SPN RPS: Simple (Jensen/Jared)
I wrote this last night, so it might not be perfect. *shrugs*
Title: Simple
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: Adults
Summary: 2800 words of relatively mushy first time fic. Why is it always first time when I write these two? I swear, it wasn't gonna be (it was gonna be shameless food!kink, and I'll do that soon, I swear!), but Jensen got all emo on me, so this is the way the story came out. *tears hair*
It's simple: Jensen will not be the one to corrupt him. He absolutely will not. Jared has been in the business long enough to handle himself, sure, but Jensen is more than aware of how fucking impressionable he can still be, so open to everything without thinking it through. He feels this need to protect him. Unfortunately, one thing he definitely needs protection from is Jensen.
Jensen watches him through cat-like green eyes, always. If Jared's in a room, Jensen's eyes are on him. Sometimes it's like he feels like he's keeping Jared vertical just by the power of his stare. Other times he feels his eyes just skirting Jared's body, unwilling to look directly at him like he's the sun or a sandstorm or something else equally melodramatic and potentially blinding.
It's not like he feels Jared avoiding his eyes; that's the problem. Sometimes, Jared's looking at him, too, and if the boy had even half a clue how impossible he made it for Jensen to think or even fucking breathe sometimes, he wouldn't. He wouldn't cut those brown eyes at him, those round deep wells going sharp but staying just as deep, and let them flirt over his body. Worse yet: when Jared's eyes light on him and he knows-he knows-that this is going to end in Jared doing this stupid thing: falling for a co-star.
Jensen's been down this road before, and it's burned him once or twice, so now he takes great pains to always find a way to remind himself that any burgeoning lust he has for his co-stars is just hormones and feelings made more intense by the situation. But if this is the case now-and he knows it is-it's something fucked up. It must be, right? He hasn't been pretending to kiss or fuck the boy on screen. No, it's even worse: he's pretended to be his brother. He thought for a long time that that's why he's gotten so overprotective of Jared, that he's learned to be that older brother he needs, but now he knows that's not the case. It's that he's learned to play Dean-to really play him well-by being with Jared and finding him the funniest, strangest, friendliest guy he's ever known. He inspires fierce loyalty, not because he's Sam but because he's Jared; Sam's Jared. What's even more remarkable is this sort of attachment is not Jensen's style, not romantically or otherwise. He's never been the rescuer.
But here he is: sitting on Jared's couch, his legs stretched out beside Jared's own longer legs, watching some damn basketball game and telling himself this can't go any farther than looking. He knows he can't count on Jared to be the mature one here, so he needs to be. It's never ever ever smart to fuck a co-star. It's even worse when it's something more than a few quickies backstage. It would assuredly be something more with Jared, because Jared's not the type to screw around like that. He likes relationships, to keep someone in his life like an anchor. That's another one of the problems here. Jensen sure as hell knows he's often a poor anchor for himself; he'll make an even poorer anchor for somebody else. This is not what he does. He doesn't pine, and he doesn't fall, and he never ever ever thinks twice about taking what he wants. Except when he knows it's not that simple. When he knows he should keep his hands off, he does. Easier that way; less destructive for everyone.
But here he is: sitting on Jared's couch, eating trail mix from a plastic bowl and drinking beer until he realizes they haven't really been paying attention to the game. Time passes without his notice when he's with Jared, and he doesn't know how that's possible. He spends so much time trying not to touch him or crinkle his eyes at him or pout his lips that he doesn't know how they manage to fall into such easy conversation, about whatever team's playing (Jensen doesn't care about NCAA basketball) then HDTV (Jared says it's overrated, yet he has it anyway) then Radio Shacks (why are they still around?) then malls (microcosms) then mall culture (changed, Jensen says, and Jared tells him a little about how) then high school (much cringing) then awkwardness (a little, because they were neither perfect nor losers) then high school plays (Macbeth, Jensen says, and Jared spouts some lines from Our Town) then that one girl in the play (Mary; yeah? mine was Marie) then the impossibility of women then Jared laughs and slides off the couch and lumbers into the kitchen and Jensen sighs in relief.
Jared's bisexual, maybe. Only maybe, and only sorta. That much seems certain. He doesn't flirt with guys, and sometimes Jensen's not even sure he's flirting with him. But Jensen has been around long enough to know he has no business pushing Jared to do something he's never seriously considered doing. He watches the boy's back, how he bends low over the counter and starts digging chocolate ice cream out of a big plastic tub, letting it drop into blue porcelain soup bowls, and he can't believe this is happening to him. He is in love. With his costar. Who's a giant. Who tells the lamest jokes on the planet. Who wears t-shirts with holes in them and the names of bands Dean would hate and Jensen definitely does. Who eats all the fucking time. Who can't hold his liquor worth a damn. Who can palm a basketball in his enormous hand. Who impresses the hell out of him every day with how good he's getting at pulling back when he's acting. It occurs to him that Sam's getting more mature because Jared is, and Jared's learning not from him but from this: from plunking down a bowl of ice cream in Jensen's hands and positioning himself on the other end of the couch, even though he clearly wants to be closer. He craves it just as much as Jensen does, but he's still sitting with his knees up to his chest, looking over them at the TV, except when his eyes graze Jensen's body. Once or twice, Jensen catches his stare, and he knows he couldn't stop this if he wanted to.
Bisexual. Maybe.
Impressionable.
Not smart.
Dammit.
Love.
Jensen suddenly feels like the impressionable one, waiting for Jared's gaze to flit over to him again. What's amazing is how, if given a few seconds to adjust like a person adjusts to the heat or the cold, Jared will smile wide and laugh and joke and behave as though he's just glad Jensen's on his couch. And he'll mean it. Doesn't Jensen mean it? Why else would he come here and sit with him like this if he wasn't content for it to burn, as long as it meant he got to keep him, somehow. Cling to him, maybe, not just cover him.
The world is turning inside out as the ice cream melts. He realizes this whole time-evening, day, season, year-he hasn't really been keeping his distance. He's been waiting for something to happen, hoping Jared had the balls he didn't have. Bravery. Foolishness. Need, want, yes, please, watching the ice cream melt and Jensen can't hear the television anymore.
Then Jared's voice cuts through the not-noise: "You okay, man?"
"Yeah," Jensen says dully. Then he grouches, "Yeah."
"You've been cranky all fucking day."
"I have not."
"Yes, you have. You need to lighten up or something, Jen."
When he turns, Jared's setting the bowl down on the floor, then he's looking at him with big, eager eyes-eager for something pure and real-and he suddenly smiles like a smirk and flicks his last half-eaten spoonful of ice cream at Jensen's face, sending cold splatters over his cheek and nose and forehead.
Before Jensen can think, he's pushed his bowl onto the coffee table and, spoon in hand, he launches onto Jared, thighs pinning him down, one hand squarely against his damp chest. He's always sweating. Jared just laughs like this is nothing, like he always does when he gets Jensen riled up, but it's everything, because Jared's head lies over the armrest and the ice cream somehow slides in a lazy glop off Jensen's spoon and splats against his exposed neck. Jensen doesn't stop to think: he leans over and flattens his tongue against Jared's pulse point and laps up the ice cream and doesn't stop until his tongue has traced the ridge of Jared's jaw almost to his ear.
He won't pull his head up to look. He can't. Jared's holding his breath, absolutely still but yet so warm and yielding under him. Jensen breathes out against Jared's ear and says, "You want me to stop?"
"Jen."
"Jay, should I stop?"
"Should?" Jared says with a shudder that might be a laugh or a shiver. "Should? Can't. Don't."
Jensen can still taste Jared on his tongue, salt and musk mixed with that little bit of chocolate. He can't move, and he thinks helplessly about the ice cream that's surely melting against the spoon, and he contemplates dripping it all over Jared, just to lick it off. Instead, he pulls back to suck the spoon into his mouth until it's clean and as he drops it on the floor, Jared's big hands take him by both sides of his jaw so Jared can delve into his mouth, taste the cold chocolate that isn't cold for long once Jensen finds his whole body-mouth and thighs and stomach and even that hand on his chest-sinking into Jared.
He feels Jared hardening against his ass, his own hardness pressing into Jared's abdomen, and he can't hold that kiss for too long. It's frantic but Jared doesn't kiss like a teenage boy, all tongue. His mouth is so careful, even when he's clearly trying to devour Jensen or suck something out of him, from deep down. He pulls back, panting a little, and rests his forehead, sticky with sweat, against Jared's. "Jay…"
"I didn't mean to-"
"I know."
"But it's… Damn," he groans softly, shifting his hips. "Damn," he says again as he closes his mouth over Jensen's once more and pulls him closer. But they can't hold this kiss, because this isn't about mouths anymore, just insistent bodies rocking into each other, then pulling, then bucking, and Jared's lips fall against Jensen's neck.
Jensen holds him by the back of the head. "You done this before?"
His answer is surprising. "Long time ago."
"You wanna?"
Jared gives him a deep, throaty laugh. "Do I wanna come in my pants? No," he laughs again.
"I didn't mean…"
"Hell, Jen, you move like that again and-" Jensen does, right on cue-"dammit, fuck." It's cute how his eyes roll up in the back of his head. Jared's hips still thrust up into his as if he can't stop them. "We need-we need-Jesus, Jen. We need less clothes."
"Bedroom," Jensen says against his lips. Jared looks bewildered for a moment, like this is happening too fast, but Jensen just says warmly in his ear, "Your couch sucks."
They each take their own clothes off, because they're too nervous to fall into each other's arms again now after they've come up the stairs. Anyway, it's probably the only way they'll get naked without a lot of impeding groping and distraction, not that watching Jared's bare shoulders emerge, stretched over his head, or the wicked way his abs plunge into jeans that are about to be unbuttoned and dropped to the floor isn't distracting. Jensen's already naked as he watches Jared hook his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and shed them, too. He wants to stop and look him over-he's never seen him completely naked before, and certainly not hard like this-but his cock needs his body to be hot tight against him as quick as he can be, so before he knows it, he's cursing Jared's extra few inches of height, because it means he has to look up to find his face and kiss him, so Jared hears his long sigh as their bodies meet firm and hot and trembling.
It's not so rough and desperate now, not that it's tame, exactly. Their hips move sensually in some rhythm they seemed to just fall into, so that they sway together, Jared's hands spanning his back and sliding up to his shoulders and his own holding to the flat curve of Jared's ass. He's amazed they can still kiss, but their lips have picked up the same hard burning rhythm, and he opens his mouth wider, tilts his head more to press closer and closer and allow Jared's tongue deeper and deeper. When Jared's hands finally come back up to his neck and his face, Jensen's having an internal debate over standing there forever until he's nothing but a puddle at Jared's big feet or just, for the love of God, finishing this so he can rid himself of this sweet ache that gets worse and worse, winds him so tight he can't imagine how he'll get unwound. So he backs Jared toward the bed.
Jared's bed is unmade, so Jensen pushes him down amid a tangle of sheets, and one thin blanket gets shoved to the floor once Jensen settles on top of him. The sheets are worn and probably long-unwashed, so that the bed smells like Jared, like everything Jensen's always wanted to just fucking crawl inside to stay, so Jensen breathes deep of all of it before he pulls himself up again and takes Jared's cock in his hand.
Jared's hand spans his whole fucking cock, so that the rough part of his palm, right in the crook of his thumb, flutters and squeezes over the head every time he jerks up, every time he seems to be pulling Jensen's cock toward him and his own. Jensen wants to take this slower, so he can feel all the smoothness and wrinkles and throbbing veins in Jared's cock, but they're already too close. Jensen pants and Jared's chest heaves, and they bump wrists over and over until Jared just impatiently takes them both in his one hand and fists their cocks together. It doesn't matter that it's an awkward rhythm or that it's not fast enough. All that matters is seeing them together like that and feeling it. Jensen can feel everything, every shaky breath from Jared and every pounding of his own heart, adrenaline subsiding as he realizes he's here, doing this, right where he wants to be.
Jared grunts, and when he does, Jensen just loses it. Jared seems shocked to feel him shudder and come all over the both of them, but he jerks him through it even as his own hips strain upward, threatening. His eyes fasten on Jensen's as he finally lets Jensen's cock slip out of his grasp so he can fist himself hard. His come splatters on the inside of Jensen's thighs and stomach, but he doesn't care, because Jared's mop of hair is plastered to his forehead just above glazed-looking eyes, and Jensen can't remember any of the reasons why he ever though this wouldn't be perfect.
He's surprised when Jared pulls him down and kisses him again, and he's even more shocked when Jared's hand absentmindedly trails down into his crack and rubs lightly over his asshole. When he squirms and huffs out a breath, Jared giggles.
Jensen says, "You've been with guys before."
Jared says, "A couple. Bottom or top?"
"For you, I don't care."
"Don't say you don't care. People always have a preference."
"Can't I just prefer you?"
Jared's reply is to clutch him tighter to his chest until his ear is resting against that hard pectoral muscle and Jared's chin rests on the top of his head. Then he laughs, mischievous like he did before he flicked that spoonful of ice cream at him. "You're such a fucking girl."
"Go screw yourself." Jared just laughs again, and Jensen snuggles deeper.
Then Jared says, quite seriously, "I think our ice cream is all melted."
"So?" he replies, raising his head to glare at him.
"So…it's more fun to lick off if it's still a little cold," Jared says with eyebrows raised. Innocent. Impressionable. Jensen's beginning to wonder if he did it on purpose, but he didn't. He sure as hell is now, and Jensen likes that more than he cares to admit. He likes all of this more than he ever let himself think he would. If he had, he wouldn't have waited this long.
"Top," he says, sliding back up Jared's body so that their spent cocks are aligned again.
"Yeah?"
"Tonight. If ice cream's involved…"
"Kinky bastard."
"Shut up."
Jared's following Jensen into the hallway when he grabs him by the hand and stops him. "Jen?" he says tentatively.
Jensen closes his eyes. "No, this isn't just some one-time stupid thing."
Jared laughs. "I know that. I know you."
Jensen's kinda stopped in his tracks by that, even if he shouldn't be. "Then…?"
"If you move in here, they'll think we're just roommates, right?"
"Jared?"
"Eventually." His mouth makes a hard, worried line. "If you want."
"Okay. Okay, yeah."
Jared smiles and trudges down the stairs in his boxer shorts, and Jensen keeps telling himself it's not this easy. It's not smart, and it can't be this simple. But Jared thinks it is, so he lets himself believe it.
Title: Simple
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: Adults
Summary: 2800 words of relatively mushy first time fic. Why is it always first time when I write these two? I swear, it wasn't gonna be (it was gonna be shameless food!kink, and I'll do that soon, I swear!), but Jensen got all emo on me, so this is the way the story came out. *tears hair*
It's simple: Jensen will not be the one to corrupt him. He absolutely will not. Jared has been in the business long enough to handle himself, sure, but Jensen is more than aware of how fucking impressionable he can still be, so open to everything without thinking it through. He feels this need to protect him. Unfortunately, one thing he definitely needs protection from is Jensen.
Jensen watches him through cat-like green eyes, always. If Jared's in a room, Jensen's eyes are on him. Sometimes it's like he feels like he's keeping Jared vertical just by the power of his stare. Other times he feels his eyes just skirting Jared's body, unwilling to look directly at him like he's the sun or a sandstorm or something else equally melodramatic and potentially blinding.
It's not like he feels Jared avoiding his eyes; that's the problem. Sometimes, Jared's looking at him, too, and if the boy had even half a clue how impossible he made it for Jensen to think or even fucking breathe sometimes, he wouldn't. He wouldn't cut those brown eyes at him, those round deep wells going sharp but staying just as deep, and let them flirt over his body. Worse yet: when Jared's eyes light on him and he knows-he knows-that this is going to end in Jared doing this stupid thing: falling for a co-star.
Jensen's been down this road before, and it's burned him once or twice, so now he takes great pains to always find a way to remind himself that any burgeoning lust he has for his co-stars is just hormones and feelings made more intense by the situation. But if this is the case now-and he knows it is-it's something fucked up. It must be, right? He hasn't been pretending to kiss or fuck the boy on screen. No, it's even worse: he's pretended to be his brother. He thought for a long time that that's why he's gotten so overprotective of Jared, that he's learned to be that older brother he needs, but now he knows that's not the case. It's that he's learned to play Dean-to really play him well-by being with Jared and finding him the funniest, strangest, friendliest guy he's ever known. He inspires fierce loyalty, not because he's Sam but because he's Jared; Sam's Jared. What's even more remarkable is this sort of attachment is not Jensen's style, not romantically or otherwise. He's never been the rescuer.
But here he is: sitting on Jared's couch, his legs stretched out beside Jared's own longer legs, watching some damn basketball game and telling himself this can't go any farther than looking. He knows he can't count on Jared to be the mature one here, so he needs to be. It's never ever ever smart to fuck a co-star. It's even worse when it's something more than a few quickies backstage. It would assuredly be something more with Jared, because Jared's not the type to screw around like that. He likes relationships, to keep someone in his life like an anchor. That's another one of the problems here. Jensen sure as hell knows he's often a poor anchor for himself; he'll make an even poorer anchor for somebody else. This is not what he does. He doesn't pine, and he doesn't fall, and he never ever ever thinks twice about taking what he wants. Except when he knows it's not that simple. When he knows he should keep his hands off, he does. Easier that way; less destructive for everyone.
But here he is: sitting on Jared's couch, eating trail mix from a plastic bowl and drinking beer until he realizes they haven't really been paying attention to the game. Time passes without his notice when he's with Jared, and he doesn't know how that's possible. He spends so much time trying not to touch him or crinkle his eyes at him or pout his lips that he doesn't know how they manage to fall into such easy conversation, about whatever team's playing (Jensen doesn't care about NCAA basketball) then HDTV (Jared says it's overrated, yet he has it anyway) then Radio Shacks (why are they still around?) then malls (microcosms) then mall culture (changed, Jensen says, and Jared tells him a little about how) then high school (much cringing) then awkwardness (a little, because they were neither perfect nor losers) then high school plays (Macbeth, Jensen says, and Jared spouts some lines from Our Town) then that one girl in the play (Mary; yeah? mine was Marie) then the impossibility of women then Jared laughs and slides off the couch and lumbers into the kitchen and Jensen sighs in relief.
Jared's bisexual, maybe. Only maybe, and only sorta. That much seems certain. He doesn't flirt with guys, and sometimes Jensen's not even sure he's flirting with him. But Jensen has been around long enough to know he has no business pushing Jared to do something he's never seriously considered doing. He watches the boy's back, how he bends low over the counter and starts digging chocolate ice cream out of a big plastic tub, letting it drop into blue porcelain soup bowls, and he can't believe this is happening to him. He is in love. With his costar. Who's a giant. Who tells the lamest jokes on the planet. Who wears t-shirts with holes in them and the names of bands Dean would hate and Jensen definitely does. Who eats all the fucking time. Who can't hold his liquor worth a damn. Who can palm a basketball in his enormous hand. Who impresses the hell out of him every day with how good he's getting at pulling back when he's acting. It occurs to him that Sam's getting more mature because Jared is, and Jared's learning not from him but from this: from plunking down a bowl of ice cream in Jensen's hands and positioning himself on the other end of the couch, even though he clearly wants to be closer. He craves it just as much as Jensen does, but he's still sitting with his knees up to his chest, looking over them at the TV, except when his eyes graze Jensen's body. Once or twice, Jensen catches his stare, and he knows he couldn't stop this if he wanted to.
Bisexual. Maybe.
Impressionable.
Not smart.
Dammit.
Love.
Jensen suddenly feels like the impressionable one, waiting for Jared's gaze to flit over to him again. What's amazing is how, if given a few seconds to adjust like a person adjusts to the heat or the cold, Jared will smile wide and laugh and joke and behave as though he's just glad Jensen's on his couch. And he'll mean it. Doesn't Jensen mean it? Why else would he come here and sit with him like this if he wasn't content for it to burn, as long as it meant he got to keep him, somehow. Cling to him, maybe, not just cover him.
The world is turning inside out as the ice cream melts. He realizes this whole time-evening, day, season, year-he hasn't really been keeping his distance. He's been waiting for something to happen, hoping Jared had the balls he didn't have. Bravery. Foolishness. Need, want, yes, please, watching the ice cream melt and Jensen can't hear the television anymore.
Then Jared's voice cuts through the not-noise: "You okay, man?"
"Yeah," Jensen says dully. Then he grouches, "Yeah."
"You've been cranky all fucking day."
"I have not."
"Yes, you have. You need to lighten up or something, Jen."
When he turns, Jared's setting the bowl down on the floor, then he's looking at him with big, eager eyes-eager for something pure and real-and he suddenly smiles like a smirk and flicks his last half-eaten spoonful of ice cream at Jensen's face, sending cold splatters over his cheek and nose and forehead.
Before Jensen can think, he's pushed his bowl onto the coffee table and, spoon in hand, he launches onto Jared, thighs pinning him down, one hand squarely against his damp chest. He's always sweating. Jared just laughs like this is nothing, like he always does when he gets Jensen riled up, but it's everything, because Jared's head lies over the armrest and the ice cream somehow slides in a lazy glop off Jensen's spoon and splats against his exposed neck. Jensen doesn't stop to think: he leans over and flattens his tongue against Jared's pulse point and laps up the ice cream and doesn't stop until his tongue has traced the ridge of Jared's jaw almost to his ear.
He won't pull his head up to look. He can't. Jared's holding his breath, absolutely still but yet so warm and yielding under him. Jensen breathes out against Jared's ear and says, "You want me to stop?"
"Jen."
"Jay, should I stop?"
"Should?" Jared says with a shudder that might be a laugh or a shiver. "Should? Can't. Don't."
Jensen can still taste Jared on his tongue, salt and musk mixed with that little bit of chocolate. He can't move, and he thinks helplessly about the ice cream that's surely melting against the spoon, and he contemplates dripping it all over Jared, just to lick it off. Instead, he pulls back to suck the spoon into his mouth until it's clean and as he drops it on the floor, Jared's big hands take him by both sides of his jaw so Jared can delve into his mouth, taste the cold chocolate that isn't cold for long once Jensen finds his whole body-mouth and thighs and stomach and even that hand on his chest-sinking into Jared.
He feels Jared hardening against his ass, his own hardness pressing into Jared's abdomen, and he can't hold that kiss for too long. It's frantic but Jared doesn't kiss like a teenage boy, all tongue. His mouth is so careful, even when he's clearly trying to devour Jensen or suck something out of him, from deep down. He pulls back, panting a little, and rests his forehead, sticky with sweat, against Jared's. "Jay…"
"I didn't mean to-"
"I know."
"But it's… Damn," he groans softly, shifting his hips. "Damn," he says again as he closes his mouth over Jensen's once more and pulls him closer. But they can't hold this kiss, because this isn't about mouths anymore, just insistent bodies rocking into each other, then pulling, then bucking, and Jared's lips fall against Jensen's neck.
Jensen holds him by the back of the head. "You done this before?"
His answer is surprising. "Long time ago."
"You wanna?"
Jared gives him a deep, throaty laugh. "Do I wanna come in my pants? No," he laughs again.
"I didn't mean…"
"Hell, Jen, you move like that again and-" Jensen does, right on cue-"dammit, fuck." It's cute how his eyes roll up in the back of his head. Jared's hips still thrust up into his as if he can't stop them. "We need-we need-Jesus, Jen. We need less clothes."
"Bedroom," Jensen says against his lips. Jared looks bewildered for a moment, like this is happening too fast, but Jensen just says warmly in his ear, "Your couch sucks."
They each take their own clothes off, because they're too nervous to fall into each other's arms again now after they've come up the stairs. Anyway, it's probably the only way they'll get naked without a lot of impeding groping and distraction, not that watching Jared's bare shoulders emerge, stretched over his head, or the wicked way his abs plunge into jeans that are about to be unbuttoned and dropped to the floor isn't distracting. Jensen's already naked as he watches Jared hook his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and shed them, too. He wants to stop and look him over-he's never seen him completely naked before, and certainly not hard like this-but his cock needs his body to be hot tight against him as quick as he can be, so before he knows it, he's cursing Jared's extra few inches of height, because it means he has to look up to find his face and kiss him, so Jared hears his long sigh as their bodies meet firm and hot and trembling.
It's not so rough and desperate now, not that it's tame, exactly. Their hips move sensually in some rhythm they seemed to just fall into, so that they sway together, Jared's hands spanning his back and sliding up to his shoulders and his own holding to the flat curve of Jared's ass. He's amazed they can still kiss, but their lips have picked up the same hard burning rhythm, and he opens his mouth wider, tilts his head more to press closer and closer and allow Jared's tongue deeper and deeper. When Jared's hands finally come back up to his neck and his face, Jensen's having an internal debate over standing there forever until he's nothing but a puddle at Jared's big feet or just, for the love of God, finishing this so he can rid himself of this sweet ache that gets worse and worse, winds him so tight he can't imagine how he'll get unwound. So he backs Jared toward the bed.
Jared's bed is unmade, so Jensen pushes him down amid a tangle of sheets, and one thin blanket gets shoved to the floor once Jensen settles on top of him. The sheets are worn and probably long-unwashed, so that the bed smells like Jared, like everything Jensen's always wanted to just fucking crawl inside to stay, so Jensen breathes deep of all of it before he pulls himself up again and takes Jared's cock in his hand.
Jared's hand spans his whole fucking cock, so that the rough part of his palm, right in the crook of his thumb, flutters and squeezes over the head every time he jerks up, every time he seems to be pulling Jensen's cock toward him and his own. Jensen wants to take this slower, so he can feel all the smoothness and wrinkles and throbbing veins in Jared's cock, but they're already too close. Jensen pants and Jared's chest heaves, and they bump wrists over and over until Jared just impatiently takes them both in his one hand and fists their cocks together. It doesn't matter that it's an awkward rhythm or that it's not fast enough. All that matters is seeing them together like that and feeling it. Jensen can feel everything, every shaky breath from Jared and every pounding of his own heart, adrenaline subsiding as he realizes he's here, doing this, right where he wants to be.
Jared grunts, and when he does, Jensen just loses it. Jared seems shocked to feel him shudder and come all over the both of them, but he jerks him through it even as his own hips strain upward, threatening. His eyes fasten on Jensen's as he finally lets Jensen's cock slip out of his grasp so he can fist himself hard. His come splatters on the inside of Jensen's thighs and stomach, but he doesn't care, because Jared's mop of hair is plastered to his forehead just above glazed-looking eyes, and Jensen can't remember any of the reasons why he ever though this wouldn't be perfect.
He's surprised when Jared pulls him down and kisses him again, and he's even more shocked when Jared's hand absentmindedly trails down into his crack and rubs lightly over his asshole. When he squirms and huffs out a breath, Jared giggles.
Jensen says, "You've been with guys before."
Jared says, "A couple. Bottom or top?"
"For you, I don't care."
"Don't say you don't care. People always have a preference."
"Can't I just prefer you?"
Jared's reply is to clutch him tighter to his chest until his ear is resting against that hard pectoral muscle and Jared's chin rests on the top of his head. Then he laughs, mischievous like he did before he flicked that spoonful of ice cream at him. "You're such a fucking girl."
"Go screw yourself." Jared just laughs again, and Jensen snuggles deeper.
Then Jared says, quite seriously, "I think our ice cream is all melted."
"So?" he replies, raising his head to glare at him.
"So…it's more fun to lick off if it's still a little cold," Jared says with eyebrows raised. Innocent. Impressionable. Jensen's beginning to wonder if he did it on purpose, but he didn't. He sure as hell is now, and Jensen likes that more than he cares to admit. He likes all of this more than he ever let himself think he would. If he had, he wouldn't have waited this long.
"Top," he says, sliding back up Jared's body so that their spent cocks are aligned again.
"Yeah?"
"Tonight. If ice cream's involved…"
"Kinky bastard."
"Shut up."
Jared's following Jensen into the hallway when he grabs him by the hand and stops him. "Jen?" he says tentatively.
Jensen closes his eyes. "No, this isn't just some one-time stupid thing."
Jared laughs. "I know that. I know you."
Jensen's kinda stopped in his tracks by that, even if he shouldn't be. "Then…?"
"If you move in here, they'll think we're just roommates, right?"
"Jared?"
"Eventually." His mouth makes a hard, worried line. "If you want."
"Okay. Okay, yeah."
Jared smiles and trudges down the stairs in his boxer shorts, and Jensen keeps telling himself it's not this easy. It's not smart, and it can't be this simple. But Jared thinks it is, so he lets himself believe it.