Let the Devil Down - Part I
Okay, that's it - I refuse to get any more specific in my time estimates than "Within the next year, hopefully." :S On the other side, the whole thing turned from a chapter into a part and so just about trippled in length.
Please read warnings carefully, because this shit gets harsh.
Title: Let the Devil Down
Pairings: Jared/Jensen, Jared/others, Jensen/others
Rating: R to NC-17
Disclaimer: Lies.
Notes/Warnings: Implied rape, implied dub-con, violence, angst, underage sex and drinking, and lots of math.
Faith is also an issue. It's not my faith, and I'm not trying to beat you over the head with a message; it's just a part of the character.
Also, if parts of this sound familiar to you, it's probably some other fic that snuck its way in. Apologies in advance, it's not intentional. I just read too much RPS.
This fic is yet unbeta-ed. If you're interested, please let me know. ^^
It's AU! AU! I totally forgot to mention that. :S
Summary: Six years ago, Jensen broke one promise, made one stupid mistake. It's been haunting him ever since.
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Epilogue
Let the Devil Down
Part I
***
Six years ago.
Thursday.
Jensen catches up with Jared halfway back to town.
"Hey Jay," he calls.
Jay slows, waits for him, and Jensen throws an arm around his shoulder because he knows that annoyed slump of the shoulders well.
"Sorry about the guys," Jensen says with a dismissive shrug, "they're jerks."
"You're going to Hell, you know," Jay answers quite solemnly, giving Jensen a serious look from underneath dark lashes. No malice in his words, though, just stating facts. He sounds so convinced that Jensen almost laughs.
"Because of the gay thing, or because I drink and smoke and do drugs?"
Jay cocks his head a little, like he hasn't considered that, his hand wandering up to his necklace out of habit. It's a small cross, sturdy gold with a cheap gemstone; Jensen has never seen him without it, not even that time they went skinny-dipping in Norton's pond and got themselves grounded for half a decade.
"Both, I guess," Jay decides, and Jensen grins. He squeezes the kid's shoulder slightly and winks.
"Well, as long as you're going with me..."
***
Now.
Jensen sits up with a hiss of breath, sheet of sweat coating his skin. T-shirt and pajama bottoms cling uncomfortably to his skin and he wishes he could just tear them off his body. He kicks the tangled sheets away from his legs and fumbles for the glasses he left sitting on the bedside table. The room slows its spinning a little after he perches the thin frame on his slippery nose, but the nauseous pit in his stomach is still there.
Six years later, and the nightmares still make him want to scream, to puke or put his foot through something. They’re not even bad dreams, that’s the worst part. To anyone else they might even seem nice, sweet memories from Jensen’s fucked-up teenage years. But Jensen’s seen this movie already. He knows what’s coming next, knows the big twist, when the comedy will turn into a tragedy.
He feels like he’s twenty-three going on ancient.
Jensen rubs his bleary eyes and glances at the alarm on the nightstand. 3:18 A.M., it informs him with merciless precision. He sighs. Sleep is out now, he knows that from more personal experience than he’d ever wanted. He crawls out of bed and fumbles for the light switch. The bulb flares up sudden and bright. He shields his eyes with his arm and stumbles down the hall into the kitchen in his t-shirt and boxers.
He flicks on the small radio on the window sill. It crackles to life, to some mind- and senseless pop song for very early birds, and Jensen finds himself restlessly drumming his fingers in the counter as he waits for the coffee maker to heat up.
Coffee drips into Jensen’s cup as a black, grainy sludge. He dumps half a pound of sugar into it and carries his precious prize over to the couch. He lets his head drop onto the headrest, sighs.
“God damn it,” he whispers to no one in particular. He curls up in a tight little ball and, gripping his mug like a lifeline, waits for the dawn.
***
“Wow, you look like shit,” Mike says as Jensen sets his book and his venti zebra mocha, no foam, down on the table.
The Starbucks just off-campus has become a second home for him and his small group of friends in the last four years. It’s close-by, spacey and light and whenever business is slow, the baristas update him on the latest gossip.
Sometimes Jensen thinks there is more sexual tension than coffee-making involved in working here, but some of the ‘partners’ - Steve, Allison, Alexis - have become his friends and even if he wasn’t so ridiculously addicted to caffeine, he’d probably come and kick it with them all the time anyway.
Right now, however, things are looking a bit more grim. He has gathered here today with his fellow psych students and best friends to study for a quiz the next day that threatens to kick his ass. He is absolutely not in the mood for the “you look terrible have you been sleeping air out your closet and confess already”-speech.
“Thanks,” he says, just this side of edgy, and flops down amongst the chaos of books, notes and laptops.
“Nightmare,” he explains, like labeling it as not real would somehow chase away the demons his subconscious has awoken. Again.
“Again?” Danneel asks incredulously. Tom nods. Even Mike gives him a pitiful look.
Jensen shrugs.
“There’s not really anything I can do about it,” he shoots back, tone warning them to just let it go, but Danneel ignores it.
“There are lots of things you can do, Jensen!”
“Like see a shrink,” Tom says, exchanging a look that is all eyebrows with Mike.
“A psychiatrist,” Danneel interjects loudly, “would help you to at least confront some of your issues, Jensen.”
“Ooh, issues, lovely,” Jensen mumbles, flicking his textbook open.
“Oh, come on, Jensen, you’ve been having these nightmares since before I met you, and that was when, four years ago? You obviously need some help.”
There are pink splotches on her cheeks by the time she has finished, and Jensen scowls.
“I don’t need a shrink to tell me I feel guilty,” he snaps. It isn’t until Danneel’s eyes grow wide as saucers and even Tom and Mike perk up that he realizes he said that out loud, and that that might not have been such a great idea. He scowls and tries a different tactic. When in doubt, create a distraction.
“You guys are aware that despite your very noble attempts to fix me, we still have that quiz tomorrow, yeah? And that’s it’s one of Freeman’s tests?”
Panic crops up on the faces of his friends, not quite unexpectedly, and Jensen swallows down the sneaking notion that he’s being an ass by reminding himself that Freeman really does grade like a motherfucker.
***
The shadows of the trees outside slowly lengthen, creating a dark pattern on the window panes, and the empty paper cups accumulate on their table, but they make good headway and Jensen finally closes his tome with a thud.
“Awesome. I think we’re good,” he announces. There is a round of relieved nods and smiles.
Danneel takes a sip of her luke-warm drink and sighs contently.
“God, I can hardly wait to have two days all to myself. What’re your plans? Anyone up for a party?”
Jensen shakes his head.
“Gotta get a head-start on my paper for McKellen,” he says, but instead of understanding nods he earns himself disapproving frowns.
“Jensen,” Danneel says, clicking her tongue, “that’s not due for another month. You could use a break.”
Tom shakes his head a little, but it’s Mike who says, “You need to get out of the house for a bit, Jen. Get out of your own head.”
“Oh yeah?” Jensen asks roughly, swallowing down the bitterness threatening to rise up in his throat.
“Yeah.”
Nods all around.
“Steve’s got a gig Saturday,” Mike goes on, nodding his chin towards the barista behind the counter, currently calling out a grande BSL for Shannon.
Jensen cocks his head. He really should get started on that paper; McKellen likes Jensen, but that doesn’t mean he’ll grade leniently and Jensen really likes his GPA right now. On the other hand, Steve’s a good friend and Jensen likes his music. And an evening getting his mind of things really can’t hurt, right?
“Fine,” he says with a long-suffering sigh, “I’ll go.”
***
Jensen makes his way through his quiz okay, considering that he spent a good two hours the night before decidedly not mulling over the past, goes home and sets up camp in the living room. He watches daytime TV, then a game, some movie about idiotic teenagers that just succeeds in pissing him off and finally falls asleep during the news. Saturday morning comes around with cartoons that have either really degraded since he was a kid or his taste back then was totally atrocious. He finally rolls off the couch around noon, eats, showers, shaves and, when he is dressed and ready to go at 8:30, he has not thought about the skeletons in his closet, he hasn’t thought about the greatest mistake of his life, and he definitely hasn’t thought about how much of a failure he is. So far, he considers the day to be a success.
***
Steve’s club, or rather, the club where Steve is playing, has a flickering neon sign identifying it as the SINKHOLE. It looks just as dingy on the inside as in front, Jensen notes after he parks his bike in an adjoining alley and shows his ID to a short but broad bald guy at the door. The indefinable color of the walls is blackened by what appears to be generations of people leaning against them. There are several small booths, with Jensen’s friends crammed into one of them, waving wildly and gesturing enthusiastically at the makeshift stage. Jensen wedges himself onto the bench next to Mike, reaching for a fourth beer on the table, and follows their pointing fingers with his eyes.
Steve is halfway through one of his songs, strumming his guitar and winking at a girl in the front row as he sings. There is another guy on stage with him, long hair and cowboy boots and hat, that Jensen has never seen before. He looks him over, then looks away. The guy has too much of home for him to be comfortable with it right now.
It isn’t until a good hour later, nursing a beer that a tiny brunette keeps setting down in front of him, watching Steve over the heads of the crowd, that Jensen realizes he is actually having fun. The music is good, his foot tapping to the rhythm almost of its own accord and for once, his friends are too caught up in other things to nag him about the rings under his eyes. He can’t help a small sigh of disappointment when Steve announces his last song and Danneel, Mike and Tom nudge each other, glancing in the direction of the door.
When they turn their collective questioning looks on him, Jensen shakes his head.
“I’m gonna talk to Steve for a bit,” he shouts in Danneel’s ear. They exchange raised-eyebrows looks that Jensen gallantly ignores and after two manly hugs and a peck on the cheek, he is free to go. He pushes his way through the crowd, which proves harder than he thought, while Steve and the cowboy gather up their equipment. Some generic radio rock is coming from the speakers now. Jensen pauses for a moment when a couple of lovesick fans (he had no idea Steve was so popular) form a cluster in front of the stage, halting all movement. He sighs, craning his neck for a way around, when someone brushes along his arm.
There’s a girl standing next to him, cute in the All-American way, nice cleavage and long legs and a sweet smile.
“Hi,” she shouts, extending a hand, “I’m Jenna!”
“Sorry,” he says, “Not into boobs.”
She frowns and turns away, muttering something that sounds like “I hope your boyfriend makes you happy then.”
Jensen shakes his head a little. He hasn’t had a boyfriend since Sophomore year. Apparently he scares people off.
When he turns around to try for the stage once again, a commotion to his right draws his attention. People are stepping back, forming a crooked circle around a tall, broad guy with dark hair in his face. He’s mouthing along to the words of the song, grinding his hips, grinning like all evil overlords combined.
And yeah, he could totally take over the world with the way he’s moving his ass. Jensen swallows, his throat suddenly dry. The guy is well-built, toned arms and legs and tan skin and Jensen does not check out the bulge in his three sizes too-tight pants. He clears his throat, but when he looks around it’s not just girls wearing alternatively leering or dazed expressions.
“Not bad for a barkeep, huh?” the guy next to him shouts over the music with an appreciative grin. Jensen takes another look at the dancer’s shirt, Too Busy To Fcuk emblazoned on it in bold letters, and yeah, the other two girls and one woman behind the bar are sporting matching ones.
“A king size tub big enough for ten plus me,” the guy mouths, almost on his knees. Jensen refuses to acknowledge what that image does to him, he is not that horny, damn it! But the dancer doesn’t leave him time to gather his wits; he reaches out to wrap an arm around one of the on-lookers’ waist, giving her a cocky grin. For a second Jensen is sure he’s about to get slapped, but the girl just grins and Gorgeous licks a stripe up her cheek before practically folding himself in half in front of her friend. His new victim giggles like a little girl as she slaps his ass. Jensen wants to bury his face in his hands, but the dancer just casts her a grin and a wink before shimmying up to some football player-type guy who looks decidedly uncomfortable about the sudden increase of ass in his lap.
He is saved by the bell, however, when the song dies with a few last riffs and the older woman yells “Hey!” from the bar.
She waits for the commotion to die down halfway before gesturing at the dancer to come over.
“Okay,” she shouts, “let's give it up for Jared, who now needs to get his ass back behind the bar!”
Gorgeous throws a grin her way and bows to the whistling and cheering crowd, sweaty bangs flying. Then he cocks his head a little, reaching up to scratch the back of his head, and Jensen’s heart stops beating.
He knows that movement; knows it so well, that slightly cocky, slightly childish gesture.
Jared.
Jared.
The dancer pushes into the crowd, towards the bar, so close Jensen can feel the smell of sweat lingering on him. He reaches out, closing his fingers around Jared’s arm. The boy spins around, ready to defend himself, but Jensen can’t think. All he sees are those dark eyes, dark and wide and he feels like he’s falling into emptiness.
“Jay,” he whispers.
Jared frowns for a split second; then his face breaks open, fear and anger and misery. He yanks free and pushes through the crowd like the devil is after him. Jensen watches him go, watches him disappear between the writhing bodies and reappear in the brighter lights behind the bar. The dark haired girl steps into his way with a smile, about to say something, but the expression is replaced by a worried frown as Jared just pushes past her, disappearing through the door marked “PRIVATE” and slamming it shut.
***
Jensen stumbles into the bathroom, one hand pressed against the cool tiles as he tries to breathe, tries to stop his heart from hammering like it’s about to explode. Jared.
Jared.
Jensen fumbles for his phone and dials.
“Pick up, pick up,” he whispers as he listens to the dial tone once, twice, three times. The line crackles.
A groggy “Bush?” answers him.
“Sophie,” he says, talking right over her sleepy “Oh, hey, Jensen-“, hysteria in his voice, and almost sobs into the receiver, “Soph, I think I found him.”
***
The storage room is cool and dark. Jared sits on a box of canned sodas, legs drawn to his body, arms wrapped around his knees. A thin strip of light underneath the door filters in from the hallway, creating silhouettes of boxes and kegs. He knows better than to close his eyes - it will only send him back there, back to hot breath on his neck and hot tears on his chin and hot hands under his shirt.
Jared draws a shuddering breath, fisting his stinging eyes. No tears though. He’s cried himself out.
Sandy is the first through the door, no regard for privacy or personal space, faltering only slightly when Jared turns his stony face her way. Adrienne comes slower, lingering in the doorway, careful and shy. Jared turns his face to the wall as the single light bulb above him is switched on, filling the room with dim, grainy light.
Sandy slows as she comes closer, perching on a crate next to Jared, reaching out for him but thinking better of it halfway through.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
Jared nearly laughs but really it’s more like a sob.
Sandy’s hand comes dangerously close to his shoulder again; he takes a deep breath.
“I’m fine,” he almost snaps, “Leave me alone.”
Adrienne flinches back a little from his rough tone, but Sandy just raises her eyebrows.
“Uh-huh,” she says with a nod that makes Jared want to punch a hole into the wall. Sandy, unfazed by the annoyance he knows is showing on his face, taps her finger against her temple in an obvious gesture.
“You can try that bullshit on someone else, Jared. Tell the fucking truth.”
“You know what?” Jared snaps, “You can go fuck yourself. I didn’t invite you to pry.”
Sandy rolls her eyes.
“Oh no, God forbid mysterious little Jared ever stop lying. Who knows, Hell might freeze over.”
“What do you care, anyway?” Jared shoots back, “Stop asking if you don’t want to hear it. I don’t owe you.”
“Oh, I forgot,” Sandy’s small hands are balled into fists now, “You don’t care about anyone.”
Jared slams his fist down on the box he’s sitting on. Adrienne looks ready to turn and run, but he’s too angry to care. Sandy narrows her eyes at him, about to say something, but Sam cuts her off.
“Okay, that’s enough.”
Her voice is cold and no-nonsense from where she’s standing in the doorway. Adrienne jumps, quickly retreating into a corner. Sam waves her out.
“Okay, girls, enough with the chitchat. Back to work.”
She shoos both of them out into the hall, ignoring the glances they continue to shoot Jared, and shuts the door firmly before turning to him.
“Jared, honey, are you okay?” she asks, sitting down on a carton full of pretzels and placing a hand on his knee.
Jared nods, hiding his face in his arms.
“Fine,” he mutters.
Sam tries very hard not to smirk.
“So you’re freaked out, insecure, neurotic…”
It works; Jared smiles weakly as he cuts her off: “And emotional, yeah, yeah.”
He sighs and rubs his hands over his face.
“Sounds about right.”
“Did someone try something?” she asks sharply, though her anger isn’t directed at him, “Are you hurt?”
She looks like she’s about to bust out the baseball bat. Jared doesn’t doubt she would, so he shakes his head and forces a small smile.
“Nah, it’s nothing, just thought I saw someone.”
The lie comes easily over his lips. She nods gently, on her face the soft expression that she reserves for her crew, her “kids” as she calls them.
“Do you want to crash here?” she asks, a hand on his shoulder, “I can set up the field bed for you in the office, that’s not a problem.”
Jared takes a deep breath, presses his lips firmly together. He can do this; he’s been living and breathing lies for years. He can put on a fake smile for his friends.
“Nah,” he says, shrugging, all casual and cool, “I’m okay. Really. Just freaked out for a bit. Just give me a couple minutes, yeah?”
“Suit yourself,” Sam replies, rising to her feet, “Just come on out when you’re ready.”
“Yeah, sure.”
She pauses in the doorway to look back at him and he gives her a cheery grin.
“Just… Can you turn out the light?”
She frowns but complies, leaving him in darkness. Jared leans his head back and stares at the dark ceiling above him. Of all the days he’d expected his carefully constructed life to break down and shatter, it had never been like this - never just some random day at work. He swallows heavily. He can’t run this time, can’t start his life over. He just can’t. He put too much into this one. And Jensen can’t be in it. Seeing Jensen, knowing every second of every day what he has done - Jared just can’t. Jensen has to go.
***
The silence on the other end of the line lasts so long Jensen begins to wonder if maybe Sophia has fainted. Finally, he hears her careful voice, all traces of sleep vanished.
“Are… are you sure it’s him?”
“Almost.”
“What’s almost? Like forty percent or eighty or…”
“He recognized me,” Jensen interrupts, “I’m sure of it.”
Sophia hhmms quietly.
“How’s he taking it?”
Jensen thinks of Jared’s eyes, wide and dark like a trapped animal’s, and sighs.
“Not so great, I guess?”
“Surprise,” Sophia mutters to herself. Jensen can hear paper rustling, but before he can snap at her, she continues, “Listen, Jen: Just… try not to scare him off, yeah?”
“Okay,” Jensen mutters.
“Okay,” she echoes, dragging in a deep breath, “Okay. Go find your boy and hang onto him, okay, tiger? Don’t let him get away.”
“I won’t,” Jensen promises earnestly, “you can bet your ass I won’t.”
He can hear Sophia’s smile in her voice.
“Oh my God, Jensen, I can’t believe it.”
Jensen smiles weakly.
“Join the club.” He runs a hand through his cropped hair. “Six years, six fucking years.”
“I know.” She laughs weakly. “Now stop wasting your time on me and go out there and get him.”
And Jensen does.
***
Jared swallows heavily as he sets down two heavy frosted mugs in front of some wrestler dude and Jensen - Jensen! - forces his way between two people at the counter. His face is all eagerness and uncertainty and Jared feels a wave of nausea.
“Jay!” Jensen calls, waving to get his attention, “Jay.”
Jared swallows again, takes a swig of beer to steady his nerves and leans over, hating how Jensen’s eyes light up at the movement.
“Hi Jensen,” he says, loud enough to be heard over the low thumping of the bass, busying himself with wiping clean the beer tap, “can I get you anything?”
Jensen, mouth opened to say something, stumbles over his question and leans back, blinking.
“I-“ he starts and breaks off.
“I… Can I talk to you?”
Jared bites down a laugh. Talk. He wouldn’t know where to begin.
“Here?” he asks, raising his eyebrows, and takes a glass off the rack, “Beer work for you?”
“Beer?” Jensen echoes weakly, “Uh, sure.”
“Nice.”
Jared hands him his drink, breathing quietly in relief when someone at the other end of the bar calls him over. He dishes out several beers and Jack-and-Cokes and wipes down the counter where some frat boy has spilled his brew before he can’t ignore Jensen’s desperate stare anymore. He doesn’t seem to have anything in common with the Jensen of the past, the cool (if godless) hero of his youth. This Jensen almost seems to grovel for his attention. Jared steels his shoulders. He can have it if he wants. Jared knows how to get rid of the desperate. He can make Jensen go away, he can, and then he can go back to his life and forget this day ever happened.
“Jay,” Jensen waves him over again, “I - please. Please?”
“Not here,” Jared shouts, running his hand through his hair in that way that works on everyone. He flashes a grin as his shirt rises, showing a strip of skin above his belt, and Jensen’s eyes - as expected - are immediately drawn to it.
“Too much audience.”
He leans in close, lets his fingers wander over Jensen’s forearm and smiles as he feels him shudder.
“Meet me out back in twenty minutes?” he whispers into his ear, letting his breath ghost along the inside of Jensen’s ear.
He smiles as he pulls back, waiting for Jensen’s speechless nod before heading off to tell Sam he isn’t feeling well.
***
Jensen is practically bouncing on his heels by the time Jared pushes open the delivery door, a sweater drawn over his shirt to shield him from the cool night air.
“Jay,” he says, stepping forward too quickly, wanting to hug but Jared’s slow, deliberate movements stop him.
“People don’t call me that anymore,” Jared says with a lazy grin over his shoulder. Jensen feels his stomach tighten uncomfortably.
Jared… God. Jensen had known that Jared is nineteen now, but in his head he had always stayed that scrawny, too tall kid who didn’t know what to do with his arms and legs. This Jared, though - he is tall and broad and confident, teasing and well aware of it, and even though Jensen can’t fight a flush of shame, the kid is fucking hot.
He clears his throat helplessly.
Jared nods, knowing; Jensen is sure his ears are burning now.
“So,” Jared says. Jensen coughs.
“I have no idea how to start this,” he admits.
“Do you, like, wanna come over to my place?”
He gestures helplessly.
“I dunno, have coffee? Catch up a bit?”
The nervous laugh dies in his throat as Jared swings around, crowding him back into the wall, hand splayed across the cold brick by Jensen’s head.
“Your place,” he whispers, and any coherent thoughts Jensen might have had go out the window as Jared forces a knee between his, pulling it higher and forcing his thighs further apart. His breath is hot against Jensen’s neck.
“Is it close?”
Jensen moans softly as Jared leans in to nibble at his throat, predator grin in the darkness.
“Yeah,” he forces out, “close…”
“Excellent,” Jared praises him, hands sliding down to cup Jensen’s ass through his jeans before stepping away.
“Lead the way?”
His voice is soft, but not as helpless as it is supposed to. This Jared is letting Jensen lead, but he doesn’t need him to.
Jensen swallows.
“Jay… Jared,” he corrects himself, “I - Where have you been?”
“Shh,” Jared soothes, reaching out to run a hand along Jensen’s arm, “We can play catch-up later. Got a car?”
“Bike,” Jensen grinds out as the wandering fingers sneak down, across his belly and sliding ever so lightly under his belt.
“Bike,” Jared repeats, licking his lips, “Mmh, I like that.”
“No second helmet,” Jensen remembers (and is very proud of it, faced with Jared’s wandering hands under his shirt), but Jared just shakes his head.
“You’ll just have to drive slow then, and I can hang on extra tight.”
He tugs Jensen a little closer, drawing him off-balance and nuzzling against his neck. He bares his teeth and nips a little before soothing the area with a small kiss.
“Or maybe, we should go fast so we’ll get to your place sooner? I don’t mind a bumpy ride.”
He grins and pulls away and Jensen finds himself following his warmth automatically.
Jared gives him a broad, knowing smirk.
“So, that bike…”
***
The door to his apartment has barely clicked shut when Jensen finds himself pushed up against it, Jared’s hands roaming boldly under his shirt. The leather jacket ends up on the floor as does his shirt. Jared pulls his own sweater off, pausing to run a hand up Jensen’s chest.
“Very nice,” he says. Jensen can feel his face flush bright red, but Jared doesn’t give him time to think when he seals his lips firmly over Jensen, conquering his mouth like Napoleon Europe, and God, maybe that history course did damage him a little.
Jared pulls back, leaving Jensen breathless and whimpering.
“Bedroom?” he whispers, an invitation as well as a promise.
Jensen swallows heavily, gestures wordlessly down the hall.
Jared gives him a grin that makes Jensen feel like a mouse about to be eaten, and takes a step back. He tilts his head in the direction that Jensen indicated as if to say, Well, come on, then, and sashays away into the dark apartment.
When Jensen finally convinces his rubbery legs to move, Jared has already finished undressing and Jensen’s throat goes uncomfortably dry, because damn. Strong but slender limbs, silhouette illuminated by the distant orange glow of a streetlamp.
“I sure hope you’re a bottom,” Jared says, voice like velvet, stroking a hand over Jensen’s sheets, “because I can’t wait to see how you will look writhing underneath me.”
Jensen can’t help it; he whimpers softly and from Jared’s smile, he knows. Knows all too well.
“Well, are you going to stand there all night, or can we get on with the nakedness?”
The lame line breaks the tension and Jensen releases all the emotions pressing in on him in a huff of laughter.
He undresses quickly and quietly, painfully aware of every awkward pause and fumble. Jared doesn’t seem to care, though, just waits with his eyes glowing with… want? Need? Jensen’s not sure. He pushes his jeans off his hips and steps out of them, and Jared takes advantage of him being slightly off-balance by reaching out a casual hand and pushing him over, face-down on the bed where he lands in a tangled mess of limbs.
He moves to push up but doesn’t get any farther than his hands and knees before Jared is behind him, large hands settling on his hips.
“Ssh,” he soothes when Jensen starts. He doesn’t waste any time on foreplay, calloused fingers finding their way to his ass with a certainty that almost makes Jensen blush.
He barely has time to worry about a condom and lube - he sure as Hell hasn’t got any- before Jared leans over the edge of the bed and whisks both out of the pocket of his jeans. It startles a bit, the thought of Jared and gay sex (Hell, premarital sex, for that matter) but Jensen can’t help but snicker a little. Jay always has been a good little boy scout.
The amusement is driven right out of him when Jared slams home. Jensen grits his teeth because it fucking hurts, but Jared’s hands on his dick have him distracted until the pain goes away.
It’s fast and messy, grunts and groans in the darkness on Jensen’s weeks-old sheets, rough hands dragging over skin and fingers digging into flesh. The barest hint of stubble rubs over Jensen’s skin as Jared buries his teeth in his shoulder and then Jensen stutters out his release, feels Jared deep inside him and can’t help his moan. Jared rolls off of him and onto his back; his eyes are closed, the lines around his mouth worn and harsh.
Jensen slumps forward against Jared’s broad chest, taking a deep breath.
“Damn,” he mutters and tightens his hold a little bit, eyes already closing, but the warm body underneath him slips away before he can make himself comfortable.
Jared sits up, pulling on his shorts and jeans. He’s already halfway into his boots when Jensen manages a groggy “What’ya’doin’?”
Jared pauses for a moment, looking down at his laces.
“Leaving,” he says shortly.
“What?”
Jensen sits up, brows furrowed in confusion, “Jared, I-“
Jared pauses for a moment, hand on his jacket.
“Goodbye, Jensen,” he says softly. His eyes are unreadable, wide and dark, and they rest on Jensen for a moment before he turns away. Footsteps, heavy from his boots, echo down the hallway.
The soft click of the door might as well have been a gunshot in the stiff, still silence. Jensen blinks, frowns, shakes his head. It doesn’t help, though - he still has no idea what the Hell just happened.
***
>Part 2
Feedback is love. ^_^
Please read warnings carefully, because this shit gets harsh.
Title: Let the Devil Down
Pairings: Jared/Jensen, Jared/others, Jensen/others
Rating: R to NC-17
Disclaimer: Lies.
Notes/Warnings: Implied rape, implied dub-con, violence, angst, underage sex and drinking, and lots of math.
Faith is also an issue. It's not my faith, and I'm not trying to beat you over the head with a message; it's just a part of the character.
Also, if parts of this sound familiar to you, it's probably some other fic that snuck its way in. Apologies in advance, it's not intentional. I just read too much RPS.
This fic is yet unbeta-ed. If you're interested, please let me know. ^^
It's AU! AU! I totally forgot to mention that. :S
Summary: Six years ago, Jensen broke one promise, made one stupid mistake. It's been haunting him ever since.
Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Epilogue
Let the Devil Down
Part I
***
Six years ago.
Thursday.
Jensen catches up with Jared halfway back to town.
"Hey Jay," he calls.
Jay slows, waits for him, and Jensen throws an arm around his shoulder because he knows that annoyed slump of the shoulders well.
"Sorry about the guys," Jensen says with a dismissive shrug, "they're jerks."
"You're going to Hell, you know," Jay answers quite solemnly, giving Jensen a serious look from underneath dark lashes. No malice in his words, though, just stating facts. He sounds so convinced that Jensen almost laughs.
"Because of the gay thing, or because I drink and smoke and do drugs?"
Jay cocks his head a little, like he hasn't considered that, his hand wandering up to his necklace out of habit. It's a small cross, sturdy gold with a cheap gemstone; Jensen has never seen him without it, not even that time they went skinny-dipping in Norton's pond and got themselves grounded for half a decade.
"Both, I guess," Jay decides, and Jensen grins. He squeezes the kid's shoulder slightly and winks.
"Well, as long as you're going with me..."
***
Now.
Jensen sits up with a hiss of breath, sheet of sweat coating his skin. T-shirt and pajama bottoms cling uncomfortably to his skin and he wishes he could just tear them off his body. He kicks the tangled sheets away from his legs and fumbles for the glasses he left sitting on the bedside table. The room slows its spinning a little after he perches the thin frame on his slippery nose, but the nauseous pit in his stomach is still there.
Six years later, and the nightmares still make him want to scream, to puke or put his foot through something. They’re not even bad dreams, that’s the worst part. To anyone else they might even seem nice, sweet memories from Jensen’s fucked-up teenage years. But Jensen’s seen this movie already. He knows what’s coming next, knows the big twist, when the comedy will turn into a tragedy.
He feels like he’s twenty-three going on ancient.
Jensen rubs his bleary eyes and glances at the alarm on the nightstand. 3:18 A.M., it informs him with merciless precision. He sighs. Sleep is out now, he knows that from more personal experience than he’d ever wanted. He crawls out of bed and fumbles for the light switch. The bulb flares up sudden and bright. He shields his eyes with his arm and stumbles down the hall into the kitchen in his t-shirt and boxers.
He flicks on the small radio on the window sill. It crackles to life, to some mind- and senseless pop song for very early birds, and Jensen finds himself restlessly drumming his fingers in the counter as he waits for the coffee maker to heat up.
Coffee drips into Jensen’s cup as a black, grainy sludge. He dumps half a pound of sugar into it and carries his precious prize over to the couch. He lets his head drop onto the headrest, sighs.
“God damn it,” he whispers to no one in particular. He curls up in a tight little ball and, gripping his mug like a lifeline, waits for the dawn.
***
“Wow, you look like shit,” Mike says as Jensen sets his book and his venti zebra mocha, no foam, down on the table.
The Starbucks just off-campus has become a second home for him and his small group of friends in the last four years. It’s close-by, spacey and light and whenever business is slow, the baristas update him on the latest gossip.
Sometimes Jensen thinks there is more sexual tension than coffee-making involved in working here, but some of the ‘partners’ - Steve, Allison, Alexis - have become his friends and even if he wasn’t so ridiculously addicted to caffeine, he’d probably come and kick it with them all the time anyway.
Right now, however, things are looking a bit more grim. He has gathered here today with his fellow psych students and best friends to study for a quiz the next day that threatens to kick his ass. He is absolutely not in the mood for the “you look terrible have you been sleeping air out your closet and confess already”-speech.
“Thanks,” he says, just this side of edgy, and flops down amongst the chaos of books, notes and laptops.
“Nightmare,” he explains, like labeling it as not real would somehow chase away the demons his subconscious has awoken. Again.
“Again?” Danneel asks incredulously. Tom nods. Even Mike gives him a pitiful look.
Jensen shrugs.
“There’s not really anything I can do about it,” he shoots back, tone warning them to just let it go, but Danneel ignores it.
“There are lots of things you can do, Jensen!”
“Like see a shrink,” Tom says, exchanging a look that is all eyebrows with Mike.
“A psychiatrist,” Danneel interjects loudly, “would help you to at least confront some of your issues, Jensen.”
“Ooh, issues, lovely,” Jensen mumbles, flicking his textbook open.
“Oh, come on, Jensen, you’ve been having these nightmares since before I met you, and that was when, four years ago? You obviously need some help.”
There are pink splotches on her cheeks by the time she has finished, and Jensen scowls.
“I don’t need a shrink to tell me I feel guilty,” he snaps. It isn’t until Danneel’s eyes grow wide as saucers and even Tom and Mike perk up that he realizes he said that out loud, and that that might not have been such a great idea. He scowls and tries a different tactic. When in doubt, create a distraction.
“You guys are aware that despite your very noble attempts to fix me, we still have that quiz tomorrow, yeah? And that’s it’s one of Freeman’s tests?”
Panic crops up on the faces of his friends, not quite unexpectedly, and Jensen swallows down the sneaking notion that he’s being an ass by reminding himself that Freeman really does grade like a motherfucker.
***
The shadows of the trees outside slowly lengthen, creating a dark pattern on the window panes, and the empty paper cups accumulate on their table, but they make good headway and Jensen finally closes his tome with a thud.
“Awesome. I think we’re good,” he announces. There is a round of relieved nods and smiles.
Danneel takes a sip of her luke-warm drink and sighs contently.
“God, I can hardly wait to have two days all to myself. What’re your plans? Anyone up for a party?”
Jensen shakes his head.
“Gotta get a head-start on my paper for McKellen,” he says, but instead of understanding nods he earns himself disapproving frowns.
“Jensen,” Danneel says, clicking her tongue, “that’s not due for another month. You could use a break.”
Tom shakes his head a little, but it’s Mike who says, “You need to get out of the house for a bit, Jen. Get out of your own head.”
“Oh yeah?” Jensen asks roughly, swallowing down the bitterness threatening to rise up in his throat.
“Yeah.”
Nods all around.
“Steve’s got a gig Saturday,” Mike goes on, nodding his chin towards the barista behind the counter, currently calling out a grande BSL for Shannon.
Jensen cocks his head. He really should get started on that paper; McKellen likes Jensen, but that doesn’t mean he’ll grade leniently and Jensen really likes his GPA right now. On the other hand, Steve’s a good friend and Jensen likes his music. And an evening getting his mind of things really can’t hurt, right?
“Fine,” he says with a long-suffering sigh, “I’ll go.”
***
Jensen makes his way through his quiz okay, considering that he spent a good two hours the night before decidedly not mulling over the past, goes home and sets up camp in the living room. He watches daytime TV, then a game, some movie about idiotic teenagers that just succeeds in pissing him off and finally falls asleep during the news. Saturday morning comes around with cartoons that have either really degraded since he was a kid or his taste back then was totally atrocious. He finally rolls off the couch around noon, eats, showers, shaves and, when he is dressed and ready to go at 8:30, he has not thought about the skeletons in his closet, he hasn’t thought about the greatest mistake of his life, and he definitely hasn’t thought about how much of a failure he is. So far, he considers the day to be a success.
***
Steve’s club, or rather, the club where Steve is playing, has a flickering neon sign identifying it as the SINKHOLE. It looks just as dingy on the inside as in front, Jensen notes after he parks his bike in an adjoining alley and shows his ID to a short but broad bald guy at the door. The indefinable color of the walls is blackened by what appears to be generations of people leaning against them. There are several small booths, with Jensen’s friends crammed into one of them, waving wildly and gesturing enthusiastically at the makeshift stage. Jensen wedges himself onto the bench next to Mike, reaching for a fourth beer on the table, and follows their pointing fingers with his eyes.
Steve is halfway through one of his songs, strumming his guitar and winking at a girl in the front row as he sings. There is another guy on stage with him, long hair and cowboy boots and hat, that Jensen has never seen before. He looks him over, then looks away. The guy has too much of home for him to be comfortable with it right now.
It isn’t until a good hour later, nursing a beer that a tiny brunette keeps setting down in front of him, watching Steve over the heads of the crowd, that Jensen realizes he is actually having fun. The music is good, his foot tapping to the rhythm almost of its own accord and for once, his friends are too caught up in other things to nag him about the rings under his eyes. He can’t help a small sigh of disappointment when Steve announces his last song and Danneel, Mike and Tom nudge each other, glancing in the direction of the door.
When they turn their collective questioning looks on him, Jensen shakes his head.
“I’m gonna talk to Steve for a bit,” he shouts in Danneel’s ear. They exchange raised-eyebrows looks that Jensen gallantly ignores and after two manly hugs and a peck on the cheek, he is free to go. He pushes his way through the crowd, which proves harder than he thought, while Steve and the cowboy gather up their equipment. Some generic radio rock is coming from the speakers now. Jensen pauses for a moment when a couple of lovesick fans (he had no idea Steve was so popular) form a cluster in front of the stage, halting all movement. He sighs, craning his neck for a way around, when someone brushes along his arm.
There’s a girl standing next to him, cute in the All-American way, nice cleavage and long legs and a sweet smile.
“Hi,” she shouts, extending a hand, “I’m Jenna!”
“Sorry,” he says, “Not into boobs.”
She frowns and turns away, muttering something that sounds like “I hope your boyfriend makes you happy then.”
Jensen shakes his head a little. He hasn’t had a boyfriend since Sophomore year. Apparently he scares people off.
When he turns around to try for the stage once again, a commotion to his right draws his attention. People are stepping back, forming a crooked circle around a tall, broad guy with dark hair in his face. He’s mouthing along to the words of the song, grinding his hips, grinning like all evil overlords combined.
And yeah, he could totally take over the world with the way he’s moving his ass. Jensen swallows, his throat suddenly dry. The guy is well-built, toned arms and legs and tan skin and Jensen does not check out the bulge in his three sizes too-tight pants. He clears his throat, but when he looks around it’s not just girls wearing alternatively leering or dazed expressions.
“Not bad for a barkeep, huh?” the guy next to him shouts over the music with an appreciative grin. Jensen takes another look at the dancer’s shirt, Too Busy To Fcuk emblazoned on it in bold letters, and yeah, the other two girls and one woman behind the bar are sporting matching ones.
“A king size tub big enough for ten plus me,” the guy mouths, almost on his knees. Jensen refuses to acknowledge what that image does to him, he is not that horny, damn it! But the dancer doesn’t leave him time to gather his wits; he reaches out to wrap an arm around one of the on-lookers’ waist, giving her a cocky grin. For a second Jensen is sure he’s about to get slapped, but the girl just grins and Gorgeous licks a stripe up her cheek before practically folding himself in half in front of her friend. His new victim giggles like a little girl as she slaps his ass. Jensen wants to bury his face in his hands, but the dancer just casts her a grin and a wink before shimmying up to some football player-type guy who looks decidedly uncomfortable about the sudden increase of ass in his lap.
He is saved by the bell, however, when the song dies with a few last riffs and the older woman yells “Hey!” from the bar.
She waits for the commotion to die down halfway before gesturing at the dancer to come over.
“Okay,” she shouts, “let's give it up for Jared, who now needs to get his ass back behind the bar!”
Gorgeous throws a grin her way and bows to the whistling and cheering crowd, sweaty bangs flying. Then he cocks his head a little, reaching up to scratch the back of his head, and Jensen’s heart stops beating.
He knows that movement; knows it so well, that slightly cocky, slightly childish gesture.
Jared.
Jared.
The dancer pushes into the crowd, towards the bar, so close Jensen can feel the smell of sweat lingering on him. He reaches out, closing his fingers around Jared’s arm. The boy spins around, ready to defend himself, but Jensen can’t think. All he sees are those dark eyes, dark and wide and he feels like he’s falling into emptiness.
“Jay,” he whispers.
Jared frowns for a split second; then his face breaks open, fear and anger and misery. He yanks free and pushes through the crowd like the devil is after him. Jensen watches him go, watches him disappear between the writhing bodies and reappear in the brighter lights behind the bar. The dark haired girl steps into his way with a smile, about to say something, but the expression is replaced by a worried frown as Jared just pushes past her, disappearing through the door marked “PRIVATE” and slamming it shut.
***
Jensen stumbles into the bathroom, one hand pressed against the cool tiles as he tries to breathe, tries to stop his heart from hammering like it’s about to explode. Jared.
Jared.
Jensen fumbles for his phone and dials.
“Pick up, pick up,” he whispers as he listens to the dial tone once, twice, three times. The line crackles.
A groggy “Bush?” answers him.
“Sophie,” he says, talking right over her sleepy “Oh, hey, Jensen-“, hysteria in his voice, and almost sobs into the receiver, “Soph, I think I found him.”
***
The storage room is cool and dark. Jared sits on a box of canned sodas, legs drawn to his body, arms wrapped around his knees. A thin strip of light underneath the door filters in from the hallway, creating silhouettes of boxes and kegs. He knows better than to close his eyes - it will only send him back there, back to hot breath on his neck and hot tears on his chin and hot hands under his shirt.
Jared draws a shuddering breath, fisting his stinging eyes. No tears though. He’s cried himself out.
Sandy is the first through the door, no regard for privacy or personal space, faltering only slightly when Jared turns his stony face her way. Adrienne comes slower, lingering in the doorway, careful and shy. Jared turns his face to the wall as the single light bulb above him is switched on, filling the room with dim, grainy light.
Sandy slows as she comes closer, perching on a crate next to Jared, reaching out for him but thinking better of it halfway through.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
Jared nearly laughs but really it’s more like a sob.
Sandy’s hand comes dangerously close to his shoulder again; he takes a deep breath.
“I’m fine,” he almost snaps, “Leave me alone.”
Adrienne flinches back a little from his rough tone, but Sandy just raises her eyebrows.
“Uh-huh,” she says with a nod that makes Jared want to punch a hole into the wall. Sandy, unfazed by the annoyance he knows is showing on his face, taps her finger against her temple in an obvious gesture.
“You can try that bullshit on someone else, Jared. Tell the fucking truth.”
“You know what?” Jared snaps, “You can go fuck yourself. I didn’t invite you to pry.”
Sandy rolls her eyes.
“Oh no, God forbid mysterious little Jared ever stop lying. Who knows, Hell might freeze over.”
“What do you care, anyway?” Jared shoots back, “Stop asking if you don’t want to hear it. I don’t owe you.”
“Oh, I forgot,” Sandy’s small hands are balled into fists now, “You don’t care about anyone.”
Jared slams his fist down on the box he’s sitting on. Adrienne looks ready to turn and run, but he’s too angry to care. Sandy narrows her eyes at him, about to say something, but Sam cuts her off.
“Okay, that’s enough.”
Her voice is cold and no-nonsense from where she’s standing in the doorway. Adrienne jumps, quickly retreating into a corner. Sam waves her out.
“Okay, girls, enough with the chitchat. Back to work.”
She shoos both of them out into the hall, ignoring the glances they continue to shoot Jared, and shuts the door firmly before turning to him.
“Jared, honey, are you okay?” she asks, sitting down on a carton full of pretzels and placing a hand on his knee.
Jared nods, hiding his face in his arms.
“Fine,” he mutters.
Sam tries very hard not to smirk.
“So you’re freaked out, insecure, neurotic…”
It works; Jared smiles weakly as he cuts her off: “And emotional, yeah, yeah.”
He sighs and rubs his hands over his face.
“Sounds about right.”
“Did someone try something?” she asks sharply, though her anger isn’t directed at him, “Are you hurt?”
She looks like she’s about to bust out the baseball bat. Jared doesn’t doubt she would, so he shakes his head and forces a small smile.
“Nah, it’s nothing, just thought I saw someone.”
The lie comes easily over his lips. She nods gently, on her face the soft expression that she reserves for her crew, her “kids” as she calls them.
“Do you want to crash here?” she asks, a hand on his shoulder, “I can set up the field bed for you in the office, that’s not a problem.”
Jared takes a deep breath, presses his lips firmly together. He can do this; he’s been living and breathing lies for years. He can put on a fake smile for his friends.
“Nah,” he says, shrugging, all casual and cool, “I’m okay. Really. Just freaked out for a bit. Just give me a couple minutes, yeah?”
“Suit yourself,” Sam replies, rising to her feet, “Just come on out when you’re ready.”
“Yeah, sure.”
She pauses in the doorway to look back at him and he gives her a cheery grin.
“Just… Can you turn out the light?”
She frowns but complies, leaving him in darkness. Jared leans his head back and stares at the dark ceiling above him. Of all the days he’d expected his carefully constructed life to break down and shatter, it had never been like this - never just some random day at work. He swallows heavily. He can’t run this time, can’t start his life over. He just can’t. He put too much into this one. And Jensen can’t be in it. Seeing Jensen, knowing every second of every day what he has done - Jared just can’t. Jensen has to go.
***
The silence on the other end of the line lasts so long Jensen begins to wonder if maybe Sophia has fainted. Finally, he hears her careful voice, all traces of sleep vanished.
“Are… are you sure it’s him?”
“Almost.”
“What’s almost? Like forty percent or eighty or…”
“He recognized me,” Jensen interrupts, “I’m sure of it.”
Sophia hhmms quietly.
“How’s he taking it?”
Jensen thinks of Jared’s eyes, wide and dark like a trapped animal’s, and sighs.
“Not so great, I guess?”
“Surprise,” Sophia mutters to herself. Jensen can hear paper rustling, but before he can snap at her, she continues, “Listen, Jen: Just… try not to scare him off, yeah?”
“Okay,” Jensen mutters.
“Okay,” she echoes, dragging in a deep breath, “Okay. Go find your boy and hang onto him, okay, tiger? Don’t let him get away.”
“I won’t,” Jensen promises earnestly, “you can bet your ass I won’t.”
He can hear Sophia’s smile in her voice.
“Oh my God, Jensen, I can’t believe it.”
Jensen smiles weakly.
“Join the club.” He runs a hand through his cropped hair. “Six years, six fucking years.”
“I know.” She laughs weakly. “Now stop wasting your time on me and go out there and get him.”
And Jensen does.
***
Jared swallows heavily as he sets down two heavy frosted mugs in front of some wrestler dude and Jensen - Jensen! - forces his way between two people at the counter. His face is all eagerness and uncertainty and Jared feels a wave of nausea.
“Jay!” Jensen calls, waving to get his attention, “Jay.”
Jared swallows again, takes a swig of beer to steady his nerves and leans over, hating how Jensen’s eyes light up at the movement.
“Hi Jensen,” he says, loud enough to be heard over the low thumping of the bass, busying himself with wiping clean the beer tap, “can I get you anything?”
Jensen, mouth opened to say something, stumbles over his question and leans back, blinking.
“I-“ he starts and breaks off.
“I… Can I talk to you?”
Jared bites down a laugh. Talk. He wouldn’t know where to begin.
“Here?” he asks, raising his eyebrows, and takes a glass off the rack, “Beer work for you?”
“Beer?” Jensen echoes weakly, “Uh, sure.”
“Nice.”
Jared hands him his drink, breathing quietly in relief when someone at the other end of the bar calls him over. He dishes out several beers and Jack-and-Cokes and wipes down the counter where some frat boy has spilled his brew before he can’t ignore Jensen’s desperate stare anymore. He doesn’t seem to have anything in common with the Jensen of the past, the cool (if godless) hero of his youth. This Jensen almost seems to grovel for his attention. Jared steels his shoulders. He can have it if he wants. Jared knows how to get rid of the desperate. He can make Jensen go away, he can, and then he can go back to his life and forget this day ever happened.
“Jay,” Jensen waves him over again, “I - please. Please?”
“Not here,” Jared shouts, running his hand through his hair in that way that works on everyone. He flashes a grin as his shirt rises, showing a strip of skin above his belt, and Jensen’s eyes - as expected - are immediately drawn to it.
“Too much audience.”
He leans in close, lets his fingers wander over Jensen’s forearm and smiles as he feels him shudder.
“Meet me out back in twenty minutes?” he whispers into his ear, letting his breath ghost along the inside of Jensen’s ear.
He smiles as he pulls back, waiting for Jensen’s speechless nod before heading off to tell Sam he isn’t feeling well.
***
Jensen is practically bouncing on his heels by the time Jared pushes open the delivery door, a sweater drawn over his shirt to shield him from the cool night air.
“Jay,” he says, stepping forward too quickly, wanting to hug but Jared’s slow, deliberate movements stop him.
“People don’t call me that anymore,” Jared says with a lazy grin over his shoulder. Jensen feels his stomach tighten uncomfortably.
Jared… God. Jensen had known that Jared is nineteen now, but in his head he had always stayed that scrawny, too tall kid who didn’t know what to do with his arms and legs. This Jared, though - he is tall and broad and confident, teasing and well aware of it, and even though Jensen can’t fight a flush of shame, the kid is fucking hot.
He clears his throat helplessly.
Jared nods, knowing; Jensen is sure his ears are burning now.
“So,” Jared says. Jensen coughs.
“I have no idea how to start this,” he admits.
“Do you, like, wanna come over to my place?”
He gestures helplessly.
“I dunno, have coffee? Catch up a bit?”
The nervous laugh dies in his throat as Jared swings around, crowding him back into the wall, hand splayed across the cold brick by Jensen’s head.
“Your place,” he whispers, and any coherent thoughts Jensen might have had go out the window as Jared forces a knee between his, pulling it higher and forcing his thighs further apart. His breath is hot against Jensen’s neck.
“Is it close?”
Jensen moans softly as Jared leans in to nibble at his throat, predator grin in the darkness.
“Yeah,” he forces out, “close…”
“Excellent,” Jared praises him, hands sliding down to cup Jensen’s ass through his jeans before stepping away.
“Lead the way?”
His voice is soft, but not as helpless as it is supposed to. This Jared is letting Jensen lead, but he doesn’t need him to.
Jensen swallows.
“Jay… Jared,” he corrects himself, “I - Where have you been?”
“Shh,” Jared soothes, reaching out to run a hand along Jensen’s arm, “We can play catch-up later. Got a car?”
“Bike,” Jensen grinds out as the wandering fingers sneak down, across his belly and sliding ever so lightly under his belt.
“Bike,” Jared repeats, licking his lips, “Mmh, I like that.”
“No second helmet,” Jensen remembers (and is very proud of it, faced with Jared’s wandering hands under his shirt), but Jared just shakes his head.
“You’ll just have to drive slow then, and I can hang on extra tight.”
He tugs Jensen a little closer, drawing him off-balance and nuzzling against his neck. He bares his teeth and nips a little before soothing the area with a small kiss.
“Or maybe, we should go fast so we’ll get to your place sooner? I don’t mind a bumpy ride.”
He grins and pulls away and Jensen finds himself following his warmth automatically.
Jared gives him a broad, knowing smirk.
“So, that bike…”
***
The door to his apartment has barely clicked shut when Jensen finds himself pushed up against it, Jared’s hands roaming boldly under his shirt. The leather jacket ends up on the floor as does his shirt. Jared pulls his own sweater off, pausing to run a hand up Jensen’s chest.
“Very nice,” he says. Jensen can feel his face flush bright red, but Jared doesn’t give him time to think when he seals his lips firmly over Jensen, conquering his mouth like Napoleon Europe, and God, maybe that history course did damage him a little.
Jared pulls back, leaving Jensen breathless and whimpering.
“Bedroom?” he whispers, an invitation as well as a promise.
Jensen swallows heavily, gestures wordlessly down the hall.
Jared gives him a grin that makes Jensen feel like a mouse about to be eaten, and takes a step back. He tilts his head in the direction that Jensen indicated as if to say, Well, come on, then, and sashays away into the dark apartment.
When Jensen finally convinces his rubbery legs to move, Jared has already finished undressing and Jensen’s throat goes uncomfortably dry, because damn. Strong but slender limbs, silhouette illuminated by the distant orange glow of a streetlamp.
“I sure hope you’re a bottom,” Jared says, voice like velvet, stroking a hand over Jensen’s sheets, “because I can’t wait to see how you will look writhing underneath me.”
Jensen can’t help it; he whimpers softly and from Jared’s smile, he knows. Knows all too well.
“Well, are you going to stand there all night, or can we get on with the nakedness?”
The lame line breaks the tension and Jensen releases all the emotions pressing in on him in a huff of laughter.
He undresses quickly and quietly, painfully aware of every awkward pause and fumble. Jared doesn’t seem to care, though, just waits with his eyes glowing with… want? Need? Jensen’s not sure. He pushes his jeans off his hips and steps out of them, and Jared takes advantage of him being slightly off-balance by reaching out a casual hand and pushing him over, face-down on the bed where he lands in a tangled mess of limbs.
He moves to push up but doesn’t get any farther than his hands and knees before Jared is behind him, large hands settling on his hips.
“Ssh,” he soothes when Jensen starts. He doesn’t waste any time on foreplay, calloused fingers finding their way to his ass with a certainty that almost makes Jensen blush.
He barely has time to worry about a condom and lube - he sure as Hell hasn’t got any- before Jared leans over the edge of the bed and whisks both out of the pocket of his jeans. It startles a bit, the thought of Jared and gay sex (Hell, premarital sex, for that matter) but Jensen can’t help but snicker a little. Jay always has been a good little boy scout.
The amusement is driven right out of him when Jared slams home. Jensen grits his teeth because it fucking hurts, but Jared’s hands on his dick have him distracted until the pain goes away.
It’s fast and messy, grunts and groans in the darkness on Jensen’s weeks-old sheets, rough hands dragging over skin and fingers digging into flesh. The barest hint of stubble rubs over Jensen’s skin as Jared buries his teeth in his shoulder and then Jensen stutters out his release, feels Jared deep inside him and can’t help his moan. Jared rolls off of him and onto his back; his eyes are closed, the lines around his mouth worn and harsh.
Jensen slumps forward against Jared’s broad chest, taking a deep breath.
“Damn,” he mutters and tightens his hold a little bit, eyes already closing, but the warm body underneath him slips away before he can make himself comfortable.
Jared sits up, pulling on his shorts and jeans. He’s already halfway into his boots when Jensen manages a groggy “What’ya’doin’?”
Jared pauses for a moment, looking down at his laces.
“Leaving,” he says shortly.
“What?”
Jensen sits up, brows furrowed in confusion, “Jared, I-“
Jared pauses for a moment, hand on his jacket.
“Goodbye, Jensen,” he says softly. His eyes are unreadable, wide and dark, and they rest on Jensen for a moment before he turns away. Footsteps, heavy from his boots, echo down the hallway.
The soft click of the door might as well have been a gunshot in the stiff, still silence. Jensen blinks, frowns, shakes his head. It doesn’t help, though - he still has no idea what the Hell just happened.
***
>Part 2
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