There's thunder in my heart - 1/1 - J2
For brynwulf, it's not quite what I intended, but I hope it will do.
There's thunder in my heart/RPS J2/NC-17
sexin', bad language
It's not what Jensen thinks it is.
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No harm or copyright infringement intended. No money, no sue.
There's thunder in my heart
Sometimes Jensen doesn’t realize he’s pushed too hard until he’s over the line. This isn’t one of those times. It wasn’t an accident, he wasn’t oblivious. He knew what he was doing. At the time, he’d felt like he was doing the right thing, he’d felt justified.
It’s just one of the reasons why he hates himself.
“You’re too trusting,” he’d said, thumb rubbing across the bone of Jared’s ankle. Jared had looked at him, eyes slightly narrowed and mouth pursed, shifted his feet in Jensen’s lap. Jensen had held him tighter.
“I wish you’d give me some credit. I’m not an idiot, I don’t trust everyone.” Jared had said. Jensen hadn’t meant everyone, but Jared hadn’t gotten it, or had deliberately misunderstood.
“I’m not really a nice guy,” Jensen had said. And maybe Jared had believed that. But he hadn’t believed that Jensen would hurt him. Jensen probably should have been clearer on that point.
* * *
Jared’s skin is sun-warm and smells like grass. Jensen pushes his nose against the inside of Jared’s arm, smirking as Jared tries to roll away.
“Dude, like, get out of there,” Jared laughs, putting one big hand on Jensen’s head.
“I like it here,” Jensen hums, curling the rest of his body around Jared’s.
“What if someone?” Jared murmurs, fingers rubbing Jensen’s scalp. He can’t help but arch into the touch, it’s not enough, it’s never enough.
“It’s Wednesday morning and we’re hiding in the bushes.” Jensen tugs at the collar of Jared’s t-shirt until his collarbone is exposed, starts licking the curve, tracing it upward until he’s tasting the stubble on Jared’s throat.
“Yeah, and it’s Stanley Park, not the outback, okay? It doesn’t…oh,”
Jared is playing Jensen today, the responsible one, and Jensen is playing Jared. Jensen is heady with it, the abandon of being Jared. He scrapes his nails, gently, against Jared’s thigh.
“It’s the Lost Lagoon,” he whispers, “I’m being you.” His knees are on either side of Jared, palms braced by his shoulders. He leans down, and Jared’s pink mouth parts for him, eyelashes fluttering, and it’s too much. Jensen feels like he could be ripped apart by what’s inside him, watching Jared like this, touching Jared like this.
“Take your pants off,” he says.
“You’re so pushy,” Jared is smiling, but there is wariness in his eyes, something Jensen has only caught glimpses of before. He touches Jared’s cheek, gently, presses his lips to his forehead.
“Please?” he whispers, and is rewarded by the sounds of rustling cloth.
* * *
“Hold still, I mean it,” Jensen says, trying to look menacing behind the aging Polaroid camera. Jared rolls his eyes.
“I’m not moving, assface,” he says, kicking at the blanket bunched at his feet.
“You just did!” Jensen darts in to move the green-knit lump back into its previous position.
“Dude, what the hell, it’s a picture, so take it,” Jared is watching Jensen’s movements with fond amusement, eyes crinkled with it.
“Stop, don’t talk to me, keep reading,” Jensen makes a “carry on” gesture with his hand. Jared is sprawled across the couch, hips titled away from the cushions and back curved against the armrest. When Jensen walked in he was still, arm extended and elbow bent, holding the paperback in his field of vision, mouth soft and eyes following the lines of type, a mug of chai tea sitting on the low coffee table. It was the first thing Jensen had seen when he’d walked in the room, the sweating mug without a coaster underneath it. He’d opened his mouth, how many times had he warned Jared about leaving those damned rings on the table?, and then he saw Jared.
“Jesus, you’re weird,” Jared mutters, attention drifting back to The Kite Runner. Jensen waits. This is the Jared no one else knows, this mysterious person who picks up a book and goes somewhere else. He waits until Jared forgets he’s there, dropping the book in surprise when the camera snaps, clicks, and whirs.
Jensen shakes the Polaroid, fingertips tingling. He doesn’t let Jared see the photo.
* * *
Jared is whining, a constant buzz in Jensen’s ears as they trudge into the entryway. Jensen doesn’t mind. He knows Jared is sore. Spending the day hunched over in a makeshift cage will do that to a body. Melanie picked out all the splinters dotting Jared’s shoulders before they left, swabbing the red spots with antiseptic. Jensen didn’t leave the set without giving Kim hell about not sanding the inside of the boards they’d used. It had felt good to fill his lungs with noise and anger on Jared’s behalf.
The bath is oversized, Jared-compatible, as Jensen had insisted during the renovations. It takes a long time to fill, so Jensen kisses Jared at the sink while they wait. Jensen takes Jared’s dirty clothes and tosses them in the hamper and keeps a hand on Jared’s back as he lowers himself into the tub. When Jared is settled he heads down to the kitchen where the smell of ginger chicken greets him.
The slow cooker had been a joke gift from Mike, but it was one of Jensen’s favourite things. There was nothing quite like coming home to a cooked dinner. He checked the settings and put water on to boil for the rice. He putters around the kitchen until he can turn everything off.
Jared is running more hot water when Jensen comes back in, head lolling against the edge of the tub.
“How are you feeling now?” Jensen asks, crouching down next to him. Jared looks at him, water droplets on the curve of his cheeks and shrugs. Jensen rubs a strand of Jared’s hair between his thumb and forefinger. “There’s still dirt in your hair,” he says.
There is a glass on the vanity; Jensen uses it to pour himself a drink of water after he brushes his teeth. Jared doesn’t use it, just cups a mouthful of water in his palm and brings it to his lips.
Jensen takes the glass and fills it with warm water.
“Lean forward,” he says, tilting Jared’s face upward with a finger under his chin. Jensen braces his palm along Jared’s hairline to keep the water from falling into his eyes. He wets Jared’s hair thoroughly, it takes a few glassfuls. “Your hair is so thick,” he murmurs, “And long. Time for a haircut soon, maybe,” He watches as the water sluices over Jared’s shoulder blades.
Jared is quiet, watchful, as Jensen reaches for the shampoo. It ribbons in the creases of Jensen’s palm, and he inhales the faint scent of cocoa butter. He starts working it into a lather in Jared’s hair, pausing as Jared’s eyes close.
“Like that?” he smiles, deliberately massaging now. Jared hums, and it’s all the encouragement Jensen needs. Jensen alternates between firm and feather-light, moving from the hairline to the curve of Jared’s skull to the top of his neck. He sits there until his knees ache and his fingertips are numb.
When he rinses out the shampoo a stream of soapy water slips past his hand and down across Jared’s cheekbone. Jensen almost drops the glass in the tub in his hurry to grab the face cloth, dabbing Jared’s closed eyelids.
“Did any soap get in?” he asks, leaning forward.
“No,” Jared answers, voice husky and low. It’s then that Jensen realizes he’s sporting a massive hard on. Water sloshes onto the floor and he half-slithers, half-falls into the tub. The back of Jared’s head thuds against the porcelain as Jensen slams his mouth against his.
“Christ,” he says, and wishes he’d thought to take his pants off before they got soaked and sealed to his skin. The wet fabric is more than a little uncomfortable against his dick, but Jared’s hands aren’t shaking and with his help the pants come off. “Fuck,”he bucks against Jared when those clever fingers wrap around him, thumb rubbing insistently against the head. He pitches forward into the curve of Jared’s neck, biting and sucking as he thrusts into Jared’s closed fist. His knees slip; lose traction, but the sides of the tub keep him from falling completely into Jared’s lap. He’s keening, panting, and when Jared’s other hand reaches down to stroke his balls, he comes.
“Supper’s ready,” he says.
* * *
They have three days off in a row. It’s like a Christmas miracle, and Jensen wants to surprise Jared with something fun. He doesn’t have to go far. He knows the name itself with appeal to Jared.
“Hell’s Gate?” Jared picks the brochure off the counter. The glossy, colourful pages almost disappear in his hands.
“It’s a tram, in the air,” Jensen smiles at how Jared’s eyes are widening as he reads the literature. “Over the Fraser Canyon. I don’t know, I thought it looked kind of cool, and you were saying that we don’t see enough stuff outside the city, so,”
Jared is smiling, bright and wide, one hip up against the counter. “Is this like a date, Ackles?”
“What? No, dude, I just thought,” Jensen is fully aware of how badly he is blushing. “Uh, do you, like, want it to be?”
“Oh man,” Jared actually slaps his knee he is laughing so hard, “Oh man, Jen, you bet I do.”
Jensen’s cheeks are bright and flushed, and stay that way pretty much the whole day. But it’s easy to make Jared happy, and so Jensen submits to being photographed in front of a seven foot tall grizzly bear statue. Through exaggerated pantomiming, Jared convinces a Japanese tourist to take a photo of them together. Jared wraps both arms around Jensen’s shoulders and sticks his tongue out at the camera.
The air tram is red and it lumbers across the pass, swaying in the wind as the interpreter points out a jagged formation of rocks and talks about the history of the area. Jensen isn’t paying attention. He’s watching Jared.
“Dude,” Jared says, pushing his nose against the glass. The water is frothing below them and Jensen edges closer to Jared until their shoulders are touching. He casts a surreptitious glance around the small interior, but it’s just them and the Japanese tourists. He reaches over and twines his fingers with Jared’s. Jared smiles, quiet and small, a private thing between them. Jensen wants to shield this moment, cup it in his hands and keep it safe. “Hey,” Jared is watching him, squeezes his fingers.
“Hey,” Jensen says back, and rests his head against Jared’s shoulder.
The next week Jensen braves the printing machine at Wal-Mart, watches as five by seven prints drop into the bin. He grins at the picture with the bear statue, they look just as ridiculous as he’d feared. He frames it with the tackiest thing he can find, a pewter job with beavers on the corners. Jared is completely charmed and gives Jensen a blow job in the shower.
* * *
“Oh,” Jared says when Jensen pushes a finger inside him. Jensen would say something back, maybe “you want that?”, except his mouth is currently full with Jared’s cock. He feels powerful like this, in between Jared’s spread thighs, sucking him and finger fucking him. He loves the way Jared begs, the way his spine arches, the way that he is helpless with wanting and need. Jensen adds another finger, scissoring and twisting and reaching and Jared cries out, hips bucking.
Jensen has been teasing Jared all night, he’s impressed that he’s lasted this long, but his own cock is insisting, bobbing against his belly. He opens his mouth wide and goes down, down, down. Jared succumbs then, shouting as he comes in Jensen’s mouth.
Jensen slowly lifts his head, presses butterfly kisses to Jared's trembling belly, before wiping the back of his hand across his lips, the taste of Jared heavy on his tongue. He gives another lazy thrust of his fingers, reveling in the quiet mewling sound Jared makes, before pulling out.
Jensen sits back on his heels, drinking in the sight of Jared, naked, limbs askew and panting and eyes half closed. He licks his way up Jared’s rib cage, feeling the rapid expansion against his teeth and lips.
“I love you like this,” he says, voice hoarse with want. “Christ,” he takes Jared’s wrists in his hands, lifts them and pins them above his head. Jared is lifting his hips, spreading his thighs, impossibly wide, accommodating, opening. Jensen moves one hand to push against the curve of his ass and then grip his cock, aligning himself with Jared’s swollen hole.
He’s leaning over Jared, staring down at him as he thrusts in. He bites his lips, the tendons in his neck straining as he pushes through the initial resistance. Jared is always tight and Jensen revels in the feel of Jared’s flesh around him. He stills when his balls touch Jared’s skin, hand skimming up over Jared’s chest and back to his wrists, still on the mattress above his head. He tightens his fingers, feels the delicate bones there, and begins to move, slow and shallow at first, and then faster.
The next morning there are big, blotchy bruises on Jared’s wrists, like smudged fingerprints in purple paint.
* * *
Jensen rents a movie on his way home from the grocery store, something mindless that the cashier recommends.
“Huh,” Jared says as he reads the title, and Jensen is suddenly and totally annoyed.
“What?” he says, a little sharply.
“Nothing, Jensen, I just thought you wanted to rent that documentary, the one about the Arabic news network.” Jared holds his hands up, as though in defense.
“Al Jazeera, Jared,” he says, and there’s no mistaking the sneer in his voice.
It’s almost funny, how quickly Jared’s whole body posture changes, like the limbs of a puppet being rearranged. His mouth is pinched and he pulls his arms in, crossing them over his chest. He takes a step back, and it’s obvious to Jensen that he’s going to walk away, that he’s not going to take the bait. Jensen just wants to argue, to yell, and storm around the house. It’s fucking sick but he wants Jared to slam a door and call him out and not walk away.
“I just thought that this might be a little more your speed,” he says, and it is without a doubt the cruelest thing he’s ever said to Jared.
“A little more…” Jared shakes his head, as though he can’t believe Jensen actually spoke those words. Jared is an easygoing guy, and most everything rolls off of him, water off a duck's back, he’ll say. Jokes about his intelligence don’t roll off. They’ve talked about, Jensen thinks it’s ridiculous. Jared is brilliant, but too often people confuse his natural good nature and enthusiasm for simplicity and Jared takes comments like that to heart.
Jensen wants to apologize. He wants to take it back and tell Jared not to listen to him. But they both know that Jensen said it deliberately, that it wasn`t a spur of the moment hit, and Jensen watches all this register on Jared`s face.
He throws up right there on the kitchen floor. Jared doesn`t say a word as Jensen cleans up the mess.
* * *
Jared is slumped down on the couch, watching Spongebob Squarepants on mute and sipping amber liquid from a tumbler. He gestures clumsily at the television screen.
“Actually, you’re interrupting my favourite show,” he says, and Jensen feels ill at the bitterness in his voice. “You know, something at my grade level.”
Jensen opens his mouth, means to apologize, to explain, but what comes out is not that.
“I thought you’d be gone,” he says, and looks away instantly. He feels pathetic, peeled open and exposed.
“Did you want me to leave?” Jared’s voice is loud in the room.
“No, God, no, that’s not, no,” Jensen runs a hand through his hair, wishes he’d just gone to bed instead of facing this.
“Well what the hell do you want?” Jared asks, sounding so tired that Jensen’s shoulders sag in sympathy.
“You,” he says honestly. “Ever since I met you I wanted you.”
“Jesus, Jensen. You’re such a tool,” Jared starts laughing, and now Jensen is pissed. He thinks about smacking Jared, what the hell is he laughing about, and then there’s a tug on his wrist and he falls into Jared’s lap. “Jen, this may come as a shock to you, but I’m not perfect. I’m not, sometimes I’m a total douche and when I am, I want you to tell me, okay?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jensen demands. “I’m the one who,”
“Hang on now, just let me finish,” Jared presses a chaste kiss to Jensen’s mouth. “I don’t expect you to be perfect either. I’m not going to kick you to the curb because you come home cranky and try to pick a fight. I know you, alright? And I have no idea how you got this notion, but you’re not going to break me. You’re not some crazy asshole. You have your issues, definitely, and that’s okay."
"Just, I'm sorry. About what I said," Jensen needs to say the words, can't assume that they're understood.
"I know. I know you, Jensen. And I kind of like you, as you are. Are you gonna make me talk more?"
“Nope,” Jensen says.
“Okay,” Jared smiles then, and pulls Jensen close.
* * *
Jared buys a full length mirror at the hardware store. He props it up against the wall facing the foot of the bed.
“Did you buy that mirror so you could check out your own ass?” Jensen feels compelled to ask when he sees it.
“No, but that might be an unforseen consequence," Jared smirks, shaking his ass in the mirror's direction. Jensen is laughing so hard he forgets to remind Jared that his question wasn't answered.
He doesn't wait long to find out.
“Jared,” Jensen is twisting in his arms, uncomfortable.
“Shh, I want to do this, okay?” Jared soothes, stroking Jensen’s arms lightly. They’re naked, sitting on the end of the bed, Jensen practically in Jared’s lap with his thighs hooked over Jared’s knees, spread wide. Jared moves his hands around to Jensen’s chest, tweaking his nipples before rubbing circles against his belly. Jensen moans, rubbing his ass against Jared's erection. “Do you know what I think when I see you?” Jared murmurs.
“What?” Jensen huffs, arching into Jared’s touch despite himself.
“How much I love you,” Jared presses kisses to every bit of flesh he can reach, cheekbone, ear, temple. Jensen turns his face towards him, lips brushing at an awkward angle. “I think about how you're always looking out for me. I think about the fact that I can always be myself with you. How fucking gorgeous you are,” Jared is nipping at the column of his throat and Jensen spreads his legs wider, wanting Jared's hands on him. "Look, Jen,"
Jensen peeks at the mirror then, watches Jared's pink tongue on his skin, sees his own mouth open on a sigh, his cock, flushed and leaking.
“Jay,” Jensen whimpers when Jared starts fisting his cock.
“Sometimes it scares me, how you make me feel. And I know I suck, and I take it out on you, but I love you the best way I know how,” Jared is whispering directly into Jensen’s ear now, and Jensen can't help but writhe against him. He can’t look away from the mirror, away from his own reflection, splayed and hard and wanton and needing, all for Jared.
He grips Jared's thighs as he orgasms, watching as his come is smeared across Jared's hand.
* * *
“I made waffles,” Jared says the next morning. Jensen had figured as much, he’d woken to the murmur of cooking noises coming from the kitchen. Now that the door is open he can hear the quieter sounds of music.
“I hate waffles,” Jensen whines, pulling the duvet over his head.
“You’ll love my waffles,” Jared argues, and Jensen hides his smile in the pillow.
“Probably,” he says.
There's thunder in my heart/RPS J2/NC-17
sexin', bad language
It's not what Jensen thinks it is.
Disclaimer: Written for entertainment purposes only. No harm or copyright infringement intended. No money, no sue.
There's thunder in my heart
Sometimes Jensen doesn’t realize he’s pushed too hard until he’s over the line. This isn’t one of those times. It wasn’t an accident, he wasn’t oblivious. He knew what he was doing. At the time, he’d felt like he was doing the right thing, he’d felt justified.
It’s just one of the reasons why he hates himself.
“You’re too trusting,” he’d said, thumb rubbing across the bone of Jared’s ankle. Jared had looked at him, eyes slightly narrowed and mouth pursed, shifted his feet in Jensen’s lap. Jensen had held him tighter.
“I wish you’d give me some credit. I’m not an idiot, I don’t trust everyone.” Jared had said. Jensen hadn’t meant everyone, but Jared hadn’t gotten it, or had deliberately misunderstood.
“I’m not really a nice guy,” Jensen had said. And maybe Jared had believed that. But he hadn’t believed that Jensen would hurt him. Jensen probably should have been clearer on that point.
* * *
Jared’s skin is sun-warm and smells like grass. Jensen pushes his nose against the inside of Jared’s arm, smirking as Jared tries to roll away.
“Dude, like, get out of there,” Jared laughs, putting one big hand on Jensen’s head.
“I like it here,” Jensen hums, curling the rest of his body around Jared’s.
“What if someone?” Jared murmurs, fingers rubbing Jensen’s scalp. He can’t help but arch into the touch, it’s not enough, it’s never enough.
“It’s Wednesday morning and we’re hiding in the bushes.” Jensen tugs at the collar of Jared’s t-shirt until his collarbone is exposed, starts licking the curve, tracing it upward until he’s tasting the stubble on Jared’s throat.
“Yeah, and it’s Stanley Park, not the outback, okay? It doesn’t…oh,”
Jared is playing Jensen today, the responsible one, and Jensen is playing Jared. Jensen is heady with it, the abandon of being Jared. He scrapes his nails, gently, against Jared’s thigh.
“It’s the Lost Lagoon,” he whispers, “I’m being you.” His knees are on either side of Jared, palms braced by his shoulders. He leans down, and Jared’s pink mouth parts for him, eyelashes fluttering, and it’s too much. Jensen feels like he could be ripped apart by what’s inside him, watching Jared like this, touching Jared like this.
“Take your pants off,” he says.
“You’re so pushy,” Jared is smiling, but there is wariness in his eyes, something Jensen has only caught glimpses of before. He touches Jared’s cheek, gently, presses his lips to his forehead.
“Please?” he whispers, and is rewarded by the sounds of rustling cloth.
* * *
“Hold still, I mean it,” Jensen says, trying to look menacing behind the aging Polaroid camera. Jared rolls his eyes.
“I’m not moving, assface,” he says, kicking at the blanket bunched at his feet.
“You just did!” Jensen darts in to move the green-knit lump back into its previous position.
“Dude, what the hell, it’s a picture, so take it,” Jared is watching Jensen’s movements with fond amusement, eyes crinkled with it.
“Stop, don’t talk to me, keep reading,” Jensen makes a “carry on” gesture with his hand. Jared is sprawled across the couch, hips titled away from the cushions and back curved against the armrest. When Jensen walked in he was still, arm extended and elbow bent, holding the paperback in his field of vision, mouth soft and eyes following the lines of type, a mug of chai tea sitting on the low coffee table. It was the first thing Jensen had seen when he’d walked in the room, the sweating mug without a coaster underneath it. He’d opened his mouth, how many times had he warned Jared about leaving those damned rings on the table?, and then he saw Jared.
“Jesus, you’re weird,” Jared mutters, attention drifting back to The Kite Runner. Jensen waits. This is the Jared no one else knows, this mysterious person who picks up a book and goes somewhere else. He waits until Jared forgets he’s there, dropping the book in surprise when the camera snaps, clicks, and whirs.
Jensen shakes the Polaroid, fingertips tingling. He doesn’t let Jared see the photo.
* * *
Jared is whining, a constant buzz in Jensen’s ears as they trudge into the entryway. Jensen doesn’t mind. He knows Jared is sore. Spending the day hunched over in a makeshift cage will do that to a body. Melanie picked out all the splinters dotting Jared’s shoulders before they left, swabbing the red spots with antiseptic. Jensen didn’t leave the set without giving Kim hell about not sanding the inside of the boards they’d used. It had felt good to fill his lungs with noise and anger on Jared’s behalf.
The bath is oversized, Jared-compatible, as Jensen had insisted during the renovations. It takes a long time to fill, so Jensen kisses Jared at the sink while they wait. Jensen takes Jared’s dirty clothes and tosses them in the hamper and keeps a hand on Jared’s back as he lowers himself into the tub. When Jared is settled he heads down to the kitchen where the smell of ginger chicken greets him.
The slow cooker had been a joke gift from Mike, but it was one of Jensen’s favourite things. There was nothing quite like coming home to a cooked dinner. He checked the settings and put water on to boil for the rice. He putters around the kitchen until he can turn everything off.
Jared is running more hot water when Jensen comes back in, head lolling against the edge of the tub.
“How are you feeling now?” Jensen asks, crouching down next to him. Jared looks at him, water droplets on the curve of his cheeks and shrugs. Jensen rubs a strand of Jared’s hair between his thumb and forefinger. “There’s still dirt in your hair,” he says.
There is a glass on the vanity; Jensen uses it to pour himself a drink of water after he brushes his teeth. Jared doesn’t use it, just cups a mouthful of water in his palm and brings it to his lips.
Jensen takes the glass and fills it with warm water.
“Lean forward,” he says, tilting Jared’s face upward with a finger under his chin. Jensen braces his palm along Jared’s hairline to keep the water from falling into his eyes. He wets Jared’s hair thoroughly, it takes a few glassfuls. “Your hair is so thick,” he murmurs, “And long. Time for a haircut soon, maybe,” He watches as the water sluices over Jared’s shoulder blades.
Jared is quiet, watchful, as Jensen reaches for the shampoo. It ribbons in the creases of Jensen’s palm, and he inhales the faint scent of cocoa butter. He starts working it into a lather in Jared’s hair, pausing as Jared’s eyes close.
“Like that?” he smiles, deliberately massaging now. Jared hums, and it’s all the encouragement Jensen needs. Jensen alternates between firm and feather-light, moving from the hairline to the curve of Jared’s skull to the top of his neck. He sits there until his knees ache and his fingertips are numb.
When he rinses out the shampoo a stream of soapy water slips past his hand and down across Jared’s cheekbone. Jensen almost drops the glass in the tub in his hurry to grab the face cloth, dabbing Jared’s closed eyelids.
“Did any soap get in?” he asks, leaning forward.
“No,” Jared answers, voice husky and low. It’s then that Jensen realizes he’s sporting a massive hard on. Water sloshes onto the floor and he half-slithers, half-falls into the tub. The back of Jared’s head thuds against the porcelain as Jensen slams his mouth against his.
“Christ,” he says, and wishes he’d thought to take his pants off before they got soaked and sealed to his skin. The wet fabric is more than a little uncomfortable against his dick, but Jared’s hands aren’t shaking and with his help the pants come off. “Fuck,”he bucks against Jared when those clever fingers wrap around him, thumb rubbing insistently against the head. He pitches forward into the curve of Jared’s neck, biting and sucking as he thrusts into Jared’s closed fist. His knees slip; lose traction, but the sides of the tub keep him from falling completely into Jared’s lap. He’s keening, panting, and when Jared’s other hand reaches down to stroke his balls, he comes.
“Supper’s ready,” he says.
* * *
They have three days off in a row. It’s like a Christmas miracle, and Jensen wants to surprise Jared with something fun. He doesn’t have to go far. He knows the name itself with appeal to Jared.
“Hell’s Gate?” Jared picks the brochure off the counter. The glossy, colourful pages almost disappear in his hands.
“It’s a tram, in the air,” Jensen smiles at how Jared’s eyes are widening as he reads the literature. “Over the Fraser Canyon. I don’t know, I thought it looked kind of cool, and you were saying that we don’t see enough stuff outside the city, so,”
Jared is smiling, bright and wide, one hip up against the counter. “Is this like a date, Ackles?”
“What? No, dude, I just thought,” Jensen is fully aware of how badly he is blushing. “Uh, do you, like, want it to be?”
“Oh man,” Jared actually slaps his knee he is laughing so hard, “Oh man, Jen, you bet I do.”
Jensen’s cheeks are bright and flushed, and stay that way pretty much the whole day. But it’s easy to make Jared happy, and so Jensen submits to being photographed in front of a seven foot tall grizzly bear statue. Through exaggerated pantomiming, Jared convinces a Japanese tourist to take a photo of them together. Jared wraps both arms around Jensen’s shoulders and sticks his tongue out at the camera.
The air tram is red and it lumbers across the pass, swaying in the wind as the interpreter points out a jagged formation of rocks and talks about the history of the area. Jensen isn’t paying attention. He’s watching Jared.
“Dude,” Jared says, pushing his nose against the glass. The water is frothing below them and Jensen edges closer to Jared until their shoulders are touching. He casts a surreptitious glance around the small interior, but it’s just them and the Japanese tourists. He reaches over and twines his fingers with Jared’s. Jared smiles, quiet and small, a private thing between them. Jensen wants to shield this moment, cup it in his hands and keep it safe. “Hey,” Jared is watching him, squeezes his fingers.
“Hey,” Jensen says back, and rests his head against Jared’s shoulder.
The next week Jensen braves the printing machine at Wal-Mart, watches as five by seven prints drop into the bin. He grins at the picture with the bear statue, they look just as ridiculous as he’d feared. He frames it with the tackiest thing he can find, a pewter job with beavers on the corners. Jared is completely charmed and gives Jensen a blow job in the shower.
* * *
“Oh,” Jared says when Jensen pushes a finger inside him. Jensen would say something back, maybe “you want that?”, except his mouth is currently full with Jared’s cock. He feels powerful like this, in between Jared’s spread thighs, sucking him and finger fucking him. He loves the way Jared begs, the way his spine arches, the way that he is helpless with wanting and need. Jensen adds another finger, scissoring and twisting and reaching and Jared cries out, hips bucking.
Jensen has been teasing Jared all night, he’s impressed that he’s lasted this long, but his own cock is insisting, bobbing against his belly. He opens his mouth wide and goes down, down, down. Jared succumbs then, shouting as he comes in Jensen’s mouth.
Jensen slowly lifts his head, presses butterfly kisses to Jared's trembling belly, before wiping the back of his hand across his lips, the taste of Jared heavy on his tongue. He gives another lazy thrust of his fingers, reveling in the quiet mewling sound Jared makes, before pulling out.
Jensen sits back on his heels, drinking in the sight of Jared, naked, limbs askew and panting and eyes half closed. He licks his way up Jared’s rib cage, feeling the rapid expansion against his teeth and lips.
“I love you like this,” he says, voice hoarse with want. “Christ,” he takes Jared’s wrists in his hands, lifts them and pins them above his head. Jared is lifting his hips, spreading his thighs, impossibly wide, accommodating, opening. Jensen moves one hand to push against the curve of his ass and then grip his cock, aligning himself with Jared’s swollen hole.
He’s leaning over Jared, staring down at him as he thrusts in. He bites his lips, the tendons in his neck straining as he pushes through the initial resistance. Jared is always tight and Jensen revels in the feel of Jared’s flesh around him. He stills when his balls touch Jared’s skin, hand skimming up over Jared’s chest and back to his wrists, still on the mattress above his head. He tightens his fingers, feels the delicate bones there, and begins to move, slow and shallow at first, and then faster.
The next morning there are big, blotchy bruises on Jared’s wrists, like smudged fingerprints in purple paint.
* * *
Jensen rents a movie on his way home from the grocery store, something mindless that the cashier recommends.
“Huh,” Jared says as he reads the title, and Jensen is suddenly and totally annoyed.
“What?” he says, a little sharply.
“Nothing, Jensen, I just thought you wanted to rent that documentary, the one about the Arabic news network.” Jared holds his hands up, as though in defense.
“Al Jazeera, Jared,” he says, and there’s no mistaking the sneer in his voice.
It’s almost funny, how quickly Jared’s whole body posture changes, like the limbs of a puppet being rearranged. His mouth is pinched and he pulls his arms in, crossing them over his chest. He takes a step back, and it’s obvious to Jensen that he’s going to walk away, that he’s not going to take the bait. Jensen just wants to argue, to yell, and storm around the house. It’s fucking sick but he wants Jared to slam a door and call him out and not walk away.
“I just thought that this might be a little more your speed,” he says, and it is without a doubt the cruelest thing he’s ever said to Jared.
“A little more…” Jared shakes his head, as though he can’t believe Jensen actually spoke those words. Jared is an easygoing guy, and most everything rolls off of him, water off a duck's back, he’ll say. Jokes about his intelligence don’t roll off. They’ve talked about, Jensen thinks it’s ridiculous. Jared is brilliant, but too often people confuse his natural good nature and enthusiasm for simplicity and Jared takes comments like that to heart.
Jensen wants to apologize. He wants to take it back and tell Jared not to listen to him. But they both know that Jensen said it deliberately, that it wasn`t a spur of the moment hit, and Jensen watches all this register on Jared`s face.
He throws up right there on the kitchen floor. Jared doesn`t say a word as Jensen cleans up the mess.
* * *
Jared is slumped down on the couch, watching Spongebob Squarepants on mute and sipping amber liquid from a tumbler. He gestures clumsily at the television screen.
“Actually, you’re interrupting my favourite show,” he says, and Jensen feels ill at the bitterness in his voice. “You know, something at my grade level.”
Jensen opens his mouth, means to apologize, to explain, but what comes out is not that.
“I thought you’d be gone,” he says, and looks away instantly. He feels pathetic, peeled open and exposed.
“Did you want me to leave?” Jared’s voice is loud in the room.
“No, God, no, that’s not, no,” Jensen runs a hand through his hair, wishes he’d just gone to bed instead of facing this.
“Well what the hell do you want?” Jared asks, sounding so tired that Jensen’s shoulders sag in sympathy.
“You,” he says honestly. “Ever since I met you I wanted you.”
“Jesus, Jensen. You’re such a tool,” Jared starts laughing, and now Jensen is pissed. He thinks about smacking Jared, what the hell is he laughing about, and then there’s a tug on his wrist and he falls into Jared’s lap. “Jen, this may come as a shock to you, but I’m not perfect. I’m not, sometimes I’m a total douche and when I am, I want you to tell me, okay?”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Jensen demands. “I’m the one who,”
“Hang on now, just let me finish,” Jared presses a chaste kiss to Jensen’s mouth. “I don’t expect you to be perfect either. I’m not going to kick you to the curb because you come home cranky and try to pick a fight. I know you, alright? And I have no idea how you got this notion, but you’re not going to break me. You’re not some crazy asshole. You have your issues, definitely, and that’s okay."
"Just, I'm sorry. About what I said," Jensen needs to say the words, can't assume that they're understood.
"I know. I know you, Jensen. And I kind of like you, as you are. Are you gonna make me talk more?"
“Nope,” Jensen says.
“Okay,” Jared smiles then, and pulls Jensen close.
* * *
Jared buys a full length mirror at the hardware store. He props it up against the wall facing the foot of the bed.
“Did you buy that mirror so you could check out your own ass?” Jensen feels compelled to ask when he sees it.
“No, but that might be an unforseen consequence," Jared smirks, shaking his ass in the mirror's direction. Jensen is laughing so hard he forgets to remind Jared that his question wasn't answered.
He doesn't wait long to find out.
“Jared,” Jensen is twisting in his arms, uncomfortable.
“Shh, I want to do this, okay?” Jared soothes, stroking Jensen’s arms lightly. They’re naked, sitting on the end of the bed, Jensen practically in Jared’s lap with his thighs hooked over Jared’s knees, spread wide. Jared moves his hands around to Jensen’s chest, tweaking his nipples before rubbing circles against his belly. Jensen moans, rubbing his ass against Jared's erection. “Do you know what I think when I see you?” Jared murmurs.
“What?” Jensen huffs, arching into Jared’s touch despite himself.
“How much I love you,” Jared presses kisses to every bit of flesh he can reach, cheekbone, ear, temple. Jensen turns his face towards him, lips brushing at an awkward angle. “I think about how you're always looking out for me. I think about the fact that I can always be myself with you. How fucking gorgeous you are,” Jared is nipping at the column of his throat and Jensen spreads his legs wider, wanting Jared's hands on him. "Look, Jen,"
Jensen peeks at the mirror then, watches Jared's pink tongue on his skin, sees his own mouth open on a sigh, his cock, flushed and leaking.
“Jay,” Jensen whimpers when Jared starts fisting his cock.
“Sometimes it scares me, how you make me feel. And I know I suck, and I take it out on you, but I love you the best way I know how,” Jared is whispering directly into Jensen’s ear now, and Jensen can't help but writhe against him. He can’t look away from the mirror, away from his own reflection, splayed and hard and wanton and needing, all for Jared.
He grips Jared's thighs as he orgasms, watching as his come is smeared across Jared's hand.
* * *
“I made waffles,” Jared says the next morning. Jensen had figured as much, he’d woken to the murmur of cooking noises coming from the kitchen. Now that the door is open he can hear the quieter sounds of music.
“I hate waffles,” Jensen whines, pulling the duvet over his head.
“You’ll love my waffles,” Jared argues, and Jensen hides his smile in the pillow.
“Probably,” he says.