki laughs from deep in his belly - Jensen knows because his eyes are kind of fixated on the way the taut muscles of his abdomen roll beneath his tight skin when he does it. “That's terrible,” he finally says.
“Jensen,” he concedes when their eyes meet again. “I prefer Jensen.”
A long, thick thumb swipes over his bottom lip, and if he was both stupid and insane, Jensen might think it was something other than humor in the Mr. Padalecki’s hazel eyes. “I prefer Jensen, too,” he winks, dipping his head to nip at the skin of Jensen's shoulder, not even bothering to blush when Jensen rolls his eyes and points out that his line was slightly better than that bull shit.
God, it would be easy to stay. He really wishes he had a reason to, other than the shouting of do it, do it, do it, in the back of his brain, but Jensen can't deny that it wouldn't suck to spend his afternoon here, eating chocolate and fucking around with this business man from fuck knows where. Easy, but a really, terribly awful idea.
“I better get going,” he smiles when he pulls away, eyes fixed on the man staring back at him.
“Why?” Mr. Padalecki asks, refusing to fully release his grip on the Jensen’s wrist.
“Mr. Padalecki, please,” he begs, though he hopes it doesn't sound like begging. Because that would be kind of embarrassing. If he doesn't let go soon, Jensen's not going to be able to walk away. And he really needs to get back to the front desk. He hasn't seen enough of Danneel's knowing looks to last him quite an entire lifetime yet.
The only response is Mr. Padalecki staring at him until Jensen lifts his head and meets his eyes. “Call me Jared,” he says. “Do you have another appointment?”
Does he have another . . . he's not a fucking prostitute! Except that, for some reason, he can't say that, and he has no fucking idea why. Instead, he shakes his head. “No, but,” he starts, only to have another piece of chocolate orange pressed smoothly between his lips. Dirty, dirty pool.
He can't help wondering if the orange-infused candy tastes better because he doesn't normally allow himself obscenely expensive candy for no reason, or if it's because Mr. Pada - Jared - is feeding him, fingers brushing over his lips, smearing chocolate there and promising to lick it off later.
It's a pretty heady sensation, what with the adrenaline and the endorphins, and the contracting thighs beneath his flexing fingers. Add the chocolate and it's no wonder Jensen doesn't so much realize that Jared is leading him toward his lap like a puppy with a treat. When he does figure that out, he wonders if it's more or less demeaning than being treated like a prostitute.
Of course, when Jared wipes his chocolate-slicked fingers against the inside of his thigh, Jensen's licking and sucking at the sweetness without preamble or consideration, and he has to admit that he's kind of dog-like in his exuberance. He's not wagging his tail or anything, but there's definitely licking, and possibly drooling as he savors the flavor of the candy against the saltiness of Jared's skin. If he did bother to stop and think about what he was doing, the hand on the back of his head is pretty much all the confirmation he needs of what’s expected of him.
Now, Jensen? he asks himself. Is now the time he lets Jared know that he's not actually the hooker Jared thinks he is?
“Come on, Jen,” Jared protests, hips sliding forward until the head of his cock rubs over Jensen's lips. “Yeah. Now, man. C'mon.”
Fuck protesting. Maybe Jensen missed his motherfucking calling in life. He's whimpering and writhing and following directions from the man seated in front of him, the weight of Jared on his tongue even more exquisite than those chocolate oranges. It should be weird - blowing a guy he doesn't even know and has only seen three times in his life. It's not.
Or, if it is, Jensen doesn't notice because his brain overloads and short-circuits and he's being pulled off with a fucking whine, as Jared slips from his mouth and strokes himself to completion.
Leaning forward, weight almost completely supported by the bar, he mumbles. “You're killin' me, man.”
Jared just smirks and slides off the bar, patting Jensen's ass on his way toward his suitcase. “You takin' off now or stickin' around for awhile?”
He needs a shower. Desperately. But he's not about to ask a guest if he can use the shower to clean himself up. Even if a hooker would. Which, he doesn't know, because he's not a fucking hooker.
Instead, he shakes his head and gathers his clothes, hoping he can make it to the laundry room without anyone noticing. He really should remember to bring a change of clothes to the room with him next time, instead of leaving it in his office. “See ya 'round, Jared,” he smiles briefly, aiming for aloof, cooler-than-you hooker. Unfortunately, he's pretty sure it sounds more like a crushed-out schoolgirl.
As the manager, checking for high profile reservations is part of his job. Jensen takes it a step further and checks daily for new reservations for Mr. Padalecki. It’s six weeks before the name pops up. He stares at it for almost a full minute, biting his nail and debating what to do before he calls the spa and books an appointment for himself. Full body wrap, pore cleansing and a wax. After all, he owes it to his client, erm, patron, erm, Mr. Padalecki, to look his best.
He’s in the room arranging gift baskets and wondering what the hell it is Mr. Padalecki, Jared, does for a living that earns him more peanut brittle and sandalwood body wash than he can carry.
He spends almost an hour after the arranged check in time in the room. Mr. Padalecki never arrives.
He makes himself visible in the lobby, adjusting and arranging displays and inspecting the area, hoping he doesn’t look like what he feels like, a hooker trying to look casual while waiting for his John. Jared never shows. Jensen goes home at midnight.
The next day he feels oddly dejected and entirely stupid. Hookers do not get upset when a client doesn’t show. He is convincing himself of that, reminding himself that he is not a hooker and debating ordering his usual working dinner, (turkey on rye with mustard and a pickle) when Jared blows in, grabs Jensen's hand and drags him to the elevator.
Jensen is naked, and covered in his own come while Jared is tossing the condom, before Jensen really has a chance to say anything.
“You were scheduled for yesterday.”
“New assistant, he’s still learning the ropes. Doesn’t think to call the hotel and let them know. They would have let you know, I guess.”
“Um, yeah, just, I guess I waited.”
“I’m sorry. You still got paid, right? I mean…”
“What? Yeah, it’s not about the money.”
Jared's mouth twitches in a way Jensen is learning means that he is trying not show his amusement. “You feeling neglected? ‘Cause last time I checked, you’re kind of doing this for the money, right?”
“What? Yeah? Just… I waited, and… you never showed.”
“If it were a date you’d have every right to be mad, kinda why I don’t date.”
“Yeah well…” Jensen stands up, reaching for his pants, ready to go order his turkey sandwich.
“Hey, since there’s no way you have another appointment tonight…”
“You don’t know that.”
Jared stars at him 'til he slumps.
“No appointments.”
“Well, I’m starving, and the Rangers are playing the Astros so, I can order some room service and we can, you know, eat, and watch the game. You look a little tense.”
“What would you like?” Jensen falls quickly into hotel manager mode.
“I’ll call; just tell me what you want.”
“Really?”
“Really, couple of steaks? I think I can swing the cost.”
Jensen blushes; he doesn’t know why he is so surprised. Even if the cheapest steak on the menu is a $75.00 Kobe beef strip steak, he guesses Jared can probably afford that and an ala carte potato.. Seeing Jared’s questioning look, he nods. “Medium rare, fries, not the baked potato.”
“Excellent. See if anyone sent those chocolate oranges you like so much.”
Jensen doesn’t know who he is, because even in his regular normal sex life in his own apartment he doesn’t walk around naked but here he is, in his motherfucking place of employment rifling through a bunch of gift baskets, naked, looking for chocolate oranges.
He checks his watch. Jared orders at eight twenty two. The food shouldn’t take more than twenty five minutes. They sit in bed, Jensen showing Jared how this TV remote works, the same way he’d learned when he’d done his two weeks as a bellman. He hears the knock on the door, at eight forty nine, someone’s getting written up, and he disappears into the bathroom to “freshen up”. There’s no reason for the kitchen staff to see him naked and in a guest’s bed.
There’s no reason for him to be naked and in a guest’s bed, but that’s a different issue entirely.
He takes a whore’s bath, (never a more accurate phrase) and emerges in one of the hotel robes.
Jared had the food set up on the bed, but pulls on the tie of Jensen's robe and then tugs once in just the right spot so it slithers off his shoulders and onto the floor. “Much better. C’mon, food’s getting cold.” He slaps Jensen's ass. Jensen yelps but joins him on the bed where Jared feeds him steak and French fries and generally is astoundingly good at getting forgiven for standing Jensen up.
When they’re done, and Jared has licked the last drip of steak sauce from Jensen's lips, they turn their attention to the game. Well, Jared does. Jensen spends the time studying Jared's body. Long and muscular sort of go without saying but there’s more to his appeal than the time he spend at the gym, or his god given wide mouth, big hands and really to be fair, amazingly proportional cock.
Jared is so comfortable in his own skin Jensen wants to ask how he does it. How he sits naked next to a virtual stranger, running a hand through his sex tousled hair without a bit of self consciousness. Is it just because he thinks Jensen's paid to deal with it?
Jensen is about to ask him when Jared's hand lands high up on Jensen's thigh. It’s not, Jensen knows, a precursor to sex, at least at the moment, it’s just a comfortable spot. Jensen feels his body respond, his thighs creep open a little more, and his cock gets a minor blood rush, filling half way at the possibility of more contact. The heat from Jared's hand radiates through his thigh until Jensen feels boneless and sinks a little deeper into the mattress.
Jared looks over at him, smiling. “Tired huh? Did I wear you out?”
Jensen thinks now might be a good time to assert his ability to do more than show up naked and speak occasionally between sex, and steak and the glorious feel of Jared's hands on him; what he comes up with is, “mmmphf.” He hears Jared chuckle before his eyes close.
When he wakes up it’s almost an hour later and he’s somehow migrated 'til his head is on Jared's chest and his body is using Jared as a pillow.
He sits up quickly and Jared smiles. “I wore out a professional, should I be impressed with myself of complaining to your supervisor?”
“Mmmph? What?”
Jared coats Jensen's lips with a wedge of orange chocolate and Jensen's tongue comes out to trace the line while trying to find a way to right himself without becoming Mr. Grabby Hands with Mr. Padalecki. Eventually Jared helps him and they sit and watch the game. “Astros are up 7 - 4 “.
“Good, kinda hate the Rangers.”
“Doesn’t everyone.”
“So um, what do you do?”
“Huh?”
“For a living. How come people send you, you know, gift baskets and liquor, and… me?”
“Oh, I consult on organizational development of functional fields and sectors.”
“Oh.”
“It doesn’t mean anything, so don’t feel bad if you can’t make those words make sense.”
“So what do you do?”
“I do consulting for companies with more money than sense. I have a bit of a rep so they go out of their way to be nice to me. Trust me... it’s pretty much the same thing you do, only your job is more straightforward.”
“I just make sure that each guest is satisfied with their experience.” And Jensen bites his lip, that’s what he does as a hotel manager… that’s not what Jared meant.”
“Exactly. So, this can’t be what you set out to do.”
“Well, no, but I went to college.”
“You did?” And Jensen is once again hit with that urge to smack the back of Mr. Padalecki’s head. “I did.”
“What was your major?”
“I was undeclared but then I found out about the hospitality industry…”
“Perfect fit.” Jared's dimples are really deep. Jensen can’t help smiling.
“I guess, and here I am.”
“Well, I’m actually glad you’re here.”
“What do you do with all this stuff when you leave, it won’t all fit on a plane?”
“I just leave it. I figure housekeeping can use it.”
“You should donate it to a charity, housekeeping gets paid but there are kids who don’t get presents.”
“And they should get martini glasses and bottles of gray goose?”
“Those can go to staff but…”
“Okay, I’ll tell them to donate it on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You take the chocolate oranges. I wanna think of your tongue following the line of one of those things when I’m in Cleveland next week.”
“Cleveland, huh?”
“I traveled forty three weeks last year. I know every city in the US at this point.”
“You got a hooker in every port?”
“Not every port.”
And Jensen's flare of jealously is insane. Knowing that doesn’t make it die down. Instead he rolls over on top of Mr. Padalecki and kisses him, sharing the last bite of chocolate orange.
Jensen sneaks out of the room at four in the morning.
When he returns to the hotel at noon he makes sure that there is a note to donate the stuff from Mr. Padalecki’s Room to Star of Hope. He snags the chocolate oranges and splits the alcohol between Danneel, himself, and the staff who gets the gifts to the program.
Jared has already left but not without, according to Danneel, stopping at the front desk to make a reservation for the middle of November, just about a month from now. She mentions three times that he came to the desk and made the reservation himself, something he apparently never does.. Jensen wants to blame Jared's new assistant’s incompetence equally as much as he wants to think it had nothing to do with that.
Jensen makes note of the date and focuses on his real job.
Jensen put Jared out of his head for a while. The situation was ridiculous, the sex was great but no matter how much fun they had watching the game or eating chocolate together, it wasn’t a ‘relationship’ and so there was no need to dwell. The next several times Jared, Mr. Padalecki is in Houston they have a good time, fucking, and laughing and eating and leaving. Mr. Padalecki is excellent at all of them. Even when his stay is over a week long and covering several companies, and things start to feel comfortable, when it’s time to check out, he does so without hesitation, and Jensen tells himself that it’s the best thing for them and that he has no lingering thoughts either.
He tells himself that over and over again as he deals with guest complaints, watching Tom come in and out of the hotel, clearly at the behest of someone, for the relief of someone else, and of course overseeing fucking Indigo, one of the top rated high end Houston hotels. Nope, he doesn’t think about it at all and if he makes a particular effort to this time stack the gift baskets on the dining table that never seemed to get used? That was just good organizational skills, the kind he learned in college where he got his degree in hospitality and hotel management. Thank you very much.
He also did not, not at all, not even a little bit, notice that a lot more of the baskets seemed to contain fruit infused chocolate, nope.
He also, just for the record, isn’t waiting for Jared in his room; he is simply checking the room for guest satisfaction and setup. He’s almost finished when Jared arrives. Instead of the usual boisterous greeting followed by a playful mauling and some quite enjoyable manhandling… with maybe a side of ravishment there is just a weary sigh. Jensen turns, his smile, the one meant to match Jared's, dies right there. Jared isn’t smiling. He’s standing like his arms weigh a thousand pounds each and his coat is too heavy a burden to bear, his shoulders hunched, his face a little flushed and, as Jensen steps forward he realizes it’s also covered in a sheen of sweat.
He doesn’t hesitate; sliding Jared's coat off of him, and then removing his shirt, making quick work of his belt and pants, feeling the heat radiating off the man as he does it. He pulls the covers back and bustles Jared into bed.
Jared reaches out for him, croaking out something about rescheduling and Jensen can’t help it, he rolls his eyes and then tucks Jared in with the blankets tight around him. Once he’s convinced Jared's in a good place to sweat out the fever he calls down for some chicken soup, juice and ginger ale, crackers and Tylenol. Jared's asleep long before he’s done with his exacting orders to the staff.
It’s not some server who brings the items up though, and Jensen will admit that he was expecting this. It’s kind of Danneel's job to handle things like this, both for guests and as his friend, for Jensen. He is cowed by her disapproving look, though.
“So you’re not just his handy piece of ass, now you’re his nursemaid?”
“He’s sick; I’m just helping a guest.”
“A guest who keeps fucking you because he thinks some company is providing you for just that service.”
“That’s not entirely his fault.”
“Oh for the love of… you’d be better off letting me hire Tom for you. At least that would be more honest.”
“Danneel. Did you bring the thermometer?”
Danneel sighs and hands him the box of disposable thermometers. He breaks it open and holds tone against Jared's forehead. “102.3, so just leave us alone; he’ll probably be fine in a couple of days. Can you call his assistant and have whatever meeting he has scheduled for tomorrow postponed, or cancelled?”
Danneel stares at him and he can see the wheels turning as she goes through the things she wants to tell him but in the end, she nods, rolls the cart just inside the room and leaves.
Jensen breathes a sigh of relief when she’s gone and goes back to the master bedroom.
“Jared. Jared.” He singsongs it, trying to wake the man gently… he ends up shaking his shoulder so hard that if this suite were sharing a wall someone would get the wrong…or usually right but wrong this time, idea about what was going on in here.
Jared finally wakes up, grumpy, groggy, and green around the edges.
Jensen gets the Tylenol into him with some ginger ale, and moves the soup aside.
“I’ve gotta…”
Jensen smoothes Jared's hair off of his forehead and shushes him. “You’re sick. Just sleep for a while okay?”
Jared nods and practically passes out once his head hits the pillow. Jensen thinks maybe he should go downstairs, go to work, but he’s worried about Jared, about his fever spiking, about how it seems like maybe he’s been working through this flu/cold/plague thing for a while now. He lies down next to him with his hand splayed across Jared's heart, so he’ll feel it when he wakes up.
There’s a throbbing in his head, a dull ache in his arms and legs, and the weight of something settling on his chest. Groaning at the effort it takes to pry an eye open, Jared lifts his head from the pillow and the sound bites off when he realizes that Jensen is tucked in close to his side, hand resting heavy against Jared’s chest.
The clock beside his bed says that it’s 2:30 in the morning. And while it’s not unusual that Jared fall into bed with a hooker, waking up next to one six hours after arriving isn’t exactly his M.O. “Jensen,” he says, but the word makes his throat burn, and it sounds like someone’s been standing on his windpipe for an hour or twelve.
Shifting when he receives no response, Jared blinks his eyes slowly open to stare at the ceiling above him, and wills himself not to think about how stiff his left arm feels under Jensen’s weight. The weirdest part is that he doesn’t care. He’d rather let this guy sleep than pull his arm back and kick him out of bed, like he would with any other prostitute his clients send him.
He wasn’t supposed to become the guy who travels 43 weeks out of the year and sleeps with hookers in every town. This wasn’t his dream growing up or anything. Being successful, and having more money than he really knows what to do with is nice. He’s built a reputation for himself, and it’s an impressive one. He’s proud of his accomplishments, and of the perks that those accomplishments bring him.
In order to bring Jared into a company, he has to be booked almost a year in advance, and always with the understanding that he won’t be able to stay for more than a week. Occasionally, if the incentive package is tempting enough, he can be goaded into two, but he tries to spread himself out as much as possible, to meet the demand.
If he’s honest with himself, that’s probably why he’s shivering, sweating, and aching now. His mother says he works too hard, that he doesn’t stop long enough to take care of himself and that he’s going to make himself sick someday. If he called her right now, he’s sure she’d have that stupid ‘I told you so’ dance ready for him,.
He misses them. His parents live in San Antonio, only about ten minutes away from his house, but Jared was only home for nine weeks out of the last 60 and most of that he spent enjoying the comfort of his own bed. He has a routine there, and it just doesn’t involve spending a lot of time with his folks. Or anyone, really.
At his side, Jensen huffs in his sleep and rolls his face, his stubbled cheek pressing against Jared’s shoulder. It’s strange that this random hooker in the middle of wherever the fuck he is takes better care of him than anyone he knows, right? That’s not normal hooker behavior.
Of course, Jared’s learning that Jensen’s not the average hooker. With his other, er, gifts, Jared walks into the room, places his order (not at all unlike room service), and then kicks back to enjoy the night that his company of the week is providing. Tom used to be an excellent part of the package he had here. But Jensen? Jensen’s in another league entirely.
Jared’s never really been the kind of guy who gets attached. It’s probably why he’s been able to adapt to the traveling consultant lifestyle so easily. He doesn’t really need a set routine for stability in his life or anything, so he doesn’t get used to the specific men waiting for him in hotel rooms around the country. They’re not only interchangeable, they’re also about as mobile as the television stand mounted to the floor. His brain knows that he can’t actually have them, and his body seems to follow suit with that understanding.
And now this guy, who really doesn’t act like any hooker Jared’s ever fucked around with, is making Jared stay in bed while he calls the kitchen and demands soup and juice. He’s pretty sure he heard Jensen ordering the concierge to keep the hallway clear of noise and guests so that Jared could get some uninterrupted sleep. It’s possible that Jensen isn’t real at all. That he’s some kind of angel. And that Jared’s meant to marry him.
Of course, he’d have to stop being a hooker for Jared to marry him. He has standards, after all. Or, rather, his mother does. It wouldn’t be that hard to get Jensen to quit, though, he figures. He’s a good guy, and he seems to like Jared. He could propose, over dinner, that Jensen leave his current pimp, or handler, or whatever the fuck he calls the guy who books his appointments. He could offer to buy out Jensen’s contract, all romantic-comedy, grand-gesture style, and then rip it up symbolically, just before sweeping Jensen up in his arms and carrying him over the threshold of the house that once felt too empty, and is now full of Jensen and love.
“Fuck,” Jensen growls at his side, and Jared didn’t even realize the guy was awake. “You’re still burning up.” His hand presses against Jared’s forehead and cheeks, and he chases the touch with his face when Jensen pulls back.
He doesn't say anything, though. Just lays back and fights to keep his eyes opened. The fever is clearly making him delusional (he can't marry a hooker - this isn't Canada), and he’s wasted too much time sleeping already today. “Meeting,” Jared croaks and Jensen shakes his head, fingers trailing over the slick skin of Jared’s chest.
“At three in the morning?" Jensen challenges. Jared can feel his lips quirk at the sarcastic tone in Jensen's voice.
He's really pretty, Jensen is, and Jared figures he should know that. "You're hot," he slurs, eyes closed as Jensen keeps trailing fingers over him arm. "Hottest fuckin' hooker I ever seen."
Thanks," Jensen mutters and then stops the journey of his hand over Jared's forehead. "Wait," he says. "The fuck," and then he stops himself again. He looks flattered and confused at the same time, but being as Jared's out of his head, it's possible that he's seeing things. "Go back to sleep, Jared," he says before sliding out of the bed
When Jared wakes the second time, sunlight is pouring through the windows of his room, and his body feels like it weighs a metric ton. His tongue feels thick and there might be someone trying to pound their way out of his skull. "Fuck . . . me," he growls, the words scratching at his vocal chords, and the cough takes him over before he has a chance to realize it's coming. He pulls himself up in the bed and accepts the glass of water being offered him before he sees that it's attached to Jensen. "You're still here." He tries to smile, but it's possible he just looks insane.
Jensen's smile, on the other hand, does not look insane. He's wearing the same perfectly-tailored pants he always wears for their appointments, and a soft-looking white dress shirt hangs open, revealing a hint of tanned, shower-fresh skin. If he didn't feel like absolutely shit, Jared would think that he had lucked out and ended up in heaven overnight.
He struggles out of the covers and manages to sit up and get his feet on the floor before a round of dizziness catches him off guard and sends him wobbling. At least, it feels like he's wobbling. "Hey," Jensen's there, on his knees in front of Jared, with his hands anchored on Jared's thighs. "Take it easy, man," his voice is velvety smooth and soothing. "Lay back, okay?" He's pushing and Jared's body is following as though he doesn't have important business to attend to or something.
"Meeting," he protests.
Jensen shakes his head and sits on the side of the bed, manhandling Jared into a semi-seated position against the headboard of the bed. "Don't worry about the meeting, alright?" Jared raises an eyebrow, and it feels like it's trying to rip a hole in his face. "I, uh," Jensen stammers and looks at his hands and then back up. "I had the manager call your assistant and tell them you were going to be out of a commission for a few days."
He's been every bit a man since the moment Jared met him, but right now? Jensen looks like a small child, a little boy hoping his mom doesn't get mad at him for bringing her tulips, even though he ripped them out of her flower bed. "You . . . assistant. . ." he stops trying to make sense of the words and looks at Jensen with a furrowed brow. "No work?"
Standing, Jensen points to his chest. "I have to work. You have to lay here and get some rest." With a soft smile, he grabs something from the table and tosses it. Jared's not so much aware of what's going on, so the television remote drops to his side with a soft thud, and it makes Jensen grin bigger. "I'll stop in later tonight and see how you're feelin', okay?"
The squeeze in Jared's chest is either jealousy over the fact that the guy is leaving to go suck someone else's dick while Jared lies here suffering, or it could be because everyone caters to his every desire, but nobody's really given a damn about his needs in a long fucking time. It's most definitely because Jensen's unlike any other prostitute Jared's ever met. Or it could be he's coming down with an upper respiratory infection.
Yeah, it's definitely the last one. For sure.
Once Jared is fully recuperated from what turned out to be a mild case of pneumonia, he leaves, packing up everything including his house call prescribed antibiotics and disappearing without so much as a goodbye.
Jensen tells himself that it’s okay, because really, who stays to say goodbye to their hooker?
He’d think about it more but the holiday season is upon them all and Jensen spends most of his days overseeing large events planned by corporations and families who don’t feel like handling the clean up themselves.
He marvels at the insanity of the request. “No ma’am, we can’t allow monkeys or a pony inside the hotel. Yes, it is the holidays, but we still have to follow health codes.”
“Of course we can do a holiday party with no theme of holiday, winter, religion or the colors red, green, blue, silver, gold, orange or purple.”
“Of course sir, only top shelf liquor and four bartenders.”
He’s so busy he almost doesn’t notice that he’s worried about Jared but when he does he realizes he’s been ignoring his personal life in order to stay available as the hooker in Houston for Jared. It sounds fucked, even to Jensen, who‘s doing it, so he accepts the offer of dinner from Paul, who runs the linen service he uses.
On the third date, when he has no excuse not to take things beyond after dinner groping in the car or by the door, he calls an audible, claiming an early morning racquetball match. He spends a lot of time making sure someone else deals with the linen delivery from then on. He goes out once with a guest who owns some major company across town but can’t help wondering if it’s one that Jared consults for. He never returns that guy’s calls either.
He’s heading towards his office with a sandwich when he gets shanghaied by Danneel who’s glaring at him and refusing to allow him to get by. “You’re holding out for a guy who thinks you’re a hooker.”
“I am not.”
Her eyes narrow and he drops his head a little. “A guy who’s as much fun and as interesting as Mr. Padalecki, not necessarily Jared himself.”
“So what are you gonna do the next time he shows up here?”
“Hide and have the service send someone else.”
‘Someone else? You think he won’t notice?”
“He didn’t seem to care I wasn’t Tom. We can send Tom back.”
“Tom?”
“Tom.”
“Tom went back to school. He’s getting his master’s in history.”
“Really?”
“All that paid time you freed up for him made him think it was time to do what he always said he would.”
‘Well then, who else does the service have?”
‘I don’t know, you talk to Chad more than I do lately.”
“Chad? Michael Murray? Chad? What’s he got to do with…?”
“Chad runs MaleMaster.”
“Wait, M - A - L - E master? I thought it was M - A - I - L like, postage and shit.”
“You think he can afford only top shelf liquor, the platinum hors d’oeuvres package and a sit down surf and turf on mail? No, he’s also the owner of BeaverDam but they have their party next week.”
“Chad, skinny blonde kid, that’s who my pimp’s supposed to be?”
“Kid’s a marketing genius, by the way. You want me to ask him or do you just want to peek into the party and pick someone out for Jared yourself.”
“We’re throwing a party for hookers, a whole room full of hookers?”
“And bookers, and assistants and admins, and how is that different from what we usually do?”
“Just… never mind. Just get someone else for Jared.”
“Uh huh.”
Jensen peeks into the party to make sure one of their most upscale events of the year is going well. Chad is standing on chair.
“Shut up. Listen you mother fuckers!” He whistles between two fingers. “Whores! Listen up. There are kids who need stuff. Put the money or the presents over there. You get paid to take a dick up your ass, don’t cheap out now.” After a moment he nods. “I return you to the open bar and free grub. Ya mooches.” And the music and revelry starts again.
Jensen shakes his head. The best party of the year is held by, and for, hookers.
He spends New Years Eve making sure no one is choking on their own vomit.
He spends New Year’s Day nodding determinedly as he reminds himself that this year he will not sleep with anyone who thinks he’s a prostitute.
Turns out, it’s not really an issue. All of January passes without a single booking for Mr. Padalecki. Valentines Day goes by in a flurry of hearts and flower themed champagne engagement dinners for guests. Tom occasionally takes an old guy out to dinner but there’s a new MaleMaster catering to the upscale business client and Jensen is settling back into the job he loves.
It’s all going as planned, sort of.
Jensen doesn't want to be flattered by the fact that Jared grabs his wrist and drags him through the lobby when he finally decides to make an appearance in mid-March. He doesn't want to feel the thud of his heart in his chest and the spike of adrenaline running through his veins. He doesn't want to feel fucking relieved that Jared is growling filth in his ear during the entire elevator ride. And he sure as hell doesn't want to be this fucking hard by the time Jared rips his shirt and shoves him, face down, on the bed.
Danneel's getting fired. She was supposed to find someone else for Mr. Padalecki if he ever decided to stay with them again. She was supposed to make sure that Jensen knew Mr. Padalecki was checking in, so that he could lock his office door and hide under his desk until time to go home for the night. She was supposed to do her fucking job, and her ass is getting fired.
Of course, he's not really thinking about firing her when Jared lays back on the bed, naked as the day he was born, and winks in Jensen's direction. “You have any idea how many times I've thought about you in the last couple months?” he asks and Jensen flushes.
He wants to admit the same, but then Jared goes on to talk about how hard it is to find a decent whore in fucking Toledo, and Jensen remembers exactly why he's not supposed to be doing this anymore. Almost spills the whole truth.
And then Jared says, “So why don't you come over here and remind me why I love that tight little ass so much,” and it shouldn't make him stutter, but Jensen can hardly remember his own name. Really only remembers the feeling of Jared inside him, and he's working himself open with three fingers while Jared jerks him slow and mutters dirty things in that low voice again. Maybe one last good-bye isn't the worst thing in the world.
When he's come so hard he's pretty sure his legs won't work for the next week, Jensen rolls onto his own side of the bed and fixes his eyes on the ceiling. Would it be so terrible if he kept the charade up a little bit longer? Really? It's not like he can't plan some parties and check on other guests while occasionally spending a few extra hours with Mr. Padalecki whenever his schedule allows him time to blow into town. I mean, what's a few extra hours?
“So, I wanted to, um,” Jared starts at his side, pushing himself up onto an elbow and looking intently at Jensen. “I wanted to thank you. For making sure that I was taken care of back when I was sick.” It seems like Jared is maybe a little bit better at taking gratitude from other people than he is as giving it. “I know that's not part of your job description or whatever, but it was . . . it was nice.”
Jensen wants to tell Jared that it was nothing, but he can't. It is above the call for most people in Jensen's chosen profession (the one he didn't chose), but he wasn't just going to let the guy pass out, or worse, either.
Instead, he just shrugs his shoulders. “Not that nice, really,” he plays it off. “I mean, you die and I get no more chocolate oranges, so . . .”
“So you're just using me for my candy then?” Jared's eyebrow shoots up, crooked smirk on his lips.
“Well, obviously,” Jensen replies. “What? Did you think it was because of your awesome body and your perfect cock? C'mon, man.”
Jared laughs, and it's this amazing sound that Jensen can't even describe. There are low chuckles against his skin during sex that turn him inside out, but then there's this full-belly, shoulder shaking laugh that bounces off all four walls in the room. That's the one that he can't tell Danneel about. That's the one that has him in deeper than he's willing to admit, even to himself.
“You're somethin' else, you know that?” Jared angles his muscled body toward Jensen and rests a hand on his thigh. “You should come with me.”
Jensen quirks an eyebrow. “To work?”
“Yeah,” Jared huffs a laugh. “Cause I'm sure the suits at Telecom wanna see how I play with the toys they send me,” he rolls his eyes and goes on. “What I meant is that I have this ball-numbing trip coming up in the Midwest. Contrary to what you may think, being spanked with the Bible belt is not sexy or remotely exciting.” When Jensen doesn't speak, Jared squeezes his thigh. “Come on. What do you say? Six weeks with me? Get you outta here for awhile? I'll buy you all the chocolate oranges you can choke down.”
“I can't,” Jensen answers, eyes fixed on the hand resting against his skin. Fuck if he doesn't want to, but he just can't. “I have to work.”
“Well, I'm not askin' you to do it for free,” Jared scoffs like that much should be obvious. “I can afford you on my own, ya know?”
And just like that, the house of cards crumbles. Pulling himself out of the bed, Jensen can't meet Jared's eye as he begins to gather his clothes from the floor. “I'm not a hooker, Jar . . . Mr. Padalecki,” he mumbles as he bends over to retrieve his shirt.
“What?”
Straightening, Jensen steps into his pants and pulls them over his hips. This conversation was never going to be easy, but naked would be a thousand times worse. Probably. “I'm not a hooker, okay? I don't . . . What we do . . . I don't,” he stops and sighs, running his hand over his face before slipping his arms into the sleeves of his shirts. “I don't get paid to have sex with men for a living.”
The expression on Jared's face can only be confusion. “I don't understand,” he says.
“I'm the manager of Indigo,” Jensen gestures with wide arms to the room around him. “I manage this hotel. I have an graduate degree in Hotel Management and Hospitality. That's why I'm always here when you show up. Why I'm always running out when we're done.” Somehow, he thought that telling the truth was going to be easier. That it wouldn't matter. And maybe that Jared wouldn't look like a kicked puppy. “I never meant for this,” he starts and then stops himself because there's really no excuse for what he's been doing.
“But you were here,” Jared says, brow furrowed as he works through the information Jensen's giving him. “That day . . . with the champagne . . . and the gift baskets.”
Nodding, Jensen tucks his shirt tails into his pants. He wants to point out that Jared never bothered to ask him if he was actually a hooker. Didn't bother with small talk at all. But ultimately, he knows that he was the one who was responsible for ending this charade. And he just never did.
“I was,” he can't help chuckling a little bit, “I was making sure the baskets were arranged. I was going to welcome you to Hotel Indigo and introduce myself. And then you were,” he bites his lip and takes a breath. “Things moved so fast, and I should have told you a thousand different times, but I just . . . I don't know why I didn't.”
Jensen's not sure if Jared even hears him. He just sits there, looking confused and hurt, possibly betrayed. Could be a little bit angry, but Jensen realizes that he doesn't really know what Jared looks like when he's hurt, betrayed, and angry, so maybe he's way off the mark. Maybe he's thinking about something completely different. Like work. Or something.
“I need to get back to work,” Jensen says, smoothing his hand over his hair. He smells like sex and the soreness in his ass is making the walk to the door difficult, but he knows that he can't stay. Turning, he throws one last look at the man on the bed. The man he's had a hell of a good time with over the last nine months, for whatever it's worth. “I'm really sorry, Mr. Padalecki. Please continue to enjoy your stay at Hotel Indigo.”
He kicks himself in the hallway for being a complete ass. That last line was ridiculous, but Jensen's a little bit more concerned with the fact that there are tears pricking the backs of his eyes, and a pain in his chest that has nothing to do with the way Jared left him breathless just a few minutes ago. Walking away shouldn't be this hard. But it is.
Jared checks out at six forty-five the next morning. From his office, Jensen watches him amble through the parking lot, load his suitcase into the back of his rental, and then peel out like a high school kid with mom's car for the weekend. He sinks to his chair, cradles his coffee, and resolves to try and believe he did the right thing.
By ten o'clock, he's up to his eyeballs in an over-booking situation, the lobby filled with enthusiastic high school cheerleaders and costumed Star Trek fans.
At five thirty, he's ready to find a bar, a drink, and a warm body to take his mind off the suck-fest that has become his day. His life.
“You should go,” Danneel advises at 7:30, when the cheerleaders are at the university for their competition and the Trekkies are loaded into the main conference room for the night. “I'll call you if we need you,” she adds.
With a nod, Jensen pulls his car keys from the pocket of his wool coat and tells his concierge to have a good night. But when he turns, his breath hitches in his throat.
Jared is there, and Jensen almost offers his hand so that Jared can pull him away. Instead, he stuffs both into his pockets and waits. Doesn't even flinch away when Jared's hand rests on his shoulder. He can do this. He can be a big boy.
“Come with me,” Jared says, eyes boring into Jensen's with an intensity that almost knocks him back.
“Mr. Padalecki, please. I told you,” Jensen starts to repeat everything he said back in Jared's room.
But the finger pressing over his lips shuts him up pretty quick. “To dinner,” Jared clarifies. “Come with me to dinner.”
Dinner? “Like a date?” Jensen asks, and yes, he's aware that he sounds like a moron. But it's a little bit weird, isn't it? The guy who thought he was a hooker, and now knows that he's just a liar, wants to take him to dinner? What the fuck?
“Nah,” Jared shakes his head and runs his fingers down Jensen's arm, wrapping them gently around his wrist. “Not like a date. An actual date. Where the only way I pay for sex is buying you dinner and pretending to listen to what you have to say about yourself.”
He can't help it. Jensen smiles, pulls his hand from his pocket and squeezes Jared's. “Yeah. Okay.” He tosses a look over his shoulder to find Danneel leaning her elbows against the counter, watching with a shit-eating grin on her lips. “Where do you wanna go?”
Jared shrugs and follows Jensen to the sliding doors at the hotel's entrance. “The only places I go in this town are the offices I work in, and suite 1120. You're gonna have to show me around a little bit.”
Jensen leads the way into the slight chill of the Houston spring time, smiling again when his shoulder bumps against Jared's and the warmth shoots to his toes.
“What's funny?” Jared asks, unlocking his rental with the key fob.
“Nothin',” Jensen answers as he pulls his own door open. “Just thinkin' we have pretty much the best 'this is how we met' story ever.”