SPN Fic: Gazing at you, I get the heat
Title: Gazing at you, I get the heat
Author: deirdre_c
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~3,100
Summary: Jensen gets Jared in front of a mirror and shows him what is real.
Author's Note: Ooops! This got a bit longer than I intended. Written for transfixeddream’s bottom!Jared commentfic meme for this prompt. (Although it’s not exactly what the prompter asked for. Hope that’s okay!) Title from a lyric by The Who.
It’s been forty-five minutes- maybe more- since the last take of the night- morning, now- and since the guest director called wrap, but Jared’s still sitting on the stairs of the wardrobe trailer when Jensen strolls up.
“Hey, man?” It starts out as a greeting but ends up a question. Jared knows he ought to be changed and ready to leave by now, but his head is throbbing, his eyes still burn from crying, from the tear stick, Lucifer, screaming dialog, madness, and he can’t find the will to climb the three metal stairs behind him. He tucks his chin closer to his chest.
A warm weight settles next to him. “That was some fantastic work tonight.” A hand rests low on his spine. “Tough stuff though, huh?”
Jared sucks in a quick, tight breath. Usually, all he needs is a little T.L.C. from Jensen and everything on his mind is forgotten. But tonight he feels like a globe of glass blown thin, Sam’s pain and fear still a swirling, bottled mass inside. Jensen’s touch, well-meaning as it is, might shatter him.
He grunts something like affirmative, scoots an inch sideways, but Jensen doesn’t take the hint, starts rubbing small circles into Jared’s back, the weight of his concern a palpable thing squeezing that already-tight ball lodged deep in Jared’s chest. He figures he’s going to have to force a few words out.
“No, um, just need a few more minutes. You go on home, Dean-,” he stutters, brain hiccupping. “I mean, Jen.”
Jensen’s hand stills. Jared hunches over, huffs a laugh into his knees. He’s not bleeding into Sam, he’s just… tired. If Jensen would just go away, Jared might be able to-to-
Jensen stands, but then squats back down and grabs Jared under one armpit, hauls his other arm over his shoulders and half-tugs, half-carries Jared up the first stair. “C’mon. Let’s go. I’ve got you.”
He finds himself moving, getting lugged into the trailer, and he figures protest is more effort than just going along. Jensen locks the door behind them, and maybe there is some Sam lingering in him after all, because being shut in makes Jared twitchy, anxious instead of secure.
Jensen manhandles him a few more yards down the narrow trailer’s version of a hallway, past several racks of the Winchesters’ recent clothing changes draped on hangers, into the small changing room at the back. Jared doesn’t even try to help, hands like lumps of lead dangling from his wrists, as Jensen unbuttons his flannel and eases it over his shoulders.
It only takes a light shove and he’s falling into a chair at the spare makeup table. He rests his face in his hands, and there’s a second or two of peace, Jensen puttering with something. Then his hands are gently eased aside and a cold pad’s smoothing over his face, across his cheeks, down the bridge of his nose, the sharp, familiar scent of makeup remover snaking up through his sinuses. Jensen’s whispering now, hey, hey, and nonsensical shushing sounds, and Jared realizes he’s crying a little, tears leaking softly out of the corners of his closed eyes.
Jensen moves around behind him, pulling gently at Jared’s shoulders so that his head falls back to rest against Jensen’s belly. “Look, Jay, look in the mirror,” he says.
It takes a second to muster the strength, but then he does, catching and holding Jensen’s gaze in their shared reflection. Jensen is carding his hands through Jared’s hair now, working out the stiff spray and gel and tangles. “Just us here. No cameras, no crew. Just Jared and Jensen.”
He reaches forward, eyes never leaving Jared’s in the mirror, and pulls at the hem of Sam’s undershirt, stripping it quickly off and throwing it on the floor behind him. His own shirt follows. “No Sam and Dean. No tattoos. No scars.”
It’s as if Jared had been caught in an unseen current dragging him farther and farther out into deep water, and Jensen’s words, his warm hands kneading Jared’s bare shoulders in the dim light of the trailer, are towing him back to shore. He lets his head loll back again, but Jensen stops him, palm cradling Jared’s chin, fingers and thumb firm along his jaw. “Nope. Stay here with me.” He nudges the chair around with his knee, swiveling it to aim toward the full-length mirror by the clothes racks.
“Look at us.” He whispers, letting go of Jared’s face to slide hands down his neck over his shoulders and down his arms, bends forward to kiss the corner of Jared’s mouth, never breaking eye-contact. “Look.”
The long mirror shows Jared just what he always sees after a day on the set: bags under red-rimmed eyes, blotchy skin now that the matte of foundation is gone, hair a tangled mess. And it also shows what’s always there: his too-broad forehead, his sharp-tipped nose, gangly, misproportioned limbs overflowing the chair made for normal-sized people. Jensen, on the other hand, is perfect. Jared’s gaze skims over Jensen’s perfect torso, muscles more defined than usual from prepping for his scenes in the Slice Girls episode, that perfect, sensitive spot at the pulse of his neck, those perfect lips as they nip and nuzzle at Jared’s ear.
“You’re so gorgeous,” Jensen breathes, sending goosebumps racing over Jared’s skin. Jared automatically shakes his head in denial; it’s so patently the reverse. Jensen tsks in response. “Can you stand up for me?”
Jared’s legs are no better than cooked pasta as he gracelessly clambers out of the chair. Jensen rounds on him, steps up to nestle in behind him, urging him toward the mirror on the wall, hips and thighs pressed close. Jensen’s bare chest is warm against the bare skin of his back, and Jared can feel the tips of Jensen’s nipples, peaking small and tight, as they brush against him.
Jensen stops them just three feet shy of the mirror, cocks his head up to rest his chin on Jared’s shoulder. It sometimes catches Jared by surprise that Jensen’s shorter, he feels so much larger-than-life. They stand there for a few seconds, Jared swaying drunkenly back into Jensen and Jensen holding them steady.
“I’m gonna show you. Gonna show you how hot you are.” Twining their fingers together, Jensen brushes their hands up Jared’s belly to his chest, guiding him to cup his own pecs. He watches, transfixed, as Jensen moves Jared’s thumb under his own, caressing muscle, skin, circling the dark areola around his nipple, his own long, skinny hands encompassed in Jensen’s strong, surer ones.
A tiny moan slides out of Jared’s throat, unbidden, and Jensen grins behind him, closing his lips on the side of his neck.
“Take these off, I want you naked.” He whispers it to the back of Jared’s neck as he switches sides, comes back to rest on his right. “Want to see all of you.”
He slides their hands back down, tucking his fingers just inside the waistband of Jared’s jeans, waiting. Jared feels dizzy, drugged, as his fingers unlatch from Jensen’s, fumbling with his belt buckle. This is- well, it’s not like Jared’s vanilla or anything, but they don’t usually do this. On the set. Outside the bedroom. He undoes the belt, unbuttons and unzips and steps out, letting Jensen kick the crumple of jeans and boxers away.
He feels Jensen draw a breath, feels him trail the fingertips of one hand up the outside of Jared’s thigh, over the curve of his ass, back down to circle slowly, lightly around Jared’s navel. He shivers, watches his own stomach muscles contract, watches his cock start to fill and thicken.
“That’s right,” Jensen encourages. “Look how responsive you are. It’s so easy to light you up. Like you’re made for me.” Jared’s eyes flick up to meet Jensen’s, soaking up the approval, the possessiveness, the hunger he finds there. Jensen’s still got his own jeans on, but Jared’s can feel the hard length of his cock through the thick material. He goes to turn to face him, help Jensen strip, but Jensen locks his hands on Jared’s hips, holds fast. “Stay still. I’m not done with you yet.”
He grabs Jared’s hand again, brings it up over his shoulder where Jensen licks a broad, wet stripe across his palm, then leads it down between his legs to cup his dick and his balls. “Touch yourself for me, okay? Nice and slow,” and what he hears in Jensen’s soft croon sends another shiver through him. He takes himself in hand, fingers curling lightly around his cock, and rubs, Jensen’s spit slick-sliding along his rising length, Jensen’s eyes still fixed on his in the mirror.
He feels off-kilter, stomach swooping. It’s something else he’s never done before, jerked off in front of someone, in front of Jensen, Jensen deliberately watching. He can feel himself flush, hot color on his cheeks spilling down his neck to his chest.
Nevertheless, he tightens his grip on his dick, twisting when he reaches the head, and his body jerks in response, hips thrusting up instinctively as he brings his hand back down to the root. Precome starts to dribble out, the smell of it earthy and pungent, helping the smooth glide of his fingers as he spreads it over himself, the squelch of his movements and Jensen’s quickening breath in his ear the only sounds.
Jared thought what he wanted tonight was safety, retreat. Turns out what he needed was to be pushed right out of his own head.
“Keep going,” Jensen growls. “Watch. Watch yourself and don’t stop.”
Jared nods in answer as Jensen moves away, keeping his eyes on his reflection as he was told. He moves his hand quicker, harder now, making himself really feel it, toes curling, and he has to lean forward, widening his stance and reaching his left hand out to the cool sheet of the mirror to hold himself up. The head of his dick is dark and swollen where it pops out of his grip, his pubes glistening with wetness as he leaks down into them. Jared’s probably jerked off hundreds of times since he was a teenager, but it’s so weird to see it double, both in his hand and reflected back.
“Fuck,” Jensen murmurs, slotting back into his proper place behind Jared, attacking Jared’s neck and shoulder with hard, open-mouthed sucking. “God, Jared, look at you.”
Jared’s gaze lifts from its tight focus to take in the whole mirror. And, yeah, he’s an actor, and he spends a lot of time looking at himself or at images of himself. But he has never, never seen himself like this before. His eyes are glassy and his mouth is parted, lips swollen and puffy when he didn’t even notice he’d been biting them. A light sweat sheens his face, his chest, the dip of his collarbone, and Jensen’s sucked a red mark on the flat of his shoulder that stands out like a brand. His cock juts straight up, huge and pornographic from between his legs, held on display in his fist.
It’s what Jensen sees whenever he makes Jared come.
“Both hands up now,” Jensen says, and a small whine escapes Jared’s throat in protest, but he releases his cock. It slaps against his belly he’s so stiff as he braces himself against the mirror. But he’s not really complaining, no, because, Jesus, all he craves right now is Jensen inside him.
Jensen must’ve gone to get lube, his fingers are cool and wet against Jared’s ass. He eases Jared’s cheeks apart and plays at his entrance, smoothing the slick around and pressing at the rim, dipping just a fingertip in before skimming up the crease and back down to the furled skin of his hole, touching and teasing and slicking him up until Jared’s squirming, hands scrabbling against the mirror with no purchase, arms shaking. “Jensen, Jensen,” he gasps, head dipping down between his shoulders.
“Eyes open, man, stay with me,” Jensen says, and when Jared finally looks up, that’s when Jensen slots two fingers right up inside with a quick thrust. Jared grunts, sees his own eyes widen as he feels the deep, throbbing stretch, bites his lip and pushes back into it. There’s more lube, lots of it, as Jensen strokes in and out of him, patient, thorough, opening him up so perfectly. But when he reaches around with his free hand to find Jared’s cock, Jared grabs at his wrist.
“No, wait,” he says, begging Jensen with his eyes where they meet in the reflection. “I want more. Not just your hand, I want to fuck.”
Jensen moans agreement, reaches up, clean hand fisting in Jared’s hair, and pulls his mouth down to Jensen’s, making Jared arch awkwardly back to meet him, his fingers still in Jared’s ass. “Why you have to be so goddamn tall?” he asks, biting at Jared’s lips before stepping back and looking around.
Jared’s so worked up he’s about to kneel down on the fucking floor and not give a fuck about the carpet burn, when Jensen grabs the arm of the makeup chair and yanks it forward. Jared watches as he tears open his jeans and shoves them off, cock hard and bouncing as he throws his bare ass into the seat, so close to the mirror his feet almost touch it. As Jared goes to lean in and capture Jensen’s mouth, Jensen turns him around and playfully nips at his ass, murmuring, “I still want you to watch.”
He tugs Jared backward and down, maneuvering his legs in between Jared’s, using them to force Jared’s legs open wide, until he’s straddling the flats of Jensen’s thighs, precarious, reaching out to grip the arms of the chair to keep his full weight from squashing Jensen with his bulk. Like this, he’s at Jensen’s mercy: fully exposed, arms trembling, soles of his feet just skimming the floor. Jensen’s cock is nudged up beside Jared’s balls, and Jared can see it in the mirror, thick and beautiful and alive underneath him, leaking at the tip and blood vessels roping the underside.
Jensen shifts back, urges Jared to lift up so he can position his cock where it needs to be, and then, slowly, oh so slowly, Jared sinks down on him. He watches, greedily, as inch after inch of Jensen disappears inside him. Half-way down and he’s already so full he aches.
“Come on, Jay, that’s it, want to see you take it. Just let go.” Jensen’s hands are heavy on his hips, working him firmly, inexorably down onto his cock, down and down until he’s seated deep, that glorious, satisfying fullness pulsing out from the Jared’s core, chest heaving as he draws in air.
One of Jensen’s hands leaves Jared’s hip, moving across his belly and upwards, finger and thumb rolling a nipple with a sharp pinch that distracts from the burn of entry, makes him gasp and squirm on Jensen’s cock. Jensen groans into the skin of Jared’s back, then peers back up over his shoulder. “Ready?”
Together they watch Jensen pump shallowly in and out of Jared’s ass. It’s as if seeing it makes him feel it that much more, pleasure singing across nerve endings he never knew he had, muscles gripping in time with each thrust. He takes it all in, his eyes follow the thatch of wiry hairs all the way down Jensen’s balls, between his legs, his pale asscheeks squeezing and releasing, the odd, crinkly skin of his sack, the base of his cock red and streaky with lube when it pulls out. Jared thinks it’s nothing smooth and pretty like the bodies in porn; they’re not camera ready, there’s no concern for lighting or angles, just an awkward gangle of limbs and skin. But it’s real, it’s them. And it’s hotter than any porn he’s ever watched, more intense. Seeing Jensen writhe underneath him has his heart racing as he feels his orgasm build, pressure knocking at the base of his spine.
He couldn’t look away if he wanted to.
“Lean forward,” Jensen gasps. “Gotta move.” And even though thinks he’s about to topple right off Jensen’s lap, he takes his hands from the armrests and slaps them back against the mirror, closer this time, his face practically pressed against it. He doesn’t fall, though, because Jensen’s forearm slides around his waist and holds him tightly, his hips pistoning faster as he gains leverage, skin smacking skin. And now Jensen’s so hard and deep it feels like he’s pounding a metal spike in, but the angle has him dragging across Jared’s prostate like an electric shock with every thrust, and Jared can take it, wants more, pushes back into it as best he can.
“You’re so beautiful, so sexy, so fucking hot," Jensen chants. It briefly pops into Jared's mind to hope none of the crewmembers are passing by outside, because Jensen’s getting close, and getting loud. "Jared, fuck, you feel so good. Jared! Jay! Fuck!”
He comes. Jared can feel his cock thicken and pulse inside him. Jensen’s left hand is clasping blindly at Jared’s body, frantic touches running over his flank, his back, his leg. But Jensen’s right hand, oh his perfect right hand, comes around to wrap around Jared’s cock.
He can’t see anymore, his panting breath has fogged up the mirror, but it doesn’t matter, Jensen strokes him twice and he’s done. He seizes up, balls and muscles and throat all clenched tight, cock shooting dense, pearly fluid in never-ending streams, an explosion of sensation across his body, streaking along his nerves. He arches through it, soaring, until gravity brings him back to earth, his arms giving out. He collapses forward to lean his cheek against the damp mirror.
After awhile, he feels Jensen’s hands back at his hips, easing him up, pulling out. And Jared would love to curl up in Jensen’s lap, but he has no desire to crush someone who gives orgasms like that, so he sinks to the floor between Jensen’s sprawled legs, pillowing his head on Jensen’s thigh.
Above him, Jensen chuckles. “Oh shit, we made a mess.”
“Yeah?” he says, blithely. He’s naked in the wardrobe trailer with an ass full of come, and he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Dude, your jizz is all over the mirror!”
“Well, you better clean that up.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Think of it as payment for the show,” Jared drawls, nuzzling at the warm, musky, salt-tinged skin near Jensen's groin. He’s giddy, woozy, a grateful lassitude in his joints and muscles as if a high-spiking fever has finally broken. If only he could magically summon a pillow and a cozy blanket, he’d never leave this spot.
“Hey!” Jensen joggles the leg he’s resting on, “Don’t you dare fall asleep on me.” But the words hardly register as Jared closes his eyes for good.
Author: deirdre_c
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: ~3,100
Summary: Jensen gets Jared in front of a mirror and shows him what is real.
Author's Note: Ooops! This got a bit longer than I intended. Written for transfixeddream’s bottom!Jared commentfic meme for this prompt. (Although it’s not exactly what the prompter asked for. Hope that’s okay!) Title from a lyric by The Who.
It’s been forty-five minutes- maybe more- since the last take of the night- morning, now- and since the guest director called wrap, but Jared’s still sitting on the stairs of the wardrobe trailer when Jensen strolls up.
“Hey, man?” It starts out as a greeting but ends up a question. Jared knows he ought to be changed and ready to leave by now, but his head is throbbing, his eyes still burn from crying, from the tear stick, Lucifer, screaming dialog, madness, and he can’t find the will to climb the three metal stairs behind him. He tucks his chin closer to his chest.
A warm weight settles next to him. “That was some fantastic work tonight.” A hand rests low on his spine. “Tough stuff though, huh?”
Jared sucks in a quick, tight breath. Usually, all he needs is a little T.L.C. from Jensen and everything on his mind is forgotten. But tonight he feels like a globe of glass blown thin, Sam’s pain and fear still a swirling, bottled mass inside. Jensen’s touch, well-meaning as it is, might shatter him.
He grunts something like affirmative, scoots an inch sideways, but Jensen doesn’t take the hint, starts rubbing small circles into Jared’s back, the weight of his concern a palpable thing squeezing that already-tight ball lodged deep in Jared’s chest. He figures he’s going to have to force a few words out.
“No, um, just need a few more minutes. You go on home, Dean-,” he stutters, brain hiccupping. “I mean, Jen.”
Jensen’s hand stills. Jared hunches over, huffs a laugh into his knees. He’s not bleeding into Sam, he’s just… tired. If Jensen would just go away, Jared might be able to-to-
Jensen stands, but then squats back down and grabs Jared under one armpit, hauls his other arm over his shoulders and half-tugs, half-carries Jared up the first stair. “C’mon. Let’s go. I’ve got you.”
He finds himself moving, getting lugged into the trailer, and he figures protest is more effort than just going along. Jensen locks the door behind them, and maybe there is some Sam lingering in him after all, because being shut in makes Jared twitchy, anxious instead of secure.
Jensen manhandles him a few more yards down the narrow trailer’s version of a hallway, past several racks of the Winchesters’ recent clothing changes draped on hangers, into the small changing room at the back. Jared doesn’t even try to help, hands like lumps of lead dangling from his wrists, as Jensen unbuttons his flannel and eases it over his shoulders.
It only takes a light shove and he’s falling into a chair at the spare makeup table. He rests his face in his hands, and there’s a second or two of peace, Jensen puttering with something. Then his hands are gently eased aside and a cold pad’s smoothing over his face, across his cheeks, down the bridge of his nose, the sharp, familiar scent of makeup remover snaking up through his sinuses. Jensen’s whispering now, hey, hey, and nonsensical shushing sounds, and Jared realizes he’s crying a little, tears leaking softly out of the corners of his closed eyes.
Jensen moves around behind him, pulling gently at Jared’s shoulders so that his head falls back to rest against Jensen’s belly. “Look, Jay, look in the mirror,” he says.
It takes a second to muster the strength, but then he does, catching and holding Jensen’s gaze in their shared reflection. Jensen is carding his hands through Jared’s hair now, working out the stiff spray and gel and tangles. “Just us here. No cameras, no crew. Just Jared and Jensen.”
He reaches forward, eyes never leaving Jared’s in the mirror, and pulls at the hem of Sam’s undershirt, stripping it quickly off and throwing it on the floor behind him. His own shirt follows. “No Sam and Dean. No tattoos. No scars.”
It’s as if Jared had been caught in an unseen current dragging him farther and farther out into deep water, and Jensen’s words, his warm hands kneading Jared’s bare shoulders in the dim light of the trailer, are towing him back to shore. He lets his head loll back again, but Jensen stops him, palm cradling Jared’s chin, fingers and thumb firm along his jaw. “Nope. Stay here with me.” He nudges the chair around with his knee, swiveling it to aim toward the full-length mirror by the clothes racks.
“Look at us.” He whispers, letting go of Jared’s face to slide hands down his neck over his shoulders and down his arms, bends forward to kiss the corner of Jared’s mouth, never breaking eye-contact. “Look.”
The long mirror shows Jared just what he always sees after a day on the set: bags under red-rimmed eyes, blotchy skin now that the matte of foundation is gone, hair a tangled mess. And it also shows what’s always there: his too-broad forehead, his sharp-tipped nose, gangly, misproportioned limbs overflowing the chair made for normal-sized people. Jensen, on the other hand, is perfect. Jared’s gaze skims over Jensen’s perfect torso, muscles more defined than usual from prepping for his scenes in the Slice Girls episode, that perfect, sensitive spot at the pulse of his neck, those perfect lips as they nip and nuzzle at Jared’s ear.
“You’re so gorgeous,” Jensen breathes, sending goosebumps racing over Jared’s skin. Jared automatically shakes his head in denial; it’s so patently the reverse. Jensen tsks in response. “Can you stand up for me?”
Jared’s legs are no better than cooked pasta as he gracelessly clambers out of the chair. Jensen rounds on him, steps up to nestle in behind him, urging him toward the mirror on the wall, hips and thighs pressed close. Jensen’s bare chest is warm against the bare skin of his back, and Jared can feel the tips of Jensen’s nipples, peaking small and tight, as they brush against him.
Jensen stops them just three feet shy of the mirror, cocks his head up to rest his chin on Jared’s shoulder. It sometimes catches Jared by surprise that Jensen’s shorter, he feels so much larger-than-life. They stand there for a few seconds, Jared swaying drunkenly back into Jensen and Jensen holding them steady.
“I’m gonna show you. Gonna show you how hot you are.” Twining their fingers together, Jensen brushes their hands up Jared’s belly to his chest, guiding him to cup his own pecs. He watches, transfixed, as Jensen moves Jared’s thumb under his own, caressing muscle, skin, circling the dark areola around his nipple, his own long, skinny hands encompassed in Jensen’s strong, surer ones.
A tiny moan slides out of Jared’s throat, unbidden, and Jensen grins behind him, closing his lips on the side of his neck.
“Take these off, I want you naked.” He whispers it to the back of Jared’s neck as he switches sides, comes back to rest on his right. “Want to see all of you.”
He slides their hands back down, tucking his fingers just inside the waistband of Jared’s jeans, waiting. Jared feels dizzy, drugged, as his fingers unlatch from Jensen’s, fumbling with his belt buckle. This is- well, it’s not like Jared’s vanilla or anything, but they don’t usually do this. On the set. Outside the bedroom. He undoes the belt, unbuttons and unzips and steps out, letting Jensen kick the crumple of jeans and boxers away.
He feels Jensen draw a breath, feels him trail the fingertips of one hand up the outside of Jared’s thigh, over the curve of his ass, back down to circle slowly, lightly around Jared’s navel. He shivers, watches his own stomach muscles contract, watches his cock start to fill and thicken.
“That’s right,” Jensen encourages. “Look how responsive you are. It’s so easy to light you up. Like you’re made for me.” Jared’s eyes flick up to meet Jensen’s, soaking up the approval, the possessiveness, the hunger he finds there. Jensen’s still got his own jeans on, but Jared’s can feel the hard length of his cock through the thick material. He goes to turn to face him, help Jensen strip, but Jensen locks his hands on Jared’s hips, holds fast. “Stay still. I’m not done with you yet.”
He grabs Jared’s hand again, brings it up over his shoulder where Jensen licks a broad, wet stripe across his palm, then leads it down between his legs to cup his dick and his balls. “Touch yourself for me, okay? Nice and slow,” and what he hears in Jensen’s soft croon sends another shiver through him. He takes himself in hand, fingers curling lightly around his cock, and rubs, Jensen’s spit slick-sliding along his rising length, Jensen’s eyes still fixed on his in the mirror.
He feels off-kilter, stomach swooping. It’s something else he’s never done before, jerked off in front of someone, in front of Jensen, Jensen deliberately watching. He can feel himself flush, hot color on his cheeks spilling down his neck to his chest.
Nevertheless, he tightens his grip on his dick, twisting when he reaches the head, and his body jerks in response, hips thrusting up instinctively as he brings his hand back down to the root. Precome starts to dribble out, the smell of it earthy and pungent, helping the smooth glide of his fingers as he spreads it over himself, the squelch of his movements and Jensen’s quickening breath in his ear the only sounds.
Jared thought what he wanted tonight was safety, retreat. Turns out what he needed was to be pushed right out of his own head.
“Keep going,” Jensen growls. “Watch. Watch yourself and don’t stop.”
Jared nods in answer as Jensen moves away, keeping his eyes on his reflection as he was told. He moves his hand quicker, harder now, making himself really feel it, toes curling, and he has to lean forward, widening his stance and reaching his left hand out to the cool sheet of the mirror to hold himself up. The head of his dick is dark and swollen where it pops out of his grip, his pubes glistening with wetness as he leaks down into them. Jared’s probably jerked off hundreds of times since he was a teenager, but it’s so weird to see it double, both in his hand and reflected back.
“Fuck,” Jensen murmurs, slotting back into his proper place behind Jared, attacking Jared’s neck and shoulder with hard, open-mouthed sucking. “God, Jared, look at you.”
Jared’s gaze lifts from its tight focus to take in the whole mirror. And, yeah, he’s an actor, and he spends a lot of time looking at himself or at images of himself. But he has never, never seen himself like this before. His eyes are glassy and his mouth is parted, lips swollen and puffy when he didn’t even notice he’d been biting them. A light sweat sheens his face, his chest, the dip of his collarbone, and Jensen’s sucked a red mark on the flat of his shoulder that stands out like a brand. His cock juts straight up, huge and pornographic from between his legs, held on display in his fist.
It’s what Jensen sees whenever he makes Jared come.
“Both hands up now,” Jensen says, and a small whine escapes Jared’s throat in protest, but he releases his cock. It slaps against his belly he’s so stiff as he braces himself against the mirror. But he’s not really complaining, no, because, Jesus, all he craves right now is Jensen inside him.
Jensen must’ve gone to get lube, his fingers are cool and wet against Jared’s ass. He eases Jared’s cheeks apart and plays at his entrance, smoothing the slick around and pressing at the rim, dipping just a fingertip in before skimming up the crease and back down to the furled skin of his hole, touching and teasing and slicking him up until Jared’s squirming, hands scrabbling against the mirror with no purchase, arms shaking. “Jensen, Jensen,” he gasps, head dipping down between his shoulders.
“Eyes open, man, stay with me,” Jensen says, and when Jared finally looks up, that’s when Jensen slots two fingers right up inside with a quick thrust. Jared grunts, sees his own eyes widen as he feels the deep, throbbing stretch, bites his lip and pushes back into it. There’s more lube, lots of it, as Jensen strokes in and out of him, patient, thorough, opening him up so perfectly. But when he reaches around with his free hand to find Jared’s cock, Jared grabs at his wrist.
“No, wait,” he says, begging Jensen with his eyes where they meet in the reflection. “I want more. Not just your hand, I want to fuck.”
Jensen moans agreement, reaches up, clean hand fisting in Jared’s hair, and pulls his mouth down to Jensen’s, making Jared arch awkwardly back to meet him, his fingers still in Jared’s ass. “Why you have to be so goddamn tall?” he asks, biting at Jared’s lips before stepping back and looking around.
Jared’s so worked up he’s about to kneel down on the fucking floor and not give a fuck about the carpet burn, when Jensen grabs the arm of the makeup chair and yanks it forward. Jared watches as he tears open his jeans and shoves them off, cock hard and bouncing as he throws his bare ass into the seat, so close to the mirror his feet almost touch it. As Jared goes to lean in and capture Jensen’s mouth, Jensen turns him around and playfully nips at his ass, murmuring, “I still want you to watch.”
He tugs Jared backward and down, maneuvering his legs in between Jared’s, using them to force Jared’s legs open wide, until he’s straddling the flats of Jensen’s thighs, precarious, reaching out to grip the arms of the chair to keep his full weight from squashing Jensen with his bulk. Like this, he’s at Jensen’s mercy: fully exposed, arms trembling, soles of his feet just skimming the floor. Jensen’s cock is nudged up beside Jared’s balls, and Jared can see it in the mirror, thick and beautiful and alive underneath him, leaking at the tip and blood vessels roping the underside.
Jensen shifts back, urges Jared to lift up so he can position his cock where it needs to be, and then, slowly, oh so slowly, Jared sinks down on him. He watches, greedily, as inch after inch of Jensen disappears inside him. Half-way down and he’s already so full he aches.
“Come on, Jay, that’s it, want to see you take it. Just let go.” Jensen’s hands are heavy on his hips, working him firmly, inexorably down onto his cock, down and down until he’s seated deep, that glorious, satisfying fullness pulsing out from the Jared’s core, chest heaving as he draws in air.
One of Jensen’s hands leaves Jared’s hip, moving across his belly and upwards, finger and thumb rolling a nipple with a sharp pinch that distracts from the burn of entry, makes him gasp and squirm on Jensen’s cock. Jensen groans into the skin of Jared’s back, then peers back up over his shoulder. “Ready?”
Together they watch Jensen pump shallowly in and out of Jared’s ass. It’s as if seeing it makes him feel it that much more, pleasure singing across nerve endings he never knew he had, muscles gripping in time with each thrust. He takes it all in, his eyes follow the thatch of wiry hairs all the way down Jensen’s balls, between his legs, his pale asscheeks squeezing and releasing, the odd, crinkly skin of his sack, the base of his cock red and streaky with lube when it pulls out. Jared thinks it’s nothing smooth and pretty like the bodies in porn; they’re not camera ready, there’s no concern for lighting or angles, just an awkward gangle of limbs and skin. But it’s real, it’s them. And it’s hotter than any porn he’s ever watched, more intense. Seeing Jensen writhe underneath him has his heart racing as he feels his orgasm build, pressure knocking at the base of his spine.
He couldn’t look away if he wanted to.
“Lean forward,” Jensen gasps. “Gotta move.” And even though thinks he’s about to topple right off Jensen’s lap, he takes his hands from the armrests and slaps them back against the mirror, closer this time, his face practically pressed against it. He doesn’t fall, though, because Jensen’s forearm slides around his waist and holds him tightly, his hips pistoning faster as he gains leverage, skin smacking skin. And now Jensen’s so hard and deep it feels like he’s pounding a metal spike in, but the angle has him dragging across Jared’s prostate like an electric shock with every thrust, and Jared can take it, wants more, pushes back into it as best he can.
“You’re so beautiful, so sexy, so fucking hot," Jensen chants. It briefly pops into Jared's mind to hope none of the crewmembers are passing by outside, because Jensen’s getting close, and getting loud. "Jared, fuck, you feel so good. Jared! Jay! Fuck!”
He comes. Jared can feel his cock thicken and pulse inside him. Jensen’s left hand is clasping blindly at Jared’s body, frantic touches running over his flank, his back, his leg. But Jensen’s right hand, oh his perfect right hand, comes around to wrap around Jared’s cock.
He can’t see anymore, his panting breath has fogged up the mirror, but it doesn’t matter, Jensen strokes him twice and he’s done. He seizes up, balls and muscles and throat all clenched tight, cock shooting dense, pearly fluid in never-ending streams, an explosion of sensation across his body, streaking along his nerves. He arches through it, soaring, until gravity brings him back to earth, his arms giving out. He collapses forward to lean his cheek against the damp mirror.
After awhile, he feels Jensen’s hands back at his hips, easing him up, pulling out. And Jared would love to curl up in Jensen’s lap, but he has no desire to crush someone who gives orgasms like that, so he sinks to the floor between Jensen’s sprawled legs, pillowing his head on Jensen’s thigh.
Above him, Jensen chuckles. “Oh shit, we made a mess.”
“Yeah?” he says, blithely. He’s naked in the wardrobe trailer with an ass full of come, and he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Dude, your jizz is all over the mirror!”
“Well, you better clean that up.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Think of it as payment for the show,” Jared drawls, nuzzling at the warm, musky, salt-tinged skin near Jensen's groin. He’s giddy, woozy, a grateful lassitude in his joints and muscles as if a high-spiking fever has finally broken. If only he could magically summon a pillow and a cozy blanket, he’d never leave this spot.
“Hey!” Jensen joggles the leg he’s resting on, “Don’t you dare fall asleep on me.” But the words hardly register as Jared closes his eyes for good.