The Rising Tide 3/5
J2 RPS AU
NC-17
Part 3 of 5
Master post
Art
Jared chuckles again, sits up, and bats Jensen's hands away from his trouser buttons. Soon Jensen's trousers are on the floor with his shirt and undershorts and all of Jared's clothes, and Jared is nuzzling at his inner thighs. Jared's tongue flicks out, Jensen's skin shivers, and Jared takes the head of Jensen's cock in his mouth.
Jensen is already half-hard but he doesn't mind that Jared seems to be taking his time. They're both quiet, moving so little even the bed isn't making any noise. Jensen can hear the rain start up, pattering lightly down inside the airshaft, right outside the window over his head. There's a slight chill, not enough to bring out goosebumps on his skin - especially not with Jared's mouth raising the temperature in the room - but enough for him to feel a little cleaner, a little fresher. He likes rain. There's something oddly romantic about having sex in this weather.
Jensen brushes his fingers through Jared's hair. He moans softly, encouragingly. Jared lifts his head and grins.
“If you get wet,” he says, “don't blame me.”
“Why are you stopping?” Jensen asks, grinning in return, and Jared goes back to it.
Eventually Jared pulls away, crawls up the mattress, and kisses Jensen on the mouth. “It'd be great if you returned the favor,” he says against Jensen's lips.
“You're not hard enough already?” Jensen reaches down and wraps his hand around Jared's cock. He squeezes, strokes, squeezes again. Jared sucks in a breath.
“Oh, I'm hard. I just want to feel your mouth on me, and watch your head bobbing up and down.”
“I guess it's only fair.” Jensen bites at Jared's lips before sliding down the bed, pushing Jared's thighs apart, and swallowing his cock to the root.
“Fuck,” Jared breathes.
Jensen wraps his lips tight around Jared's cock, sucking hard, dragging his tongue up and down the shaft, teasing the head, working it the way he knows Jared likes. Jensen wasn't anywhere near this confident back in the early days, when they were just getting to know each other's bodies, each other's likes and dislikes, what was guaranteed a reaction and what took some work. But they've been together long enough now that he knows without guidance what turns Jared on, and what will keep him hard without making him come.
He can hear it in Jared's breathing and see it in the way Jared's chest is heaving, so he pulls off and sits up.
“Fuck,” Jared breathes again, the only other word he's said since Jensen started on him. “I love your mouth.”
“I love your cock,” Jensen says, grinning, sliding over Jared's body to take his face in both hands and kiss him thoroughly. “What did you want to do to me that you can't talk about in public?”
“All kinds of things.” Jared rolls them over with some effort, so now Jensen is on his back with Jared on top of him. Then Jared rolls away, flips Jensen onto his stomach, and pulls at his hips. “On your knees,” he whispers in Jensen's ear, “so I can fuck you from behind. You said you didn't care if the neighbors hear us.”
Jensen can tell Jared is grinning wildly against his ear. The rain is coming down harder now. The narrowness of the airshaft keeps it from blowing inside the window, but the sill is a little wet. Jensen imagines rain on his face, and he wonders briefly what it would be like to have sex outside, in a downpour.
“I said they probably weren't home,” he tells Jared, letting himself be maneuvered into position. Jared unscrews the rain-speckled jar of cream sitting on the windowsill, swipes his finger through it, and slides that finger into Jensen's ass. Jensen wiggles his butt as Jared fingers him, until Jared playfully swats his ass and tells him to quit.
Jensen settles his knees on the mattress, feels his cock twitch as Jared pushes into his body.
“I love your ass,” Jared says as he settles himself. “You're so tight and perfect.”
“And you're so hard and - uhn - saints....” Because Jared has started to move.
They rock together on the bed, making it creak. They're quiet otherwise, trying to keep their moans low. Jensen was never very loud, even when he didn't have to take so many neighbors into consideration, and he likes the quiet way they fuck. It seems more intimate, somehow, much sexier than the loud grunts and all the talking that some people prefer.
Not that he minds a little talking during sex, but right now he's concentrating too hard on Jared's steady thrusts, his heavy breathing, the way his fingers dig into Jensen's hips, the sound of their bodies slapping together. Jared leans down, presses his lips to the back of Jensen's neck, his spine, and Jensen can hear him panting with effort and desire.
“I love you so much,” Jared says, breathless. “Not just your ass. All of you. Everything.”
“But the ass helps.” Jensen can't help but grin, even though he knows Jared can't see him.
“The ass helps.” Jared chuckles, sits back up. His thrusts pick up speed.
“Oh, saints, that's good. Harder. Harder.”
Jared obliges. His fingers dig into Jensen's hips as he fucks him harder and faster, panting and grunting and finally coming with a groan.
“I couldn't stop,” he tells Jensen. “Give me... gotta breathe... give me a second.”
Jensen is trying to catch his breath, wanting to touch his own swollen cock, wanting Jared to do it, even basking in Jared's afterglow, when Jared wraps an arm around his chest and pulls him up and back, so Jared is sitting on his heels and Jensen is sitting on his thighs, Jared still buried inside him.
Jared's arm drops, his hand closes around Jensen's cock, and Jensen lets his head fall back against Jared's shoulder.
“This cock is amazing,” Jared murmurs in his ear, hand pumping steadily.
Whatever Jensen might say in return is lost as he comes hard over Jared's hand. He turns his head, seeking Jared's mouth, and Jared's free hand pulls his chin around just far enough for them to kiss. It's messy and awkward but Jensen doesn't care.
“I love you,” he says into Jared's mouth. “I know you know that, but I should tell you anyway.”
“So now would be a great time to tell you we're planning another strike.”
“You're not.”
“Not yet, no. I'm kidding.” Jared presses a kiss to Jensen's temple.
“Asshole.”
“I'm kidding!” Now Jared takes the opportunity to tickle Jensen's thigh. Jensen laughs and swats at his hand, then pushes himself off Jared, scoots around, and tickles him back.
They almost fall off the bed trying to get away from each other and attack each other at the same time, and end up in a laughing, exhausted heap on the tangled sheets.
“I'm kidding,” Jared says again. “We're not planning anything yet. We have to regroup.”
“Don't do anything that will get you killed,” Jensen says. He flicks Jared's nipple. “I'll never have sex with you again.”
“Don't make promises you know you can't keep.”
“You think you're the only one who wants this ass? I can have my pick of cocks. I don't need yours.”
“Yeah, but I'm the only one who can keep that ass satisfied.” Jared smacks it as if to make his point. Jensen smacks back and the argument, such as it is, devolves into another tickle fight. Jensen revels in the fact that they can occasionally act like six-year-olds around each other.
“We should eat,” he says.
“I just want to touch you a little more first. You know, make sure you know who loves your ass best.”
Jensen knows, but who is he to say no to a little persuasion? He can pretend he needs to be convinced.
He should also know that Jared has more labor organizing in mind than just “we need to regroup”, but he has other things to think about. Weeks pass and Mr Morgan finally has his way, announcing that the Augustus will be mounting a horror production, meaning The Merits of Mr Marsden will have to close - why he couldn't just let the farce run its course, Jensen doesn't know, especially since it was his idea to do it in the first place - leaving Jensen to field questions as diplomatically as he can about the abrupt closure of Marsden and the future opening of The House on Fossle Hill, the chosen replacement. He fields questions about the casting with much less diplomacy. He listens with only half an ear to Jared talking about the mill and the workers and what they're going to do to secure their rights as working men. He knows he should give these ideas more consideration, but when Jared announces one night that he wants to run for a seat on the Council, Jensen can't take him seriously.
“You'll never win,” he says.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Jared says drily. “The best way to change the system might be from inside it. Besides, it's time the people of this ward were represented by someone who actually lives here.”
There is no law that says a ward representative has to live in the ward he represents, and ballots for the poorer wards tend to include only men who live elsewhere. Poor people don't generally have the time, money, or influence to run for office, and Jared is no different.
“There's an election in eight months,” he points out. A Council term is six years, but elections are staggered every two among the wards.
“Our rep's not up for re-election yet. You know how hard it is to unseat Councilmen in the middle of their terms.”
“Hard but not impossible.” Jared rolls over, props his head on his elbow, and grins at Jensen. “I can get people to come out to vote for me. I can raise the money for a campaign.”
“How?”
“The theater.” His grin widens. “Fundraisers!”
“I'm sorry?” The theater can just about support itself after returning Mr Morgan his percentage of the box office, but it will never make anyone rich and Jensen doesn't know what kind of show he can put on for free. And there's no telling what the company's politics are and whether or not they'd be willing to support what might be a lost cause, and whether or not Mr Morgan would let them.
“Ask your actors,” Jared says. “I want to know what they think. It's just an idea right now. I think I can win a seat, but there are a lot of details to work out, and I have a strike to plan first.”
Jensen sits up and stares at him. “Jared,” he says, voice flat. “What.”
“We're planning another one. A bigger one. An inside strike. If we shut down the machines and sit down and lock the doors from the inside, we have control of the mill. And this time it won't be just us. Little strikes here and there aren't good enough.”
“They weren't 'little strikes'. You got all the dockworkers to walk off the job and when the cops showed up there was almost a riot.”
“I know. Imagine if the dockworkers and the deliverymen and the men who work the airship fields and the factory workers and the steam tram operators all stopped at the same time. Picture the docks full of men sitting down on the job. Factories stopped. Trams sitting idle on the tracks, just venting steam.”
“The city would grind to a halt.”
“Exactly. Nothing would get done. No business, nothing.”
Jensen thinks about Mr Morgan in his middle-ward office building. That kind of commerce, men making deals and signing papers and adding up money in accounting ledgers, that kind of business would keep on. But anyone who depends on the local grocer, who depends on the city deliverymen, who depend on the men bringing in produce from outlying farms - those people will suffer.
“And when the cops get out their batons to smash all your heads in?”
“Not if the whole city goes on strike. There are more of us than there are of them. And think of the headlines in the papers - cops beating up unarmed, unresisting luggage porters and tram men and factory workers. Think how bad that would make the Council look.”
“You know who owns the newspapers, right? The publishers aren't going to side with strikers.”
“Jensen, banding together is the best way for us to show our strength. We'll be all over the city. Everything will have stopped. They can't put all of us down at once.” He's practically glowing with his vision of the future, a future in which somehow he can bring enough power to bear that he gets what he wants and the Council submits to the demands of a loosely-held group of the Mendeleyan poor.
“You'll get killed,” Jensen says. “And even if you don't, you'll get hurt, you'll get fired.”
“I haven't yet. Think about it. There's still a lot to plan and people to talk to.” He flops back down on the bed. “I mentioned it to Danny.”
“You told her to strike?” Danneel works as a hotel chambermaid during the day. She doesn't like it, but the Augustus doesn't pay well.
“I told her to feel out the other hotel workers. The cleaners, the kitchen workers, the porters, everyone. You know they're all treated like shit.”
“What did she say?”
“They're afraid to lose their jobs. A bad job is better than no job, she said.”
“She's not wrong.”
“She is wrong. We're human beings, not workhorses. We deserve - “
“We've had this discussion before.” Jensen lies down as well. “Go to sleep. I don't want you to get killed for being the ringleader.”
“That's the benefit of organizing a bunch of disparate groups.” Jared rolls over and kisses Jensen on the mouth. “We're all ringleaders.”
But Jensen isn't really in the mood. He doesn't want to think about how the millworkers were beaten up and hauled off to jail the first time they tried to strike. Something as big as Jared seems to want, the Council will press every advantage it has, call in every favor, bring the full might of its power to bear. The Council will get strikebreakers - not everyone will support Jared's plan, and there will always be people willing to beat up their colleagues and neighbors for an extra crown - and his involvement in the strike will keep Jared from the Council seat he claims to want. The current reps aren't going to want a labor organizer in the Hall.
Jared says nothing more that morning, and Jensen goes to the theater to check on the crew's progress. The company is in rehearsals so he needs to make sure the sets are being built and the costumes and props are being organized, that everyone is getting their jobs done and being paid. Sam has masks to show him - nearly featureless full-face masks that he hopes will look excessively disturbing when lit from below. In the absence of expensive effects and fancy stage tricks to get across a scary enough atmosphere, Jensen has decided to use suggestive costuming and footlights with colored glass in front of the lenses.
Sam ties one of the masks over her face, takes the pins out of her hair, and arranges it to fall around the mask. She twitches her shoulders and changes her posture and suddenly she looks like a madwoman haunting the crumbling manor house in a melodramatic ten-penny novel. Perfect.
There's a crash and they both look around. One of the flats has fallen over, fortunately not on top of someone but unfortunately painted side first. Wet freshly-painted side first.
Jensen yells “What just happened?” as he heads towards the stage. The three guys onstage point to each other.
“Well, get it back up,” Jensen says, annoyed now. Things were going so smoothly, too. “Fix it and clean off the stage.”
“I didn't do it,” Jake insists.
“I don't care. You're all staring at me like goats that have never seen a fence. We open soon. Fix the flat.”
They finally move, managing to get the flat upright with a minimum of complaint but a maximum amount of damage to the scene painted on the front. It's for the only scene that takes place outside during the day, so the audience will actually be able to see it. Jensen wonders how he and his theater ever got saddled with such a half-assed crew.
On the other hand, every production has opened with a finished set, even if the paint isn't always completely dry, so maybe they're not as incompetent as they sometimes seem.
Rob fetches a brush and a bucket to get the paint off the stage floor and Jensen goes back up the aisle to where Sam is still wearing the mask. The cast can rehearse with them tonight, see how they work. It's one good thing, at least.
It's a couple of nights later, they're at the pub, and Jensen is standing near the bar watching Jared sitting at a table, talking to whoever else is there - Jensen can't see their faces clearly, but it looks like Jake and Sterling and a couple of strangers - he's watching the way Jared talks with his hands, the way he leans forward, the way he seems fully intent on both his message and his audience. He's animated in a way that has nothing to do with how much he has or hasn't drunk, and has everything to do with how passionate he is about his organizing and how determined he is to make everyone come around to his point of view. He wants the best for everyone, even if it could get them all killed.
It's one of the things Jensen has always loved about him, this determination and dedication and compassion. Jared has found something that he thinks can help not only the people he knows and loves, but everyone in this ward and all the wards like it. He sees a problem and wants to fix it. He sees people being held down and wants to raise them up. He knows the consequences, but thinks the victory is worth the hardship.
He's a good man, and his wanting to share the gospel of labor organizing with everyone who crosses his path is in some ways no different from Jensen wanting to bring good theater to the ward. They both want to make people's lives better. Jensen's way involves a fantasy taking people away from their worries for a couple of hours - or scaring them out of their own concerns - but Jared's way involves something much more permanent, accomplished with more guts.
Jensen admires that. He worries about it, but he can't deny how much he admires Jared for the work he's trying to do. It's much stronger than the pride he takes in Jared's canvas contribution to the airships landing and taking off outside the city. He's suddenly overwhelmed by this admiration, now, in this crowded, smoky pub, overwhelmed and absolutely swamped by his love for his determined, passionate, excitable boyfriend.
Then Alona touches his arm, disrupting his train of thought. She wants to introduce him to someone. Her cousin? Sister-in-law? Friend? Neighbor? Someone she knows, anyway. The pub is loud and the woman's voice is not, and Alona is talking too fast for him to fully understand everything she's saying. Eventually he realizes Alona wants him to audition this woman - her name is Felicia - for the theater company.
“You want to be an actress?” he asks Felicia, leaning close to make himself heard. She nods. Watching Jared has clearly affected him, because he can't help the excitement that creeps into his voice. He's sure he knows more about being an actor in the big city than she does, and he knows better than she does how hard it is, but he still finds himself immediately embracing her dream.
“She just moved into the boarding house where I'm staying,” Alona says. “I got her some work sewing shirts, she'll have time for rehearsals. She just wants an audition.”
“I haven't even been in the city a week,” Felicia says. “Everything's so exciting! There are so many more opportunities here!”
“Where are you from?” Jensen asks.
“Ocelo. I lived in this little nowhere town. But I want more for my life. So I'm here! I want to do everything.”
“The show's already in rehearsals but come by Sunday at two and you can have an audition. Are you good with costumes?”
It never hurt to have someone else in the company who knows a thing or two about costuming, and who's careful enough to not leave an iron where it will scorch.
“I can sew,” she says eagerly. “I'm good with hand-me-downs.”
“Costumes aren't... really that, but good to know. Come at two. We'll talk.”
“Thank you!” She grabs his face and kisses him on both cheeks, startling him and making Alona laugh. Then the two women bounce off and Jensen makes a mental note to remember what just happened. He needs to be prepared if he's going to help her fulfill her desires.
Jared has now been joined by Osric and someone Jensen thinks is one of the guys from the mill. Matt? Is that his name? Good-looking guy, talks a lot. Jensen considers interrupting, considers getting another beer, considers just making a place for himself at the table and listening to what they're saying. If it involves the next strike, he should be prepared for that too.
The last consideration wins out, and he gets to the table just as Jake is making excuses and getting up to leave. Good timing. Osric is in the middle of saying something as Jared says “You know Matt, right?” to Jensen. They shake. Osric keeps talking, Matt interrupts, and it takes Jensen a full ten minutes to get the gist of their conversation. To be fair, he keeps being distracted by Jared's mouth and his hands and the way he seems to concentrate fully on whoever's speaking.
“What about a revue?” Matt is saying, when Jensen finally manages to pay attention. “A little of this, a little of that, maybe a bit from Fossle Hill, you know, a variety show.”
“That could work,” Sterling says.
“Yeah, but we should give people something good,” Osric says. “A revue's... uh... there's no.... We should do a real play. So people get something for their donation, you know?”
So they're talking about raising money for Jared's theoretical run for a Council seat.
“This is good,” Jared says, “but it's not the most important right now. The strike has to go off first. It has to be successful.”
Jake comes back, leans over Osric's shoulder, and asks Jared “Why are you doing this?”
“I thought you left,” Sterling says.
“Ran into Dick. He got me thinking. What's the point here? Why do you think you can get a Council seat? I mean” - he gestures around the pub - “this is where you come from. We don't belong in the Hall. We're nothing. Who's gonna listen to you?”
“The ward will,” Jared says. “Better to have someone who actually knows the ward and the people in it.”
“And you can unseat the guy who's already in the Hall?”
“Yeah. I can.”
“I don't buy it. Dick didn't either.”
“Dick's a dumbass,” Jensen says. Osric spits beer, laughs, chokes. Sterling pounds him on the back. “It's true. Don't listen to him.”
“No, it's ok,” Jared says, “everyone's got an opinion. His is wrong, but he's entitled to have it.”
“Who do you want to represent you?” Matt interrupts. “Your neighbor, or someone who lives in a posh ward who only comes down here to give a speech about how he'll represent our interests to the Council? He doesn't know what our interests are.”
“But you think you can beat him,” Jake says to Jared. “With your... you got money?”
“He's got heart,” Osric says, slapping his hand against Jared's chest.
“Sure. Takes more than that to win a Council election in an off-year.”
“I'll get the ward behind me,” Jared says. “I'll raise the money. But it's not my priority right now.”
“Yeah, I heard about your strike. The power of the working class, whatever.” Jake flaps his hand dismissively. “I don't care about that.”
“You should. We only get something by standing together, and if you don't see that, you're blind. Right now you can't go to your boss, ask for a raise, and get it.”
“Hey, boss,” Jake says to Jensen, “can I have a raise?” Sterling snorts a laugh.
“This is how we get anything,” Jared barrels on. “Better money, better hours, more respect, redress for grievances, all the things a working man deserves. We stop everything and show the bosses and the owners that without our hard work, they have nothing. Then we can demand what we want.”
Jake just shrugs. “If you say. I think you're asking to get beat down, but it's your life.” And he heads for the door.
“He's wrong,” Matt says. “We can do it. The strike, your Council run, all of it.”
The conversation turns (as everything seems to) to labor organizing. Another millworker joins them - Jensen doesn't catch his name - and Jared is absolutely in his element. Jensen has nothing to contribute to the conversation other than caution, so he listens and watches and lets himself be convinced. And Jared is very convincing.
Soon the whole table is arguing about the rightness and wrongness of the world, the unfair way the working man is treated, the various ways the bosses get around laws and regulations, the question of whether peace or violence or legislation is the best avenue for change. Jared has everyone in his pocket, it seems, and Jensen wishes Jake had stuck around to be swayed.
Jensen can't contain himself any more. He gets up, walks around to where Jared is sitting, and announces “I need to borrow your fearless leader for a minute.”
Jared twists his head to look up. “For what?”
“Private conversation. I'll bring you back, don't worry.”
Jared stands, lets himself be led out of the pub, around the corner, and down an alley, past crates and trash barrels until Jensen thinks they're hidden from the street. He pushes Jared against the wall and kisses him fiercely.
“You're amazing,” he says, when he finally pulls away. “I watched you bring everyone to your side and I was so proud. I'm with you. Bring a city strike. You're right, I was wrong, it's dangerous but it has to be done.”
“You mean it,” Jared says.
“Yeah. I'm behind you all the way.” He grabs Jared's face and kisses him again, unable to fully articulate how proud he is, how in love he is, how excited he is. He can't remember the last time he wanted Jared this badly. He can't remember the last time he could step outside himself and see Jared the way other people did - not the man who shares his life and his bed, but a friend, a neighbor, a coworker, a man with a plan and the will to make it happen.
All the things Jensen loves about him, even the things that drive him to distraction, falling on his head all at once. He's overcome with too many feelings to name.
Jared grabs his ass and kisses him back. Jensen wants to be in control here but Jared has been trying to convince people of the rightness of his ideas all night, and he's not ready to follow someone else's lead. But Jensen is persistent and Jared eventually gives over.
They're grinding against each other now, hands on each other's asses, shoulders, in each other's hair, Jensen pressing Jared into the brick wall and growing harder with every push. Jared moans into his mouth. Fucking in an alley is nothing they'd ever do sober, but the pub toilet is a disaster and Jensen can't wait until they get home. He pushes himself away from Jared long enough to fumble his own pants open, fumble Jared's open, and spin Jared around to face the wall.
Jared is perfectly willing to let himself be manhandled, something Jensen has always found to be a turn-on, even more so after all his talk of leading a city-wide strike. The leader letting himself be led. Jensen doesn't think he can get inside Jared fast enough, can't fuck him hard enough, can't make him come quick enough.
“Uhn... fuck,” Jared groans, as Jensen pounds into him. “Jensen....”
Jensen presses his face into Jared's shoulder, his hips pumping deeper and faster, his breathing harsh, his entire existence narrowed to this one single thing, his cock buried in Jared's body, the scent of them overwhelming the smell of the alley, the noises of the city fading behind the sounds of their grunts and their groans and the clean slap of their thighs as they fuck.
Jensen bites into Jared's shoulder when he comes, tasting cotton and desire. He can feel Jared reach for his own cock, can tell Jared is jerking himself off even as Jensen is still thrusting inside him. It's the hottest thing Jensen can imagine, and his vision whites out for a bare second as he comes in a rush.
“God above,” Jared pants. “That was. Shit, that was - I don't know.”
“Hot as hell,” Jensen says, equally breathless. “I couldn't stop myself.”
Jared rests his forehead against the wall and Jensen leans against him, exhausted and empty. He can hear the sounds of the city again, can smell trash barrels and old piss and smoke. He comes back to himself and pulls out, fixes himself, straightens his jacket, helps Jared with his own clothes.
“Let's go home,” Jared says, leaning close to drop a kiss on Jensen's mouth. “Nothing can top that.”
“I said I'd bring you back inside.”
Jared chuckles. “They'll take one look at us and know why you dragged me away.”
“Let them. It won't change their minds about you. I could see all their faces, Jared. It doesn't matter what Jake says - the rest of the ward will follow you anywhere. Imagine if I could get you onstage.”
Jared's mouth opens, closes. “That's it,” he says. “That's exactly it. Let me go onstage at the Augustus and get people invested in the strike.”
Not even two hours ago Jensen would have said no, absolutely not. But that was before.
He rests his forehead against Jared's. “Okay,” he says. “We open Friday. You get the Sunday matinee, ten minutes before curtain. I take no responsibility if people throw things at you or boo you offstage.”
“I love you,” Jared whispers, kissing him on the mouth before pushing past him and heading back to the pub. “Come on. I'll buy you a beer.”
It's probably the last thing Jensen needs, but if Jared isn't going home yet, he isn't either. Besides, the guys at the table are no doubt still arguing, and Jared will want to rejoin them.
The plan is a simple one - at nine in the morning, everyone stops what they're doing and either walks out or sits down where they are. Steam tram operators will pull the brakes. Dockworkers will put down whatever they're carrying. Men and women in factories all over the city will turn off their machines and walk out. Street sweepers, cleaners, hotel chambermaids - anyone who is used and abused by a distant boss, anyone who's stuck on the lowest rung of the ladder with no opportunity to climb up, anyone whose labor wears them down so a wealthy man can put his feet up after an exhausting afternoon counting his money.
The city-wide strike can't include the uncounted army of men and women who work piecemeal in their own homes, men and women like Genevieve whose tiny apartments are crowded with clothes half-sewn or cigars half-rolled or linens half-embroidered. As far as the city is concerned, they work for themselves. They're entirely in charge of their own working hours and their own working conditions. And those who do have a boss, three or four or five people piled into a room in someone's apartment, work for someone who comes from the same ward they do. It's much harder to strike against someone in such similar circumstances to your own, who you see out on the street during non-working hours.
But Jared is a firm believer in the rising tide that lifts all boats, and if he and his fellow strikers can get concessions for themselves, concessions for the self-employed can't be far off.
He's talked to everyone he can and taken every offer from someone else to reach out. Matt's brother-in-law brings in an impressive percentage of workers at a mill farther up the river. Misha's wife Victoria and her sister have already been organizing the girls at the garment factory where the sister works, and knowledge of the strike has spread through the wards, and the factories where people work, like fire.
“These girls aren't stupid,” Victoria explained, when Jared expressed surprise that people were organizing independently of his plan. “They know how hard they're being worked and how much they're being taken advantage of. They have friends, neighbors, sisters, cousins, nieces in the same boat, and they talk.”
“They're full of piss and vinegar,” Aldis said. His sister works in a mill and according to Aldis she's been a spitfire her whole life and gave his mother more trouble than he and his brother combined. His brother works in a buggy factory and while the men there consider themselves craftsmen more than laborers, enough of them have been convinced that they can get better working conditions, easier working hours, and some recompense when they're injured on the job if they join the city-wide strike.
Jared and all the other organizers he's convinced, in industries all over the city, have designated runners to go from place to place, passing messages, carrying news. Osric volunteered, against Jensen's strenuous objections, and so did Genevieve. Danneel got the chambermaids at her hotel and others to join the strike. She'll be picketing. She won't show up at the Augustus for any performances as long as the strike is on. Jensen isn't happy about that - he's very much of the mindset that the show must go on, strike or no strike - but Jared made him see sense.
They just have to accomplish this one thing, just prove it can be done. There are two obstacles that Jared can see, and one of them is that each group, each striking bloc, has to trust that everyone else will stop at nine. They'll be all over the city, too big and too diffuse a target for the police, and this doesn't work unless everyone stops at the same time.
The other obstacle is the fact that the more people get involved, the greater the chance of spies reporting to the bosses and owners ahead of time. There's nothing he can do about spies in the garment factories or in the hotels or on the steam trams or among the porters at the airship landing fields. He can only monitor his mill and his fellow laborers. He has his own spies looking for spies - Misha, Chad (one of the benefits of being a loudmouth is that no one expects to you to listen to them), Tahmoh, Aldis - but even though no one has reported anything particularly fishy, he can't stop himself from looking at everyone sideways. He has to be prepared for someone to snitch, or sabotage, and for the owner to be made aware of the workers' plan before they can put it into action.
Because the workers in Jared's mill have a surprise. They're not walking out. They're staying put. And they're locking out everyone who's not striking.
The plan for the rest of the city might be to shut down at nine in the morning, but the plan for the millworkers is to sneak in at the end of the night shift, lock the doors, and take control of the mill for themselves. They'll have an hour of the police force's undivided attention when the non-striking day shift can't get inside the mill, and then the rest of the city will strike too.
Onward!
NC-17
Part 3 of 5
Master post
Art
Jared chuckles again, sits up, and bats Jensen's hands away from his trouser buttons. Soon Jensen's trousers are on the floor with his shirt and undershorts and all of Jared's clothes, and Jared is nuzzling at his inner thighs. Jared's tongue flicks out, Jensen's skin shivers, and Jared takes the head of Jensen's cock in his mouth.
Jensen is already half-hard but he doesn't mind that Jared seems to be taking his time. They're both quiet, moving so little even the bed isn't making any noise. Jensen can hear the rain start up, pattering lightly down inside the airshaft, right outside the window over his head. There's a slight chill, not enough to bring out goosebumps on his skin - especially not with Jared's mouth raising the temperature in the room - but enough for him to feel a little cleaner, a little fresher. He likes rain. There's something oddly romantic about having sex in this weather.
Jensen brushes his fingers through Jared's hair. He moans softly, encouragingly. Jared lifts his head and grins.
“If you get wet,” he says, “don't blame me.”
“Why are you stopping?” Jensen asks, grinning in return, and Jared goes back to it.
Eventually Jared pulls away, crawls up the mattress, and kisses Jensen on the mouth. “It'd be great if you returned the favor,” he says against Jensen's lips.
“You're not hard enough already?” Jensen reaches down and wraps his hand around Jared's cock. He squeezes, strokes, squeezes again. Jared sucks in a breath.
“Oh, I'm hard. I just want to feel your mouth on me, and watch your head bobbing up and down.”
“I guess it's only fair.” Jensen bites at Jared's lips before sliding down the bed, pushing Jared's thighs apart, and swallowing his cock to the root.
“Fuck,” Jared breathes.
Jensen wraps his lips tight around Jared's cock, sucking hard, dragging his tongue up and down the shaft, teasing the head, working it the way he knows Jared likes. Jensen wasn't anywhere near this confident back in the early days, when they were just getting to know each other's bodies, each other's likes and dislikes, what was guaranteed a reaction and what took some work. But they've been together long enough now that he knows without guidance what turns Jared on, and what will keep him hard without making him come.
He can hear it in Jared's breathing and see it in the way Jared's chest is heaving, so he pulls off and sits up.
“Fuck,” Jared breathes again, the only other word he's said since Jensen started on him. “I love your mouth.”
“I love your cock,” Jensen says, grinning, sliding over Jared's body to take his face in both hands and kiss him thoroughly. “What did you want to do to me that you can't talk about in public?”
“All kinds of things.” Jared rolls them over with some effort, so now Jensen is on his back with Jared on top of him. Then Jared rolls away, flips Jensen onto his stomach, and pulls at his hips. “On your knees,” he whispers in Jensen's ear, “so I can fuck you from behind. You said you didn't care if the neighbors hear us.”
Jensen can tell Jared is grinning wildly against his ear. The rain is coming down harder now. The narrowness of the airshaft keeps it from blowing inside the window, but the sill is a little wet. Jensen imagines rain on his face, and he wonders briefly what it would be like to have sex outside, in a downpour.
“I said they probably weren't home,” he tells Jared, letting himself be maneuvered into position. Jared unscrews the rain-speckled jar of cream sitting on the windowsill, swipes his finger through it, and slides that finger into Jensen's ass. Jensen wiggles his butt as Jared fingers him, until Jared playfully swats his ass and tells him to quit.
Jensen settles his knees on the mattress, feels his cock twitch as Jared pushes into his body.
“I love your ass,” Jared says as he settles himself. “You're so tight and perfect.”
“And you're so hard and - uhn - saints....” Because Jared has started to move.
They rock together on the bed, making it creak. They're quiet otherwise, trying to keep their moans low. Jensen was never very loud, even when he didn't have to take so many neighbors into consideration, and he likes the quiet way they fuck. It seems more intimate, somehow, much sexier than the loud grunts and all the talking that some people prefer.
Not that he minds a little talking during sex, but right now he's concentrating too hard on Jared's steady thrusts, his heavy breathing, the way his fingers dig into Jensen's hips, the sound of their bodies slapping together. Jared leans down, presses his lips to the back of Jensen's neck, his spine, and Jensen can hear him panting with effort and desire.
“I love you so much,” Jared says, breathless. “Not just your ass. All of you. Everything.”
“But the ass helps.” Jensen can't help but grin, even though he knows Jared can't see him.
“The ass helps.” Jared chuckles, sits back up. His thrusts pick up speed.
“Oh, saints, that's good. Harder. Harder.”
Jared obliges. His fingers dig into Jensen's hips as he fucks him harder and faster, panting and grunting and finally coming with a groan.
“I couldn't stop,” he tells Jensen. “Give me... gotta breathe... give me a second.”
Jensen is trying to catch his breath, wanting to touch his own swollen cock, wanting Jared to do it, even basking in Jared's afterglow, when Jared wraps an arm around his chest and pulls him up and back, so Jared is sitting on his heels and Jensen is sitting on his thighs, Jared still buried inside him.
Jared's arm drops, his hand closes around Jensen's cock, and Jensen lets his head fall back against Jared's shoulder.
“This cock is amazing,” Jared murmurs in his ear, hand pumping steadily.
Whatever Jensen might say in return is lost as he comes hard over Jared's hand. He turns his head, seeking Jared's mouth, and Jared's free hand pulls his chin around just far enough for them to kiss. It's messy and awkward but Jensen doesn't care.
“I love you,” he says into Jared's mouth. “I know you know that, but I should tell you anyway.”
“So now would be a great time to tell you we're planning another strike.”
“You're not.”
“Not yet, no. I'm kidding.” Jared presses a kiss to Jensen's temple.
“Asshole.”
“I'm kidding!” Now Jared takes the opportunity to tickle Jensen's thigh. Jensen laughs and swats at his hand, then pushes himself off Jared, scoots around, and tickles him back.
They almost fall off the bed trying to get away from each other and attack each other at the same time, and end up in a laughing, exhausted heap on the tangled sheets.
“I'm kidding,” Jared says again. “We're not planning anything yet. We have to regroup.”
“Don't do anything that will get you killed,” Jensen says. He flicks Jared's nipple. “I'll never have sex with you again.”
“Don't make promises you know you can't keep.”
“You think you're the only one who wants this ass? I can have my pick of cocks. I don't need yours.”
“Yeah, but I'm the only one who can keep that ass satisfied.” Jared smacks it as if to make his point. Jensen smacks back and the argument, such as it is, devolves into another tickle fight. Jensen revels in the fact that they can occasionally act like six-year-olds around each other.
“We should eat,” he says.
“I just want to touch you a little more first. You know, make sure you know who loves your ass best.”
Jensen knows, but who is he to say no to a little persuasion? He can pretend he needs to be convinced.
He should also know that Jared has more labor organizing in mind than just “we need to regroup”, but he has other things to think about. Weeks pass and Mr Morgan finally has his way, announcing that the Augustus will be mounting a horror production, meaning The Merits of Mr Marsden will have to close - why he couldn't just let the farce run its course, Jensen doesn't know, especially since it was his idea to do it in the first place - leaving Jensen to field questions as diplomatically as he can about the abrupt closure of Marsden and the future opening of The House on Fossle Hill, the chosen replacement. He fields questions about the casting with much less diplomacy. He listens with only half an ear to Jared talking about the mill and the workers and what they're going to do to secure their rights as working men. He knows he should give these ideas more consideration, but when Jared announces one night that he wants to run for a seat on the Council, Jensen can't take him seriously.
“You'll never win,” he says.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Jared says drily. “The best way to change the system might be from inside it. Besides, it's time the people of this ward were represented by someone who actually lives here.”
There is no law that says a ward representative has to live in the ward he represents, and ballots for the poorer wards tend to include only men who live elsewhere. Poor people don't generally have the time, money, or influence to run for office, and Jared is no different.
“There's an election in eight months,” he points out. A Council term is six years, but elections are staggered every two among the wards.
“Our rep's not up for re-election yet. You know how hard it is to unseat Councilmen in the middle of their terms.”
“Hard but not impossible.” Jared rolls over, props his head on his elbow, and grins at Jensen. “I can get people to come out to vote for me. I can raise the money for a campaign.”
“How?”
“The theater.” His grin widens. “Fundraisers!”
“I'm sorry?” The theater can just about support itself after returning Mr Morgan his percentage of the box office, but it will never make anyone rich and Jensen doesn't know what kind of show he can put on for free. And there's no telling what the company's politics are and whether or not they'd be willing to support what might be a lost cause, and whether or not Mr Morgan would let them.
“Ask your actors,” Jared says. “I want to know what they think. It's just an idea right now. I think I can win a seat, but there are a lot of details to work out, and I have a strike to plan first.”
Jensen sits up and stares at him. “Jared,” he says, voice flat. “What.”
“We're planning another one. A bigger one. An inside strike. If we shut down the machines and sit down and lock the doors from the inside, we have control of the mill. And this time it won't be just us. Little strikes here and there aren't good enough.”
“They weren't 'little strikes'. You got all the dockworkers to walk off the job and when the cops showed up there was almost a riot.”
“I know. Imagine if the dockworkers and the deliverymen and the men who work the airship fields and the factory workers and the steam tram operators all stopped at the same time. Picture the docks full of men sitting down on the job. Factories stopped. Trams sitting idle on the tracks, just venting steam.”
“The city would grind to a halt.”
“Exactly. Nothing would get done. No business, nothing.”
Jensen thinks about Mr Morgan in his middle-ward office building. That kind of commerce, men making deals and signing papers and adding up money in accounting ledgers, that kind of business would keep on. But anyone who depends on the local grocer, who depends on the city deliverymen, who depend on the men bringing in produce from outlying farms - those people will suffer.
“And when the cops get out their batons to smash all your heads in?”
“Not if the whole city goes on strike. There are more of us than there are of them. And think of the headlines in the papers - cops beating up unarmed, unresisting luggage porters and tram men and factory workers. Think how bad that would make the Council look.”
“You know who owns the newspapers, right? The publishers aren't going to side with strikers.”
“Jensen, banding together is the best way for us to show our strength. We'll be all over the city. Everything will have stopped. They can't put all of us down at once.” He's practically glowing with his vision of the future, a future in which somehow he can bring enough power to bear that he gets what he wants and the Council submits to the demands of a loosely-held group of the Mendeleyan poor.
“You'll get killed,” Jensen says. “And even if you don't, you'll get hurt, you'll get fired.”
“I haven't yet. Think about it. There's still a lot to plan and people to talk to.” He flops back down on the bed. “I mentioned it to Danny.”
“You told her to strike?” Danneel works as a hotel chambermaid during the day. She doesn't like it, but the Augustus doesn't pay well.
“I told her to feel out the other hotel workers. The cleaners, the kitchen workers, the porters, everyone. You know they're all treated like shit.”
“What did she say?”
“They're afraid to lose their jobs. A bad job is better than no job, she said.”
“She's not wrong.”
“She is wrong. We're human beings, not workhorses. We deserve - “
“We've had this discussion before.” Jensen lies down as well. “Go to sleep. I don't want you to get killed for being the ringleader.”
“That's the benefit of organizing a bunch of disparate groups.” Jared rolls over and kisses Jensen on the mouth. “We're all ringleaders.”
But Jensen isn't really in the mood. He doesn't want to think about how the millworkers were beaten up and hauled off to jail the first time they tried to strike. Something as big as Jared seems to want, the Council will press every advantage it has, call in every favor, bring the full might of its power to bear. The Council will get strikebreakers - not everyone will support Jared's plan, and there will always be people willing to beat up their colleagues and neighbors for an extra crown - and his involvement in the strike will keep Jared from the Council seat he claims to want. The current reps aren't going to want a labor organizer in the Hall.
Jared says nothing more that morning, and Jensen goes to the theater to check on the crew's progress. The company is in rehearsals so he needs to make sure the sets are being built and the costumes and props are being organized, that everyone is getting their jobs done and being paid. Sam has masks to show him - nearly featureless full-face masks that he hopes will look excessively disturbing when lit from below. In the absence of expensive effects and fancy stage tricks to get across a scary enough atmosphere, Jensen has decided to use suggestive costuming and footlights with colored glass in front of the lenses.
Sam ties one of the masks over her face, takes the pins out of her hair, and arranges it to fall around the mask. She twitches her shoulders and changes her posture and suddenly she looks like a madwoman haunting the crumbling manor house in a melodramatic ten-penny novel. Perfect.
There's a crash and they both look around. One of the flats has fallen over, fortunately not on top of someone but unfortunately painted side first. Wet freshly-painted side first.
Jensen yells “What just happened?” as he heads towards the stage. The three guys onstage point to each other.
“Well, get it back up,” Jensen says, annoyed now. Things were going so smoothly, too. “Fix it and clean off the stage.”
“I didn't do it,” Jake insists.
“I don't care. You're all staring at me like goats that have never seen a fence. We open soon. Fix the flat.”
They finally move, managing to get the flat upright with a minimum of complaint but a maximum amount of damage to the scene painted on the front. It's for the only scene that takes place outside during the day, so the audience will actually be able to see it. Jensen wonders how he and his theater ever got saddled with such a half-assed crew.
On the other hand, every production has opened with a finished set, even if the paint isn't always completely dry, so maybe they're not as incompetent as they sometimes seem.
Rob fetches a brush and a bucket to get the paint off the stage floor and Jensen goes back up the aisle to where Sam is still wearing the mask. The cast can rehearse with them tonight, see how they work. It's one good thing, at least.
It's a couple of nights later, they're at the pub, and Jensen is standing near the bar watching Jared sitting at a table, talking to whoever else is there - Jensen can't see their faces clearly, but it looks like Jake and Sterling and a couple of strangers - he's watching the way Jared talks with his hands, the way he leans forward, the way he seems fully intent on both his message and his audience. He's animated in a way that has nothing to do with how much he has or hasn't drunk, and has everything to do with how passionate he is about his organizing and how determined he is to make everyone come around to his point of view. He wants the best for everyone, even if it could get them all killed.
It's one of the things Jensen has always loved about him, this determination and dedication and compassion. Jared has found something that he thinks can help not only the people he knows and loves, but everyone in this ward and all the wards like it. He sees a problem and wants to fix it. He sees people being held down and wants to raise them up. He knows the consequences, but thinks the victory is worth the hardship.
He's a good man, and his wanting to share the gospel of labor organizing with everyone who crosses his path is in some ways no different from Jensen wanting to bring good theater to the ward. They both want to make people's lives better. Jensen's way involves a fantasy taking people away from their worries for a couple of hours - or scaring them out of their own concerns - but Jared's way involves something much more permanent, accomplished with more guts.
Jensen admires that. He worries about it, but he can't deny how much he admires Jared for the work he's trying to do. It's much stronger than the pride he takes in Jared's canvas contribution to the airships landing and taking off outside the city. He's suddenly overwhelmed by this admiration, now, in this crowded, smoky pub, overwhelmed and absolutely swamped by his love for his determined, passionate, excitable boyfriend.
Then Alona touches his arm, disrupting his train of thought. She wants to introduce him to someone. Her cousin? Sister-in-law? Friend? Neighbor? Someone she knows, anyway. The pub is loud and the woman's voice is not, and Alona is talking too fast for him to fully understand everything she's saying. Eventually he realizes Alona wants him to audition this woman - her name is Felicia - for the theater company.
“You want to be an actress?” he asks Felicia, leaning close to make himself heard. She nods. Watching Jared has clearly affected him, because he can't help the excitement that creeps into his voice. He's sure he knows more about being an actor in the big city than she does, and he knows better than she does how hard it is, but he still finds himself immediately embracing her dream.
“She just moved into the boarding house where I'm staying,” Alona says. “I got her some work sewing shirts, she'll have time for rehearsals. She just wants an audition.”
“I haven't even been in the city a week,” Felicia says. “Everything's so exciting! There are so many more opportunities here!”
“Where are you from?” Jensen asks.
“Ocelo. I lived in this little nowhere town. But I want more for my life. So I'm here! I want to do everything.”
“The show's already in rehearsals but come by Sunday at two and you can have an audition. Are you good with costumes?”
It never hurt to have someone else in the company who knows a thing or two about costuming, and who's careful enough to not leave an iron where it will scorch.
“I can sew,” she says eagerly. “I'm good with hand-me-downs.”
“Costumes aren't... really that, but good to know. Come at two. We'll talk.”
“Thank you!” She grabs his face and kisses him on both cheeks, startling him and making Alona laugh. Then the two women bounce off and Jensen makes a mental note to remember what just happened. He needs to be prepared if he's going to help her fulfill her desires.
Jared has now been joined by Osric and someone Jensen thinks is one of the guys from the mill. Matt? Is that his name? Good-looking guy, talks a lot. Jensen considers interrupting, considers getting another beer, considers just making a place for himself at the table and listening to what they're saying. If it involves the next strike, he should be prepared for that too.
The last consideration wins out, and he gets to the table just as Jake is making excuses and getting up to leave. Good timing. Osric is in the middle of saying something as Jared says “You know Matt, right?” to Jensen. They shake. Osric keeps talking, Matt interrupts, and it takes Jensen a full ten minutes to get the gist of their conversation. To be fair, he keeps being distracted by Jared's mouth and his hands and the way he seems to concentrate fully on whoever's speaking.
“What about a revue?” Matt is saying, when Jensen finally manages to pay attention. “A little of this, a little of that, maybe a bit from Fossle Hill, you know, a variety show.”
“That could work,” Sterling says.
“Yeah, but we should give people something good,” Osric says. “A revue's... uh... there's no.... We should do a real play. So people get something for their donation, you know?”
So they're talking about raising money for Jared's theoretical run for a Council seat.
“This is good,” Jared says, “but it's not the most important right now. The strike has to go off first. It has to be successful.”
Jake comes back, leans over Osric's shoulder, and asks Jared “Why are you doing this?”
“I thought you left,” Sterling says.
“Ran into Dick. He got me thinking. What's the point here? Why do you think you can get a Council seat? I mean” - he gestures around the pub - “this is where you come from. We don't belong in the Hall. We're nothing. Who's gonna listen to you?”
“The ward will,” Jared says. “Better to have someone who actually knows the ward and the people in it.”
“And you can unseat the guy who's already in the Hall?”
“Yeah. I can.”
“I don't buy it. Dick didn't either.”
“Dick's a dumbass,” Jensen says. Osric spits beer, laughs, chokes. Sterling pounds him on the back. “It's true. Don't listen to him.”
“No, it's ok,” Jared says, “everyone's got an opinion. His is wrong, but he's entitled to have it.”
“Who do you want to represent you?” Matt interrupts. “Your neighbor, or someone who lives in a posh ward who only comes down here to give a speech about how he'll represent our interests to the Council? He doesn't know what our interests are.”
“But you think you can beat him,” Jake says to Jared. “With your... you got money?”
“He's got heart,” Osric says, slapping his hand against Jared's chest.
“Sure. Takes more than that to win a Council election in an off-year.”
“I'll get the ward behind me,” Jared says. “I'll raise the money. But it's not my priority right now.”
“Yeah, I heard about your strike. The power of the working class, whatever.” Jake flaps his hand dismissively. “I don't care about that.”
“You should. We only get something by standing together, and if you don't see that, you're blind. Right now you can't go to your boss, ask for a raise, and get it.”
“Hey, boss,” Jake says to Jensen, “can I have a raise?” Sterling snorts a laugh.
“This is how we get anything,” Jared barrels on. “Better money, better hours, more respect, redress for grievances, all the things a working man deserves. We stop everything and show the bosses and the owners that without our hard work, they have nothing. Then we can demand what we want.”
Jake just shrugs. “If you say. I think you're asking to get beat down, but it's your life.” And he heads for the door.
“He's wrong,” Matt says. “We can do it. The strike, your Council run, all of it.”
The conversation turns (as everything seems to) to labor organizing. Another millworker joins them - Jensen doesn't catch his name - and Jared is absolutely in his element. Jensen has nothing to contribute to the conversation other than caution, so he listens and watches and lets himself be convinced. And Jared is very convincing.
Soon the whole table is arguing about the rightness and wrongness of the world, the unfair way the working man is treated, the various ways the bosses get around laws and regulations, the question of whether peace or violence or legislation is the best avenue for change. Jared has everyone in his pocket, it seems, and Jensen wishes Jake had stuck around to be swayed.
Jensen can't contain himself any more. He gets up, walks around to where Jared is sitting, and announces “I need to borrow your fearless leader for a minute.”
Jared twists his head to look up. “For what?”
“Private conversation. I'll bring you back, don't worry.”
Jared stands, lets himself be led out of the pub, around the corner, and down an alley, past crates and trash barrels until Jensen thinks they're hidden from the street. He pushes Jared against the wall and kisses him fiercely.
“You're amazing,” he says, when he finally pulls away. “I watched you bring everyone to your side and I was so proud. I'm with you. Bring a city strike. You're right, I was wrong, it's dangerous but it has to be done.”
“You mean it,” Jared says.
“Yeah. I'm behind you all the way.” He grabs Jared's face and kisses him again, unable to fully articulate how proud he is, how in love he is, how excited he is. He can't remember the last time he wanted Jared this badly. He can't remember the last time he could step outside himself and see Jared the way other people did - not the man who shares his life and his bed, but a friend, a neighbor, a coworker, a man with a plan and the will to make it happen.
All the things Jensen loves about him, even the things that drive him to distraction, falling on his head all at once. He's overcome with too many feelings to name.
Jared grabs his ass and kisses him back. Jensen wants to be in control here but Jared has been trying to convince people of the rightness of his ideas all night, and he's not ready to follow someone else's lead. But Jensen is persistent and Jared eventually gives over.
They're grinding against each other now, hands on each other's asses, shoulders, in each other's hair, Jensen pressing Jared into the brick wall and growing harder with every push. Jared moans into his mouth. Fucking in an alley is nothing they'd ever do sober, but the pub toilet is a disaster and Jensen can't wait until they get home. He pushes himself away from Jared long enough to fumble his own pants open, fumble Jared's open, and spin Jared around to face the wall.
Jared is perfectly willing to let himself be manhandled, something Jensen has always found to be a turn-on, even more so after all his talk of leading a city-wide strike. The leader letting himself be led. Jensen doesn't think he can get inside Jared fast enough, can't fuck him hard enough, can't make him come quick enough.
“Uhn... fuck,” Jared groans, as Jensen pounds into him. “Jensen....”
Jensen presses his face into Jared's shoulder, his hips pumping deeper and faster, his breathing harsh, his entire existence narrowed to this one single thing, his cock buried in Jared's body, the scent of them overwhelming the smell of the alley, the noises of the city fading behind the sounds of their grunts and their groans and the clean slap of their thighs as they fuck.
Jensen bites into Jared's shoulder when he comes, tasting cotton and desire. He can feel Jared reach for his own cock, can tell Jared is jerking himself off even as Jensen is still thrusting inside him. It's the hottest thing Jensen can imagine, and his vision whites out for a bare second as he comes in a rush.
“God above,” Jared pants. “That was. Shit, that was - I don't know.”
“Hot as hell,” Jensen says, equally breathless. “I couldn't stop myself.”
Jared rests his forehead against the wall and Jensen leans against him, exhausted and empty. He can hear the sounds of the city again, can smell trash barrels and old piss and smoke. He comes back to himself and pulls out, fixes himself, straightens his jacket, helps Jared with his own clothes.
“Let's go home,” Jared says, leaning close to drop a kiss on Jensen's mouth. “Nothing can top that.”
“I said I'd bring you back inside.”
Jared chuckles. “They'll take one look at us and know why you dragged me away.”
“Let them. It won't change their minds about you. I could see all their faces, Jared. It doesn't matter what Jake says - the rest of the ward will follow you anywhere. Imagine if I could get you onstage.”
Jared's mouth opens, closes. “That's it,” he says. “That's exactly it. Let me go onstage at the Augustus and get people invested in the strike.”
Not even two hours ago Jensen would have said no, absolutely not. But that was before.
He rests his forehead against Jared's. “Okay,” he says. “We open Friday. You get the Sunday matinee, ten minutes before curtain. I take no responsibility if people throw things at you or boo you offstage.”
“I love you,” Jared whispers, kissing him on the mouth before pushing past him and heading back to the pub. “Come on. I'll buy you a beer.”
It's probably the last thing Jensen needs, but if Jared isn't going home yet, he isn't either. Besides, the guys at the table are no doubt still arguing, and Jared will want to rejoin them.
The plan is a simple one - at nine in the morning, everyone stops what they're doing and either walks out or sits down where they are. Steam tram operators will pull the brakes. Dockworkers will put down whatever they're carrying. Men and women in factories all over the city will turn off their machines and walk out. Street sweepers, cleaners, hotel chambermaids - anyone who is used and abused by a distant boss, anyone who's stuck on the lowest rung of the ladder with no opportunity to climb up, anyone whose labor wears them down so a wealthy man can put his feet up after an exhausting afternoon counting his money.
The city-wide strike can't include the uncounted army of men and women who work piecemeal in their own homes, men and women like Genevieve whose tiny apartments are crowded with clothes half-sewn or cigars half-rolled or linens half-embroidered. As far as the city is concerned, they work for themselves. They're entirely in charge of their own working hours and their own working conditions. And those who do have a boss, three or four or five people piled into a room in someone's apartment, work for someone who comes from the same ward they do. It's much harder to strike against someone in such similar circumstances to your own, who you see out on the street during non-working hours.
But Jared is a firm believer in the rising tide that lifts all boats, and if he and his fellow strikers can get concessions for themselves, concessions for the self-employed can't be far off.
He's talked to everyone he can and taken every offer from someone else to reach out. Matt's brother-in-law brings in an impressive percentage of workers at a mill farther up the river. Misha's wife Victoria and her sister have already been organizing the girls at the garment factory where the sister works, and knowledge of the strike has spread through the wards, and the factories where people work, like fire.
“These girls aren't stupid,” Victoria explained, when Jared expressed surprise that people were organizing independently of his plan. “They know how hard they're being worked and how much they're being taken advantage of. They have friends, neighbors, sisters, cousins, nieces in the same boat, and they talk.”
“They're full of piss and vinegar,” Aldis said. His sister works in a mill and according to Aldis she's been a spitfire her whole life and gave his mother more trouble than he and his brother combined. His brother works in a buggy factory and while the men there consider themselves craftsmen more than laborers, enough of them have been convinced that they can get better working conditions, easier working hours, and some recompense when they're injured on the job if they join the city-wide strike.
Jared and all the other organizers he's convinced, in industries all over the city, have designated runners to go from place to place, passing messages, carrying news. Osric volunteered, against Jensen's strenuous objections, and so did Genevieve. Danneel got the chambermaids at her hotel and others to join the strike. She'll be picketing. She won't show up at the Augustus for any performances as long as the strike is on. Jensen isn't happy about that - he's very much of the mindset that the show must go on, strike or no strike - but Jared made him see sense.
They just have to accomplish this one thing, just prove it can be done. There are two obstacles that Jared can see, and one of them is that each group, each striking bloc, has to trust that everyone else will stop at nine. They'll be all over the city, too big and too diffuse a target for the police, and this doesn't work unless everyone stops at the same time.
The other obstacle is the fact that the more people get involved, the greater the chance of spies reporting to the bosses and owners ahead of time. There's nothing he can do about spies in the garment factories or in the hotels or on the steam trams or among the porters at the airship landing fields. He can only monitor his mill and his fellow laborers. He has his own spies looking for spies - Misha, Chad (one of the benefits of being a loudmouth is that no one expects to you to listen to them), Tahmoh, Aldis - but even though no one has reported anything particularly fishy, he can't stop himself from looking at everyone sideways. He has to be prepared for someone to snitch, or sabotage, and for the owner to be made aware of the workers' plan before they can put it into action.
Because the workers in Jared's mill have a surprise. They're not walking out. They're staying put. And they're locking out everyone who's not striking.
The plan for the rest of the city might be to shut down at nine in the morning, but the plan for the millworkers is to sneak in at the end of the night shift, lock the doors, and take control of the mill for themselves. They'll have an hour of the police force's undivided attention when the non-striking day shift can't get inside the mill, and then the rest of the city will strike too.
Onward!