SPN Fic: Real Slow (1/2)
Title: Real Slow
Author: deirdre_c
Artist: dollarformyname
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 10,800
Author's Notes: An AU version of what happened post-finale of Supernatural Season 10. Written for the spn-meanttobe challenge. My thanks to the amazing fiercelynormal for the helpful beta and writing support. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Please go give my amazing collaborator, dollarformyname, feedback on her art: here. She is fantastic! I'm honored to be illustrated by her! She gives me reason to live!!! ♥
Fic Summary: The stripteasing on stage at conventions is a joke, until Jensen gets drunk and sends a private video to Jared. Then it’s not so funny anymore.
Jensen just will not let it rest.
He did that dumb pretend striptease at that one con back in January, and now Jared has to deal with the fact that Jensen’s turned it into a running joke. As in marathon-length.
There’s Jensen, when they’re changing in wardrobe: “Yeah, baby. I’m gonna take it all off!”
When they’re out for a drink: “Dare me to hop up on the bar and see if I can make a few extra bucks, man?”
When Jared’s still shooting, and Jensen waves to him across the set as he heads home in street clothes and black baseball cap: “I can leeeave my hat on.” Jensen waggles his hips. The crew laughs and catcalls. Jared dismisses Jensen with a well-chosen finger and gets his Sam-face back on.
At a subsequent con, Jared tried fighting fire with fire, doing his own little dance, but it wasn’t the same. He’s too much of a doofus, all gangly arms and no sense of rhythm.
But Jensen and striptease? Oh the fans love that shit.
Jared doesn’t know why the play-stripping irks him. Well, not irks, so much as makes him uncomfortable, embarrassed. Jared thinks about the time on stage at SeaCon, the way Jensen peeled off his shirt and threw it around Jared’s shoulders. It was just… weird. Fortunately, Jared knows from experience that it will play itself out-like riding the minibikes or ambushing people with pies -and something else will come along that captures Jensen’s imagination.
So Jared simply smiles and rolls his eyes every time Jensen starts singing that little burlesque riff-ba-dum-dum-dum, ba-dum-dum-dum- just like he’s expected to.
***
“You’re all talk, no action, Shackles.” They’re kicking back with some single malt Glenlivet in Jared’s trailer after a long night of shooting. Through the window, he thinks he can see the grey edge of dawn sneaking up on the horizon. He’s too old for this shit.
Jensen raises his eyebrows. “You think I wouldn’t?”
“I think you shouldn’t,” Jared replies, covering his eyes in mock horror.
“I think you’d love it,” he drawls.
“Not a chance. And let’s hope we never find out. From what I’ve seen, you leave a lot to be desired.”
Jared catches this weird, hurt look flash in Jensen’s eyes, but it’s gone before Jared can decipher it. And Jensen covers it by making the Blue Steel face at him, which never fails to crack Jared up, dammit.
“Untrue,” Jensen protests, taking another sip from his glass and smoldering at Jared over the rim. In his best Inigo Montoya voice he says, “Desire is my middle name, you know.”
People all think Jared’s the clown of the cast, the one who makes the dumb jokes, but really, he’s got nothing on Jensen.
They finally finish filming for the season-the last few episodes more emotional and exhausting than ever-and both of them are looking forward to some time off. The only downside as far as Jared’s concerned is that they’re heading in opposite directions, with Jared going straight back home to San Antonio to visit his parents and Jensen having booked a gig in Tokyo for a commercial and a magazine photo shoot.
Jared almost offers to go with him, because he’s never been to Japan. But they already get enough teasing for living in each other’s pockets. And, Jared has to admit that, between his divorce from Gen a few years ago and Jensen’s recent breakup with his long-term boyfriend, Daniel, their social lives have pretty much narrowed down into hanging out together, all the time. It can’t be natural.
Besides, there’s a convention in the UK and then the Rome con right after it in May, which means they’ll be travelling together in just a few weeks. A little time apart won’t be such a bad thing.
Which is how Jared finds himself at YVR, waving as Jensen heads down the breezeway leading to his plane and then turning to make his way toward his own gate.
It is kind of gratifying, though, when Jensen texts him as soon as his plane touches down at Narita. Nice to know Jared’s not the only one who’s a bit over-invested in this friendship. An hour or so later they talk by Skype, Jensen sprawled on his hotel suite’s couch on his way to bed, Jared just waking up for the day. Jensen describes the drive in from the airport, the crazy crush of Tokyo’s downtown. Jared brags how his mom’s cooking beats sushi any day of the week.
But after that first day they keep missing connections. Jensen texts him again a couple of times in the middle of the night. Jared calls back, but Jensen’s already on the move.
Headed to do some kind of meet and greet. Try you later.
Lunch with the photographer. Would rather be eating Sharon’s pot roast.
Jared texts back, laughing to himself. will u b astronaut or cowboy this time?, he types, attaching an old picture he dug up off the internet from that goofy, surreal photo shoot Jensen did a million years ago. Then he heads out for to meet Jeff for some brotherly movie bonding at this new craft-brewery-and-cinema hybrid thing that opened up across town last year. It’s too bad Jensen’s not with them, because Jared’s certain he’d be in raptures over the pale ale.
***
Coming out of the theater a few hours later, Jared checks his phone and Jensen has blown it up. Eight texts, three emails, and two voice mails, all from Jensen. At first Jared feels an icy jolt of panic, anxious there’s an emergency. But as he scans the texts, he realizes all of them are telling him not to open the first email. The one that Jensen sent him in the middle of the night.
The one that contains a video.
Which basically means it’s something hideously embarrassing and Jared can’t wait to get home to check it out.
Jeff drops him off as he’s listening to the second voice mail, the sound of Jensen’s voice slurry-drunk and pleading. Jared’s feeling a bit buzzed himself from sharing a couple pitchers, so he just laughs and settles himself into his bed with his laptop and clicks open the .mov file.
It’s Jensen in the hotel room, settling himself into pretty much the same spot as when they Skyped a few days before, the room dimmer, curtains closed. He wearing in some kind of designer suit, the tie just draped around his neck and the top buttons of the crisp white shirt unbuttoned. He sprawls back against the butter-yellow leather couch, smirking. He props his bare feet up on the coffee table.
Jared knows the look well. That sonofabitch is fucking lit.
When he’s been drinking, Jensen always gets relaxed and loose, his bones turn to quicksilver, and he drapes himself like a cat over whatever he’s sitting on. And right now his eyes are half-lidded, another easy tell.
“Figured I’d record something for you since we never seem to be ‘round at the same time. Little somethin’ in your inbox when you wake up.” Jensen’s accent breaks through, thick as a Texas summer storm, and Jared’s lips quirk in a smile. That’s at least four beers worth of drawl right there.
“D’you like the suit? They let me walk off with it after the shoot.” Jensen gestures down at the dark blue jacket, trim-fitted perfectly over the shoulders. It’s the kind of suit Jared can’t ever seem to find at his height. The kind of suit Jensen was born to wear.
Jared watches as he runs a hand down the lapel. Such a clothes horse.
“Wish you’d been here. You’d’a gotten a kick out of all the outfits they made me go through. Felt like Pretty Woman there for awhile.” Jensen snorts. “Then again, you’d been here, you’d have had to suffer through a lot more of my stripping jokes, wouldn’t you?”
Jensen lets his head loll to the side. “Stripping. Strip. Striptease.” He says it so low Jared hardly hears it. Then his eyes snap to the camera. “I’ll show you striptease.”
Jared watches as Jensen rolls up off the couch and pads over to where his phone is plugged into some kind of dock connected to a speaker.
He pushes a couple buttons and suddenly horns blare out a melody, bright and brassy. Jared chuckles and slumps back further into his own pillows, propping the computer higher in his lap. No wonder Jensen wanted him to delete this. There is clearly about to be some ridiculous Magic Mike-level bumping and grinding. Jared cannot wait to drag Jensen over the coals because of it. Oh, the Grade-A shit Jared is going to serve him.
The low lighting in the hotel room catches the angles of Jensen’s features. But where Jared’s expecting to see Jensen’s usual sarcastic, dead-pan look of I’m about to make a fool of myself and I don’t give a crap, it’s not there. Instead Jensen looks… serious. Chin up, shoulders square, he looks determined, as if commanding Jared to watch.
He starts out swaying a bit from foot to foot. His gaze never leaves the camera, like it’s live, like he’s right here, staring into Jared’s eyes. He shrugs and the suit jacket slips off his shoulders and down to the floor in one smooth motion. Jared knows, if it’d been him, he would’ve been standing there tugging and wrestling with it.
But not Jensen. Jensen makes everything look easy.
Next is the tie. But there’s no mock-sexy, elaborate jerking it around. No twirling. Jensen simply draws the silk in a long, leisurely tug from around his neck, letting it fall to the floor in a coiled puddle. As if he’s not paying attention to anything but Jared through the lens.
Jared can’t figure it out. This should be ridiculous. Jensen should be waggling his eyebrows and goofing around and shaking his ass. Jared should be laughing.
He’s not laughing.
Jensen’s not laughing either. His eyes are hot, glassy, intent. He does that thing that makes the fangirls crazy, where he presses his tongue against the back of his teeth, mouth slightly open, lips wet and glistening. And Jared’s pretty certain Jensen’s just acting right now, pulling tried-and-true expressions out of his toolbox, but it feels different like this, not on set, just for him.
Jensen’s hand drifts up the front of his shirt stretched snugly across his chest. Two fingers circle lazily, sensually, around and around one of the buttons in time with the music. Jared feels like he can’t breathe, anticipating the moment when Jensen undoes it. There it goes. First button. Then a second. The shirt gapes open to reveal the line of Jensen’s sternum. A third. The flat plane of his stomach appears.
Jensen’s been working out hard this past season-ever since he found out about the Demon Dean bedroom scenes-and has kept it up since then. Jared’s been proud of him in an off-hand way, actually a little jealous at having to curtail his own lifting because of the shoulder surgery.
But this somehow feels like the first time Jared’s really looked at Jensen’s body. He finds himself contemplating how sleek his bare skin might feel, how firm the muscle underneath, how hot to the touch. Jensen pulls the shirttails out of his pants and flicks them behind him. He’s always been fit-levels varying on whether they were filming shirtless that episode, of course-but also a little soft, more than a hint of belly, not obsessing over contours like Jared. But now there’s definitely abs, and pecs, and the hint of muscle cut above the hips.
Jared sees Jensen slide a hand back up his torso to start rubbing small circles over his nipple, just like the shirt button before. He wonders how sensitive Jensen is there. If he gets hot, like a girl, just from playing with them. Apparently so, because Jared’s watching closely enough he can see Jensen’s eyelashes flutter, sees a little shiver make his stomach muscles clench. An echo of that shiver zips through Jared, straight to his groin.
His face flushes hot at the response.
It’s nuts. Absolutely nuts. Jared’s not gay. Yeah, he fooled around with a few guys back when he first got to Hollywood. But everyone experiments in college… or on the set of Gilmore Girls, same difference. It never really appealed and he’s stuck with women ever since.
Plus, this is Jensen. His best friend. Practically a brother. The same guy who had told him matter-of-factly on Day One of shooting the Supernatural pilot he was gay, and that had been that. Never any sexual tension between them. Nothing but the ultimate platonic friendship. In fact it’s Jared who’s always the one being handsy, wrapping himself around Jensen in public. Jensen never minding but rarely initiating, because he says he wants to avoid giving extra fodder to the fans who already like to couple them up way more than they should in their minds.
All these years, Jensen never showed one iota of interest in Jared as-as what?
On the screen, Jensen tilts his head back leaving his throat exposed, the hollow of it shadowed reddish-indigo in the low light. His hips start to move, a small tight swivel. He flattens both his palms against his own abdomen, and drags them slowly up the planes of his body.
Jensen’s lips form a word, unvocalized, but clear and familiar. Jared.
Jared shifts in his bed, sits up straighter, his jeans growing tighter and more uncomfortable by the second, his pulse racing. It’s less than a minute into the video and it already seems like an hour. Jared’s had full-on lap dances in Vegas that were less sexy, less intense than this.
Jensen pushes the shirt all the way off.
Fuck, Jared shouldn’t be watching this. He sure shouldn’t be feeling like this as he watches. Feeling like he wants to reach through the screen to trail his fingers over the thin skin along Jensen’s collarbone. Feeling like he’d want to follow the trail of his hand with his mouth.
This is just some weird joke of Jensen’s. It must be. And yet here’s Jared treating it like private porn.
His mind jerks away from the word like it’s a hot stove. Jesus Christ. He should close the computer right now.
Instead he bites at the inside of his cheek and doesn’t blink.
Because now Jensen’s walking toward the camera, weaving a little, turning it into a swagger. He gets up so close that just his crotch is framed on the screen. Slowly, unbearably slowly, Jensen unbuckles his belt. The soft scrape of glossy black leather and clink of metal can be heard over the jangle of music, so close.
Jensen runs a fingertip up and down his fly, flicks the button with his thumb, plays around with the zipper pull. Taunting, like he knows Jared’s dying for him to keep going. Oh god, then he does. He unzips. Black boxer briefs like a second skin, hugging the fat bulge-holy fuck, Jensen’s hard-straining at the fabric.
He widens his stance and just stands there, filling Jared’s screen, his dick is so thick, right there in front of Jared’s face. The bastard grabs the end of his loose belt and glides the tip of it up and down his dick in an obscene caress. Jared has to shove the heel of his hand down into his lap, pressing against his own hard-on to get some relief from the throbbing pressure in his balls.
The two of them joke around from time to time-typical guy banter about who’s packing more… the third leg… Sam Winchester keeps a ruler by the bed… Eric’s old gag about full-frontal on the show-but Jared never before gave much actual thought to what Jensen’s cock looked like, how it would feel, how it might fucking taste. He sure as hell does now.
Jensen steps away, turns around so his back is to the camera, hips rolling just the slightest bit as he walks away. Just enough to let his slacks-dark like the midnight sky-slip down lower and lower, revealing another inch, two, more of his boxers, his shoulders pulled back to emphasize the long, elegant arc of his spine.
Jared’s hunched over the laptop now, coiled tight around it, his fingers gripping the edges of it hard enough to hurt.
Jensen’s pants hang up on the high curve of his ass. He stops, looks over his shoulder, right at the camera, right at Jared. This is the teasing Jared expected from the first, but it’s not silly as it should be. Instead it’s pure sex.
It’s a side of Jensen he’s never seen before. None of the awkwardness of Jensen’s scenes with love interests on the show, where Jensen always looks like he’s about to leap out of his skin and run away, and directors have to beg him into extra takes just to get something that looks halfway comfortable. Not in real life either, with Daniel or the guys he dated before that, where he’d barely hold hands in public, careful of privacy. No. This Jensen is something different. Sensual and confident and in control.
Jared recalls a conversation late one night, years ago, when he asked out of sheer curiosity whether Jensen was a top or a bottom. Jensen had shrugged and casually said “top” like it was the difference between Coke and Pepsi. Jared hadn’t pursued any details-Jensen had quickly shifted topics-but remembers thinking at the time he didn’t really understand how that all worked.
He has a much better idea now. Can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t roll over and beg for Jensen. This Jensen. The one who’s hooking a finger into his precarious waistband and raising an eyebrow at the camera, as if asking whether he should or not.
“Yes,” Jared croaks out loud.
Jensen eases the slacks down, begins to rotate slowly on the spot while high-priced fabric slides down his legs to the floor. When he’s facing Jared again, he carelessly steps out of them, tucking his toe underneath and flipping them out of the way.
Jensen’s eyes are so heavy-lidded now they’re barely slits, but the look he gives Jared could melt the lens. He notches his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, right on either side of his fucking crotch, and pulls them away from his skin, lowering them just a touch, the stretch making the contours of his cock even clearer, the tip threatening to pop right out. He holds the fabric down for a moment and then lets go. It snaps back, but lower on one side, leaving that hip enticingly bare, merging into a dark shadow that hints at pubes.
An involuntarily groan wells up in the back of Jared’s throat, and there’s no escaping the fact that he wants it. God, he wants to see Jensen’s dick. See it full and thick, see how hairy he is, see how his balls hang down below it, imagine holding it in his hand.
It’s been a dozen years or more since Jared tried-badly-to give someone a blowjob, but he can picture himself there, in that room halfway around the world, going to his knees in front of Jensen, begging him to let Jared take it into his mouth.
The muscles in Jared’s thighs strain with the effort not to thrust upwards. He clutches white-knuckled at the sheet beside him so as not to curl his hand around his aching erection and get himself off at the thought of his best friend’s dick sliding over his tongue.
Jensen seems to be thinking the same thing, because he’s biting his lip as he teases a fingertip across the front of his briefs. His dick twitches under the faint touch and the sight makes Jared gasp and squirm.
He’s not sure how much more he can take, not sure how he’s ever going to look at Jensen again without thinking of this moment.
Then Jensen’s hands drop and he slowly saunters toward the camera. Gradually, gradually closing the distance between the two of them, like he has the power to walk right through the screen. His face is flushed, his lips shiny.
Jensen leans into the camera, pinning him to the bed’s backboard with his gaze. “And that’s how you do a striptease, Jared.”
Then the screen goes black.
***
| Part 2 |
Author: deirdre_c
Artist: dollarformyname
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 10,800
Author's Notes: An AU version of what happened post-finale of Supernatural Season 10. Written for the spn-meanttobe challenge. My thanks to the amazing fiercelynormal for the helpful beta and writing support. All remaining mistakes are mine.
Please go give my amazing collaborator, dollarformyname, feedback on her art: here. She is fantastic! I'm honored to be illustrated by her! She gives me reason to live!!! ♥
Fic Summary: The stripteasing on stage at conventions is a joke, until Jensen gets drunk and sends a private video to Jared. Then it’s not so funny anymore.
Jensen just will not let it rest.
He did that dumb pretend striptease at that one con back in January, and now Jared has to deal with the fact that Jensen’s turned it into a running joke. As in marathon-length.
There’s Jensen, when they’re changing in wardrobe: “Yeah, baby. I’m gonna take it all off!”
When they’re out for a drink: “Dare me to hop up on the bar and see if I can make a few extra bucks, man?”
When Jared’s still shooting, and Jensen waves to him across the set as he heads home in street clothes and black baseball cap: “I can leeeave my hat on.” Jensen waggles his hips. The crew laughs and catcalls. Jared dismisses Jensen with a well-chosen finger and gets his Sam-face back on.
At a subsequent con, Jared tried fighting fire with fire, doing his own little dance, but it wasn’t the same. He’s too much of a doofus, all gangly arms and no sense of rhythm.
But Jensen and striptease? Oh the fans love that shit.
Jared doesn’t know why the play-stripping irks him. Well, not irks, so much as makes him uncomfortable, embarrassed. Jared thinks about the time on stage at SeaCon, the way Jensen peeled off his shirt and threw it around Jared’s shoulders. It was just… weird. Fortunately, Jared knows from experience that it will play itself out-like riding the minibikes or ambushing people with pies -and something else will come along that captures Jensen’s imagination.
So Jared simply smiles and rolls his eyes every time Jensen starts singing that little burlesque riff-ba-dum-dum-dum, ba-dum-dum-dum- just like he’s expected to.
***
“You’re all talk, no action, Shackles.” They’re kicking back with some single malt Glenlivet in Jared’s trailer after a long night of shooting. Through the window, he thinks he can see the grey edge of dawn sneaking up on the horizon. He’s too old for this shit.
Jensen raises his eyebrows. “You think I wouldn’t?”
“I think you shouldn’t,” Jared replies, covering his eyes in mock horror.
“I think you’d love it,” he drawls.
“Not a chance. And let’s hope we never find out. From what I’ve seen, you leave a lot to be desired.”
Jared catches this weird, hurt look flash in Jensen’s eyes, but it’s gone before Jared can decipher it. And Jensen covers it by making the Blue Steel face at him, which never fails to crack Jared up, dammit.
“Untrue,” Jensen protests, taking another sip from his glass and smoldering at Jared over the rim. In his best Inigo Montoya voice he says, “Desire is my middle name, you know.”
People all think Jared’s the clown of the cast, the one who makes the dumb jokes, but really, he’s got nothing on Jensen.
They finally finish filming for the season-the last few episodes more emotional and exhausting than ever-and both of them are looking forward to some time off. The only downside as far as Jared’s concerned is that they’re heading in opposite directions, with Jared going straight back home to San Antonio to visit his parents and Jensen having booked a gig in Tokyo for a commercial and a magazine photo shoot.
Jared almost offers to go with him, because he’s never been to Japan. But they already get enough teasing for living in each other’s pockets. And, Jared has to admit that, between his divorce from Gen a few years ago and Jensen’s recent breakup with his long-term boyfriend, Daniel, their social lives have pretty much narrowed down into hanging out together, all the time. It can’t be natural.
Besides, there’s a convention in the UK and then the Rome con right after it in May, which means they’ll be travelling together in just a few weeks. A little time apart won’t be such a bad thing.
Which is how Jared finds himself at YVR, waving as Jensen heads down the breezeway leading to his plane and then turning to make his way toward his own gate.
It is kind of gratifying, though, when Jensen texts him as soon as his plane touches down at Narita. Nice to know Jared’s not the only one who’s a bit over-invested in this friendship. An hour or so later they talk by Skype, Jensen sprawled on his hotel suite’s couch on his way to bed, Jared just waking up for the day. Jensen describes the drive in from the airport, the crazy crush of Tokyo’s downtown. Jared brags how his mom’s cooking beats sushi any day of the week.
But after that first day they keep missing connections. Jensen texts him again a couple of times in the middle of the night. Jared calls back, but Jensen’s already on the move.
Headed to do some kind of meet and greet. Try you later.
Lunch with the photographer. Would rather be eating Sharon’s pot roast.
Jared texts back, laughing to himself. will u b astronaut or cowboy this time?, he types, attaching an old picture he dug up off the internet from that goofy, surreal photo shoot Jensen did a million years ago. Then he heads out for to meet Jeff for some brotherly movie bonding at this new craft-brewery-and-cinema hybrid thing that opened up across town last year. It’s too bad Jensen’s not with them, because Jared’s certain he’d be in raptures over the pale ale.
***
Coming out of the theater a few hours later, Jared checks his phone and Jensen has blown it up. Eight texts, three emails, and two voice mails, all from Jensen. At first Jared feels an icy jolt of panic, anxious there’s an emergency. But as he scans the texts, he realizes all of them are telling him not to open the first email. The one that Jensen sent him in the middle of the night.
The one that contains a video.
Which basically means it’s something hideously embarrassing and Jared can’t wait to get home to check it out.
Jeff drops him off as he’s listening to the second voice mail, the sound of Jensen’s voice slurry-drunk and pleading. Jared’s feeling a bit buzzed himself from sharing a couple pitchers, so he just laughs and settles himself into his bed with his laptop and clicks open the .mov file.
It’s Jensen in the hotel room, settling himself into pretty much the same spot as when they Skyped a few days before, the room dimmer, curtains closed. He wearing in some kind of designer suit, the tie just draped around his neck and the top buttons of the crisp white shirt unbuttoned. He sprawls back against the butter-yellow leather couch, smirking. He props his bare feet up on the coffee table.
Jared knows the look well. That sonofabitch is fucking lit.
When he’s been drinking, Jensen always gets relaxed and loose, his bones turn to quicksilver, and he drapes himself like a cat over whatever he’s sitting on. And right now his eyes are half-lidded, another easy tell.
“Figured I’d record something for you since we never seem to be ‘round at the same time. Little somethin’ in your inbox when you wake up.” Jensen’s accent breaks through, thick as a Texas summer storm, and Jared’s lips quirk in a smile. That’s at least four beers worth of drawl right there.
“D’you like the suit? They let me walk off with it after the shoot.” Jensen gestures down at the dark blue jacket, trim-fitted perfectly over the shoulders. It’s the kind of suit Jared can’t ever seem to find at his height. The kind of suit Jensen was born to wear.
Jared watches as he runs a hand down the lapel. Such a clothes horse.
“Wish you’d been here. You’d’a gotten a kick out of all the outfits they made me go through. Felt like Pretty Woman there for awhile.” Jensen snorts. “Then again, you’d been here, you’d have had to suffer through a lot more of my stripping jokes, wouldn’t you?”
Jensen lets his head loll to the side. “Stripping. Strip. Striptease.” He says it so low Jared hardly hears it. Then his eyes snap to the camera. “I’ll show you striptease.”
Jared watches as Jensen rolls up off the couch and pads over to where his phone is plugged into some kind of dock connected to a speaker.
He pushes a couple buttons and suddenly horns blare out a melody, bright and brassy. Jared chuckles and slumps back further into his own pillows, propping the computer higher in his lap. No wonder Jensen wanted him to delete this. There is clearly about to be some ridiculous Magic Mike-level bumping and grinding. Jared cannot wait to drag Jensen over the coals because of it. Oh, the Grade-A shit Jared is going to serve him.
The low lighting in the hotel room catches the angles of Jensen’s features. But where Jared’s expecting to see Jensen’s usual sarcastic, dead-pan look of I’m about to make a fool of myself and I don’t give a crap, it’s not there. Instead Jensen looks… serious. Chin up, shoulders square, he looks determined, as if commanding Jared to watch.
He starts out swaying a bit from foot to foot. His gaze never leaves the camera, like it’s live, like he’s right here, staring into Jared’s eyes. He shrugs and the suit jacket slips off his shoulders and down to the floor in one smooth motion. Jared knows, if it’d been him, he would’ve been standing there tugging and wrestling with it.
But not Jensen. Jensen makes everything look easy.
Next is the tie. But there’s no mock-sexy, elaborate jerking it around. No twirling. Jensen simply draws the silk in a long, leisurely tug from around his neck, letting it fall to the floor in a coiled puddle. As if he’s not paying attention to anything but Jared through the lens.
Jared can’t figure it out. This should be ridiculous. Jensen should be waggling his eyebrows and goofing around and shaking his ass. Jared should be laughing.
He’s not laughing.
Jensen’s not laughing either. His eyes are hot, glassy, intent. He does that thing that makes the fangirls crazy, where he presses his tongue against the back of his teeth, mouth slightly open, lips wet and glistening. And Jared’s pretty certain Jensen’s just acting right now, pulling tried-and-true expressions out of his toolbox, but it feels different like this, not on set, just for him.
Jensen’s hand drifts up the front of his shirt stretched snugly across his chest. Two fingers circle lazily, sensually, around and around one of the buttons in time with the music. Jared feels like he can’t breathe, anticipating the moment when Jensen undoes it. There it goes. First button. Then a second. The shirt gapes open to reveal the line of Jensen’s sternum. A third. The flat plane of his stomach appears.
Jensen’s been working out hard this past season-ever since he found out about the Demon Dean bedroom scenes-and has kept it up since then. Jared’s been proud of him in an off-hand way, actually a little jealous at having to curtail his own lifting because of the shoulder surgery.
But this somehow feels like the first time Jared’s really looked at Jensen’s body. He finds himself contemplating how sleek his bare skin might feel, how firm the muscle underneath, how hot to the touch. Jensen pulls the shirttails out of his pants and flicks them behind him. He’s always been fit-levels varying on whether they were filming shirtless that episode, of course-but also a little soft, more than a hint of belly, not obsessing over contours like Jared. But now there’s definitely abs, and pecs, and the hint of muscle cut above the hips.
Jared sees Jensen slide a hand back up his torso to start rubbing small circles over his nipple, just like the shirt button before. He wonders how sensitive Jensen is there. If he gets hot, like a girl, just from playing with them. Apparently so, because Jared’s watching closely enough he can see Jensen’s eyelashes flutter, sees a little shiver make his stomach muscles clench. An echo of that shiver zips through Jared, straight to his groin.
His face flushes hot at the response.
It’s nuts. Absolutely nuts. Jared’s not gay. Yeah, he fooled around with a few guys back when he first got to Hollywood. But everyone experiments in college… or on the set of Gilmore Girls, same difference. It never really appealed and he’s stuck with women ever since.
Plus, this is Jensen. His best friend. Practically a brother. The same guy who had told him matter-of-factly on Day One of shooting the Supernatural pilot he was gay, and that had been that. Never any sexual tension between them. Nothing but the ultimate platonic friendship. In fact it’s Jared who’s always the one being handsy, wrapping himself around Jensen in public. Jensen never minding but rarely initiating, because he says he wants to avoid giving extra fodder to the fans who already like to couple them up way more than they should in their minds.
All these years, Jensen never showed one iota of interest in Jared as-as what?
On the screen, Jensen tilts his head back leaving his throat exposed, the hollow of it shadowed reddish-indigo in the low light. His hips start to move, a small tight swivel. He flattens both his palms against his own abdomen, and drags them slowly up the planes of his body.
Jensen’s lips form a word, unvocalized, but clear and familiar. Jared.
Jared shifts in his bed, sits up straighter, his jeans growing tighter and more uncomfortable by the second, his pulse racing. It’s less than a minute into the video and it already seems like an hour. Jared’s had full-on lap dances in Vegas that were less sexy, less intense than this.
Jensen pushes the shirt all the way off.
Fuck, Jared shouldn’t be watching this. He sure shouldn’t be feeling like this as he watches. Feeling like he wants to reach through the screen to trail his fingers over the thin skin along Jensen’s collarbone. Feeling like he’d want to follow the trail of his hand with his mouth.
This is just some weird joke of Jensen’s. It must be. And yet here’s Jared treating it like private porn.
His mind jerks away from the word like it’s a hot stove. Jesus Christ. He should close the computer right now.
Instead he bites at the inside of his cheek and doesn’t blink.
Because now Jensen’s walking toward the camera, weaving a little, turning it into a swagger. He gets up so close that just his crotch is framed on the screen. Slowly, unbearably slowly, Jensen unbuckles his belt. The soft scrape of glossy black leather and clink of metal can be heard over the jangle of music, so close.
Jensen runs a fingertip up and down his fly, flicks the button with his thumb, plays around with the zipper pull. Taunting, like he knows Jared’s dying for him to keep going. Oh god, then he does. He unzips. Black boxer briefs like a second skin, hugging the fat bulge-holy fuck, Jensen’s hard-straining at the fabric.
He widens his stance and just stands there, filling Jared’s screen, his dick is so thick, right there in front of Jared’s face. The bastard grabs the end of his loose belt and glides the tip of it up and down his dick in an obscene caress. Jared has to shove the heel of his hand down into his lap, pressing against his own hard-on to get some relief from the throbbing pressure in his balls.
The two of them joke around from time to time-typical guy banter about who’s packing more… the third leg… Sam Winchester keeps a ruler by the bed… Eric’s old gag about full-frontal on the show-but Jared never before gave much actual thought to what Jensen’s cock looked like, how it would feel, how it might fucking taste. He sure as hell does now.
Jensen steps away, turns around so his back is to the camera, hips rolling just the slightest bit as he walks away. Just enough to let his slacks-dark like the midnight sky-slip down lower and lower, revealing another inch, two, more of his boxers, his shoulders pulled back to emphasize the long, elegant arc of his spine.
Jared’s hunched over the laptop now, coiled tight around it, his fingers gripping the edges of it hard enough to hurt.
Jensen’s pants hang up on the high curve of his ass. He stops, looks over his shoulder, right at the camera, right at Jared. This is the teasing Jared expected from the first, but it’s not silly as it should be. Instead it’s pure sex.
It’s a side of Jensen he’s never seen before. None of the awkwardness of Jensen’s scenes with love interests on the show, where Jensen always looks like he’s about to leap out of his skin and run away, and directors have to beg him into extra takes just to get something that looks halfway comfortable. Not in real life either, with Daniel or the guys he dated before that, where he’d barely hold hands in public, careful of privacy. No. This Jensen is something different. Sensual and confident and in control.
Jared recalls a conversation late one night, years ago, when he asked out of sheer curiosity whether Jensen was a top or a bottom. Jensen had shrugged and casually said “top” like it was the difference between Coke and Pepsi. Jared hadn’t pursued any details-Jensen had quickly shifted topics-but remembers thinking at the time he didn’t really understand how that all worked.
He has a much better idea now. Can’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t roll over and beg for Jensen. This Jensen. The one who’s hooking a finger into his precarious waistband and raising an eyebrow at the camera, as if asking whether he should or not.
“Yes,” Jared croaks out loud.
Jensen eases the slacks down, begins to rotate slowly on the spot while high-priced fabric slides down his legs to the floor. When he’s facing Jared again, he carelessly steps out of them, tucking his toe underneath and flipping them out of the way.
Jensen’s eyes are so heavy-lidded now they’re barely slits, but the look he gives Jared could melt the lens. He notches his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, right on either side of his fucking crotch, and pulls them away from his skin, lowering them just a touch, the stretch making the contours of his cock even clearer, the tip threatening to pop right out. He holds the fabric down for a moment and then lets go. It snaps back, but lower on one side, leaving that hip enticingly bare, merging into a dark shadow that hints at pubes.
An involuntarily groan wells up in the back of Jared’s throat, and there’s no escaping the fact that he wants it. God, he wants to see Jensen’s dick. See it full and thick, see how hairy he is, see how his balls hang down below it, imagine holding it in his hand.
It’s been a dozen years or more since Jared tried-badly-to give someone a blowjob, but he can picture himself there, in that room halfway around the world, going to his knees in front of Jensen, begging him to let Jared take it into his mouth.
The muscles in Jared’s thighs strain with the effort not to thrust upwards. He clutches white-knuckled at the sheet beside him so as not to curl his hand around his aching erection and get himself off at the thought of his best friend’s dick sliding over his tongue.
Jensen seems to be thinking the same thing, because he’s biting his lip as he teases a fingertip across the front of his briefs. His dick twitches under the faint touch and the sight makes Jared gasp and squirm.
He’s not sure how much more he can take, not sure how he’s ever going to look at Jensen again without thinking of this moment.
Then Jensen’s hands drop and he slowly saunters toward the camera. Gradually, gradually closing the distance between the two of them, like he has the power to walk right through the screen. His face is flushed, his lips shiny.
Jensen leans into the camera, pinning him to the bed’s backboard with his gaze. “And that’s how you do a striptease, Jared.”
Then the screen goes black.
***
| Part 2 |
