Fic: (il)Licit, Part 1
Please see The Prologue for story information and table of contents.
It’s supposed to be a simple story, really. Boy meets boy, boy works with boy, boy hangs out with boy. Boy gets drunk and makes out with boy. Boy falls in love with boy. Boy and boy live happily ever after. With lots and lots of boy-on-boy.
Jared should have known by now that actually, things don’t work that way. At all. Ever. Jensen hasn’t even looked at him in the same way since that night, like he’s keeping his distance. The very heat of rejection off Jensen is so fierce that it is too much to fathom, and Jared hopes that this won’t destroy the chemistry that keeps Supernatural thriving for the both of them and everybody else.
This whole mess started with Sandy, actually.
She’d given him a dazzling smile when he broke up with her, hands on her hips as she asked, “this is ‘cause you want Jensen, isn’t it?”
He’d blushed at that. When he made it back to Vancouver a single man that week, she’d kissed him goodbye and good luck on the cheek, pushing an oversized padded envelope into his bag and ordering him not to open it until he got back to his apartment.
Jared opens the envelope three days later, after it’s been taunting him, sitting on his kitchen counter. A note from Sandy says good luck and that she hopes things work out for the best. There’s a DVD in a clear plastic case, an authentic copy instead of a computer-burned bootleg. The dirty scrawl of ‘On the Farm 3; Younger and Stronger’ makes Jared’s eyebrows furrow. His computer’s DVD player spins up, and all he gets is a menu screen for a gay porno that looks about ten years old.
Sandy was a smarter girl than anybody would have guessed. She’d loved proving it to him. She was all clues and puzzles while he was with her, and it was one of the things he’d grown to find comfortable about her, one of the things he’d grown to love. Jared searched until he found himself looking at a time stamp and someone’s name in her messy scrawl on the inside flap of the envelope.
01:50:27
Max Sin
Jared has always hated treasure hunts, but he fast forwarded past young boys fucking in a barn, a gang bang in a country kitchen, a rather unattractive looking man wielding one of the hugest cocks Jared had ever seen jacking off in the middle of a freaking cornfield, and a rather engaged rimming session in a stable.
Jared’s almost jaded, and he wonders whether or not Sandy sent him this as a consolation prize for something Jared knows he can’t have when he sees cocksucking lips pushed together, and stops fast-forwarding. At first, he doesn’t know why, it’s only two boys in the back of a pick-up truck making out, but one turns away, dropping soft kisses on the other’s shoulder and there’s a moan and familiar eyes looking directly at the camera and is that Jensen?
There’s that smirk that is all too familiar before he takes the head of his partner’s cock into his mouth, eyes closing for a timid second before opening again in slow motion and Jared thinks to himself that, oh god, it is Jensen.
It is Jensen getting turned around, bent over, and ridden like a fucking sleigh. It’s Jensen reaching behind himself to hold onto the boy who’s fucking him, his knees as wide apart as they can go in the flatbed of that dirty pickup truck, Jared thinks, lips pressing together before he lets out a moan of his own. This shouldn’t be nearly as hot as it is, but Jared can’t stop looking, hunched over his computer in the darkness of his apartment after a long day of filming, and without thinking, Jared makes a point-blank jump for his pants, hands fussing to undo his own fly before his dick busts through the material and he has to squeeze himself back together before he can even think of using his pre-come as lube, or watching Jensen come on screen, moaning like a whore, shaking like a porn star.
Jared lets out that moan he’s been holding in and tries not to think hard about just how crazy a situation this is. He could be seeing things, he rationalizes. He could be deluding himself and wishing this one. Hell, he could be dreaming. This isn’t real, he keeps saying, Jensen would weigh the risk of getting caught. Jensen would think about the rest of his career. Max just looks like Jensen, all high cheeks, pretty lips, shockingly masculine and looking like he belongs on fucking Sweet Valley High. It’s not Jensen, even though he moans like Jensen. Jared presses his lips together and wills himself to think ‘Max’.
Max Sin is licking his own come off the bed of an old pickup truck. Jared pauses the tape, focusing on the look on that face, eyes looking upward coyly, that ridiculous tongue curling like a cat with a saucer of milk, long span of back and arms that are still wrenched painfully backwards. Jared sits back in his chair and strokes himself hard, his thumb rough over the head, fingers smoothed with pre-come over the shaft. A sharp gasp, and Jared’s come all over himself.
Shit.
“You know what happens when you stare at the sun for too long, Jare?” Jensen asks one day while they’re sitting in makeup. Jensen’s being fitted with scars and scabs and all Jared can see is eyelashes spread wide on cheekbones as Max asks, begs for more, back arching and legs fanning outward impossibly wide.
“What?” Jared asks. “You go blind, right?”
Jensen’s face pouts a little, and the makeup girl leers at him, telling him to stay still. The room is quiet for a few minutes, like Jensen’s trying to ponder something without moving his face too much and Jared thinks he’s okay with that, okay with the silence ringing out.
“You don’t go blind. Your pupils pull open,” Jensen shrugs.
“Oh, really?” Jared asks.
Jensen smiles, like he’s humoring Jared, “the cones and rods fuck up. They burn out, even though you can’t feel it because dilated pupils hurt like a bitch already. Then, you get these black spots in your vision that show up, all the time. You can still see, but it’s different. Half your eye is dead, and the vision of the sun you were looking at gets stuck in your head, under your eyelids, you can see it everywhere.”
“What, auditioning for the remake of Bill Nye the Science guy?” Jared teases.
The joke hangs in the air like a shot from half court, everybody trying to figure out whether or not it’s going to make it to the hoop. Jensen shrugs off the makeup girl to reveal heavy scarring on the left side of his face and latex cut over his eyelid, like he’s gotten punched in the face before getting a hot iron to the cheek. He points to himself. “With a face like this? The kids would love me. Give me an egg, a bottle of jack, your script and a lighter and I’ll either give you scrambled eggs or find a way to get that egg in the bottle.”
Jared snorts. “Remind me never, ever to do that.”
“Your call, hotshot,” Jensen grins.
There’s another padded envelope about a week later from Sandy, with a long letter about how she’s found someone else but refuses to tell him who, and how she hopes he’s doing well, going after his career and Jensen. Jared pouts. He hasn’t had the chance to talk about anything casual with Jensen in the past week and a half, and every chance they’ve had to breathe around each other, Jared’s afraid to approach for fear of doing something extremely stupid.
There’s another CD in the envelope, a burned one this time that looks suspiciously like a bootleg, and when Jared puts it in his computer, he finds himself watching Max being made to take dick at both ends, one in his ass and a bigger one in his mouth, lips sealed tight and throat caressing, legs spread so wide Jared doesn’t know how he’s not screaming in pain. Max moans around the cock in his mouth, and his naked body is long, pale, hot and spread out between his co-stars, fingers winding into the black sheets on the bed.
Max’s moan is full around the cock in his mouth, the same kind of moan Jensen gives when his mouth’s full of anything other than cock, but he’s writhing, his whole body bending in two different directions, eager for the one in his ass at the same time as the one around his lips. Oh god, Jared thinks to himself; he can’t stop seeing Max and thinking ‘Jensen’, can’t stop seeing this relic of what Jensen presumably used to be, long lines and faint abs and sex, pure and raw. Jared tries not to think about how he wants that all over him, inside him and around him and-
There is nothing more horrifyingly scary than seeing Max fucking Sin take a load in the mouth and swallow without blinking. Even scarier, Jared’s hard as nails and on screen, Max’s asking to be fucked harder, to feel it tomorrow and the day afterward. His legs get pulled upward, and his costar fucks him in double time, every thrust multiplied, jackknifed, hard enough to make him break into a full-body writhe and scream out loud, bucking hard and close, being held down to the bed while all balled up and being made to come. Toes curling enough to crack, chest heaving, hands shaking. They call him a slut after they’re done with him, after the boy fucking him pulls out and gives Max a load on the chest, fingers dragging through the mess and lifted to Max’s mouth, slithering softly over his lips, tongue coming out to play and Jared’s hand is already down his goddamn pants, hissing and panting and Jesus tap-dancing Christ almighty, he’s gonna come.
He grunts, and bites his lip to stop himself from screaming Jensen’s name.
Jared opens the box, his brows furrowed. It’s a video tape, VHS, with time-faded writing.
“Boys Next Door 5,” he reads aloud, dryly. There’s no cover, it looks suspiciously like a bootleg, and the wheels have been fast forwarded to cue up to the middle of the tape. Another beer, and Jared feels drunk and bold enough to put it in the VCR and start it. He’s glad he still has that VCR, he’d been wanting to throw it out for a while, but there’s a black screen for a second, the name ‘Max Sin’ written in signature scrawl on the bottom before the porn music and full screen fade in. Jared forgets about everything but the screen.
Jensen, younger but no less indistinguishable, is sitting on the bed in his underwear, biting his lip, looking at the camera. Jared uncontrollably spits out the rest of his beer. He has to use his fingers and toes to count how many times he’s watched the relics of Jensen Ackles’ career in pornography, but that first glance always seems too good to be true, like he’s dreaming all of this up and he’s not sure as to why he hasn’t woken up.
He presses stop on the remote, cleans himself up, and goes back to fridge to pull out another bottle, and breathes to calm himself down. He tells himself, like he always does, that if you don’t acknowledge the fact that it’s Jensen, it doesn’t have to be. The guy on screen is Max. It’s not Jensen, he tells himself. It’s Max. Max Sin.
“Couldn’t you pick a better name, asshole?” Jared mutters and looks at nothing before sitting back down. He takes a long pull of beer, sighs, and starts the tape again.
Max is wide eyed, already panting as he sits back and slides his hand into his underwear to grasp his erection with a moan before pushing his underwear down far enough for his cock to hang over the top. The camera shifts, Max slides his other hand into his frosted-blonde hair, over pert nipples and the faint outlines of abs and pecs. He looks up at the camera with a tiny grin, just intimate enough, and then starts jerking himself off in earnest. It’s not long before Max stops, coming in his hand, rubbing it into his skin, over his lips, around his tongue while the camera zooms in on his face.
“You want me to do it again, baby?” Max asks in a satisfied purr, leaning back up on his elbows. “I’d rather you come over here and fuck me.”
The cameraman says something that Jared doesn’t even listen to, and tosses Max a bottle of lube on screen. He pouts at the camera, “C’mon, man. Don’t need that.”
Jared sits there, mouth hanging open in surprise, dick so hard it forces him to pay attention.
Max’s fingers slide into his mouth, batting his eyes like he’s all of seventeen, before rolling over smoothly, pushing his ass up obscenely in the air, legs spread apart like an offering. Jared leans back, watching as Max’s wet hand reaches backward and a finger spreads saliva around his hole, teasing himself before sliding the tip of his finger inside.
The camera slides to his face, eyes closed, plump lips giving way to a mouth open in a gasp before they zoom back to his ass and the fingers disappearing inside it. Max thrusts backward onto his hand, thumb pressing into his perineum, a finger bracing his ass cheeks out of the way on each side, just like every other porn star who has ever fingered their own ass.
“Come on, fuck me, I’m ready for you,” Max is smiling calmly, like he fingers his ass every time he gets a spare moment. And all of that steeling Jared’s done, all of the walls he’s built to support this addiction, feels like it’s ready to crumble. It’s Jensen on that screen, all wet lips and flawless finger fucking, jacking himself off. To make matters worse, Jared’s panting along, trying not to think of the erection he’s got screaming at him in his jeans, like jacking off while his co-star’s pleading someone to fuck him on tape is completely dishonorable.
“Fuck it,” Jared hisses, pulling himself out of his pants. Three strokes, and he’s wondering how his stamina seemed to run away screaming every time it sees Jensen-Max-Jensen naked on his TV. Six and he’s wondering why Jensen never told him about this. Nine and his orgasm hits him hard, aggressive like a brick to the side of the head.
Jared figures this shit is going too far when he can’t look at Jensen anymore without thinking if he comes the same way now, if he’s still eager for it the way he was when he was Max. He sees Jensen playfully blow him a kiss on set, normal banter on most days, and thinks candidly ‘I wonder if he’d bat his eyes while his mouth was around my cock.’
Worst of all, they’re on camera today, in one of the damn Impalas this time, and all Jared can think about is reaching over, pulling Jensen’s cock out of his pants and sucking it down like there’s no finer taste in the world and he wants all he can get.
“Action,” someone shouts, the clapboard in front of his face, and what the fuck are his lines?
Jensen’s looking at him worriedly off camera, and Jared lifts a hand to push his Sam-bangs out of the way.
“Max,” He says, a half groan, and tries really fucking hard to remember what Sam’s supposed to be saying right now. Jensen’s staring at him, now, trying not to be so suspicious but Jared knows that look. That look is a pretty big deal, and Jared finds himself waiting for a tirade that never comes.
“Cut!”
Jared can feel his face turning red. He wasn’t expecting that.
“Dude, you alright?” Jensen asks, lips pressing together “You’re off today, man.”
Jared leans forward until his forehead hits the dashboard.
“When subsistence dries away, the peasantry will be afflicted by heavy exactions,” Jensen says, sagely. Jared has to blink, turn his head and pause.
“Tell me you didn’t just quote the Art of War,” Jared groans. “That didn’t even make any sense! Do you know what that means?”
“Attaboy,” Jensen grins, slapping Jared on the back. “Least you’re thinkin’ with your upstairs brain.”
There’s this magazine Sandy sent him somewhere between sending him ‘Bend over Boyfriends 12’ and the always fun to watch ‘Buff Boy sandwiches- Now with extra boy mayo!’ It’s not a Playgirl, or anything so classy, but it’s not some no-name five dollar jizz rag that Sandy probably saw on the side of the road somewhere or something. The pictures of Max in there are astounding, all tied up in leather and rope and making it look like that’s where he belongs.
There’s one that Jared can’t stop looking at, where Max is in a shower stall, on his knees wearing black latex chaps and a white cotton wife beater, arms pulled above his head and tied together by the wrists and slung upward with rope that curves around the showerhead in a foreboding knot like he’s being held there for a reason. In the triangle of his arms, Max looks over his shoulder, an open and heated invitation to the camera-to Jared- to come and take him.
Jared leans back a bit, and slides his hand down into his jeans, licking his lips, imagining that waiting for him in his shower one afternoon after he’s done with shooting, all lubed and ready. Max would beg for it, too, Jared thinks, teasing himself, holding himself. Max would writhe mindlessly like a trapped animal, trying to pull apart the knots that held him, trying to beckon Jared closer. Max would plead for Jared’s cock in his ass, Jared’s fingers in his mouth, for Jared to turn on the shower so his shirt can cling in all the right places and his chaps will look slick. Max would plead and fuck himself on Jared’s cock, do all the work for the both of them even though his hands were tied above his head, spread his thighs wider and ask softly for more of Jared inside him. He’d shake and arch and fall apart in Jared’s arms until he was coming, washing away in the shower’s storm, wasting away until he simply sagged down, hissing and panting and spent.
Soon, though, Jared begins thinking less about Max and more about Jensen, how he would order to be cut down, how he would try to turn the water off himself, how he would push back and kiss and take matters into his own hands, with the quiet intensity Jared’s come to know from him in every other regard. It’s intense, and the need for it is almost as palpable and real as the picture under Jared’s fingertips.
His cell phone’s ringing next to the bed, and Jared’s pushing his pants down to his knees, shimmying them down to his ankles. Jared picks up his phone with his free hand, looking up and reading ‘Jensen’ on the caller id.
The part of Jared’s brain that is still functioning properly screams that this is a very bad idea. His dick says he should be going for the full sensory experience.
“Jared,” Jensen purrs his name. “You there?”
Shit, Jared thinks to himself. “Bad reception, man. So, what’s up?” Jared asks, holding himself tight around the base and trying to be as normal as possible. He’s an actor, and it’s time to act.
“Just woke up, wanted to see if you were up for coming over, tonight. Watch some TV, drink some booze. Haven’t had a chance to hang out with you for a while,” Jensen reasons, his drawl slipping out. Jared strokes himself slow, looking at the magazine, imagining Jensen on his knees, wet and perfect in cotton and latex, lubed for easy access. He wonders if Jensen would beg him to be fucked in the same voice he’s using now, slow and rough.
“I’d be up for that,” Jared chokes.
“What’s been up with you lately, huh?’ Jensen asks, and Jared swallows back a moan, forcing himself to stop stroking and pay attention to the normal conversation he’s supposed to be having. “Jare? What’re you doing?”
“Like I said man, bad reception. Where should we meet up? I can be over to your place in twenty minutes,” Jared says.
“I think I’d like that.”
Jared, obviously, didn’t hear that right. “Come again?”
“You over there gettin’ laid, dude? Is Sandy there? You putting the dick to someone else?” Jensen asks, laughing even though his voice is deep enough to let Jared pretend he’s sobbing, pleading instead. Jared’s stroking himself like he’s going to have to watch his dick fall off if he doesn’t come right now. “Jesus, you are gettin’ laid over there, man.”
“No,” Jared gasps, toes digging into the bedspread, “don’t hang up.”
“Why Jare, you kinky little bitch,” Jensen’s laughing, now. “Look, man, I’ll leave you to it, just come over when you’re done and we’ll figure something out. And tell Sandy or Max or whoever’s there that I’m sorry I interrupted you, man. Bye.”
“Jen,” Jared moans, his thumb rough over the head of his cock. Jared’s free hand snaps his phone shut. He uses the back of his hand to cover his mouth, knowing he’s close. His back arches and he holds his breath while he comes hard, crumbling into a panting mess as he falls back onto the bed.
“This has to stop,” Jared says out loud, but refuses to say that he’ll only let it stop when he gets what he wants.
In the book of bad ideas Jared’s followed through with, going to Jensen’s apartment to do anything with him for an extended amount of time while he’s still thinking of Max is worth a chapter. It’s always the same thing, the same equation: wrong because it’s too much of a good thing too soon. A couple of beers and a friendly tequila competition turns into hot hands and rough lips and pulling Jensen’s shirt off so he can kiss at the acres of skin underneath. They tangle on the sofa, Jensen’s jean clad thighs wrapping around Jared’s hips, and there’s the hot slide of tongue against tongue, fingers to fingers, sometimes a reach down into Jensen’s pants to rub that cock over the edge until Jensen’s whole body bucks up as he screams into Jared’s mouth.
It’s not serious, they’re always too drunk to remember just how good it was in the morning, and it’s not like they do it when they’re sober, so Jared doesn’t quite think it counts, most of the time. No matter, every time Jared goes to Jensen’s apartment, sits on the ugly sofa, and consumes considerable amounts of alcohol, he sees it imprinted on the back of his eyes, hears it echo in the back of his head, feels it on the pads of his fingertips like a full body memory.
Tonight’s no different, and he has to take it easy on the beer because staying the night is not an option for so many reasons, especially the ongoing thought that Max and Jensen are one in the same and that Jared’s honestly not just seeing things. Jensen’s talking about something that happened in his trailer earlier in the day, but Jared wouldn’t mind knowing if Jensen groans open mouthed the way that Max does in ‘Made to Fuck 4’, or if he hisses when his head is pulled back by the hair like Max in ‘Fetish Fantasy 15’.
“Man,” Jensen sighs. “It’s like you haven’t heard a goddamn word I’ve been saying. You still thinking about the pussy you got back at your place, man? You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to.”
“I wanted to,” Jared assures him. “I’ve been listening.”
“Oh yeah?” Jensen grins at him. “So what’ve I been saying, if you’re not off in la la Land in that head of yours?”
Jared doesn’t know and he’s pretty sure Jensen can see that on his face. “That’s so lame and exactly like you, man.”
“I was going to break out the Jaeger tonight, but I don’t particularly think you can handle it, yourself,” Jensen grins. “Go home get some more pussy.”
“I didn’t get any pussy, man,” Jared laughs, and takes another long pull from his beer.
“So you got some ass? Not news to me, not like we haven’t gone through this before,” Jensen says, his bottle swinging back and forth to emphasize his words. “You dig the cock sometimes, I dig the cock most of the time, no big deal. Go back home and get some more ass. Or cock, or whatever you got.”
“I got some hand, man,” Jared admits, and then realizes what he’s just said. One thing you never admit to Jensen Ackles is that you’ve had to stay at home and jack off as a last resort. Judging from the look on Jensen’s face, Jared just did.
“You kept me on the phone with you, all awkward and shit, while you were waxin’ the Dolphin? You could have just said ‘I’m hobbin’ the knob, Jensen. I’ll call you back later,’” Jensen laughs. “Or was there a reason you kept me on, huh? Sick fuck.”
“Fuckin’ diva. You’d have started complaining about this on the phone if I would have told you I was,” Jared stops talking and starts laughing, “ ‘hobbin’ the knob’, as you put it. Who uses a euphemism like ‘hobbin’ the knob’ anymore, anyway?”
“Jessica Alba did while I was banging her gong, man,” Jensen says, taking the last pull from his beer and slapping Jared on the thigh. “You want another beer?”
“Yeah, sure.” Jared nods, and wonders. “You’re gay and it shows a lot, man. How did you even convince her to get close enough to her gong to bang it?”
“Told her I was bi, idiot,” Jensen shrugs. “I had a nice little three-way with her and that Weatherly guy, couple days before the show was canceled. She was good, looked good naked and all, but he was where it’s at, man.”
“And she used a euphemism as archaic and vulgar as ‘hobbin’ the knob?’” Jared asks.
“Yes, she did. Here’s your beer, Sam Winchester,” Jensen says, sitting back on the couch, pressing another bottle into Jared’s hand. Jared cuffs him on the back of the head, but lets Jensen sit close to him, more than friendly but less than intimate. It feels weird, even though Jensen and him have done this a million times before, quiet and easy, watching a hockey game or basketball on the couch and getting drunk. The more Jensen’s had to drink, the more affectionate he becomes, it seems, and Jared can’t take his eyes off Jensen’s throat as he takes a swig from his beer. “You alright, huh?”
“Yeah,” Jared thinks, as the world turns sideways. And he takes his eyes off the TV screen.
Jensen chuckles at him. “Lightweight.”
“Fuck you,” Jared snaps.
“Just name the time and the place,” The cockiness in Jensen’s voice rolls off in waves. “I might just hob your knob better than you do.”
“I’m sure you’re a master at the five finger shuffle.” Jared laughs, raising his hand to slide across his face.
“Like you’d know.” Jensen smirks that self-satisfied smirk of his. For a few deafening minutes, Jared doesn’t see Jensen, he sees Max and Max turning back into a secret part of Jensen. He sees open thighs and a hard cock and a wet chest soaked with cum and hard, crude gasp around fingers making plump lips stretch. He sees a column of skin, headless torso, splayed thighs, a long cock with a generous curve and he hears Jensen’s punch-drunk voice calling his name in the back of his head.
It’s paralyzing, and Jared has to jerk his eyes away to the much less gay hockey game and Jared has to bite his tongue before he says ‘Yeah, I do.’
Max is sitting on an uncomfortable-looking couch, fully clothed. Jared twirls the box in his idle hands without thinking. ‘Barely Legal’s Big Break’, and Max looks so young, he has to be just this side of eighteen, lips slick and wet, hands folded as he hunches over, hands in his lap.
The camera stays still, there’s a man talking off screen. “So,” he asks, “you a virgin?”
“Far from it, sir.” Max smiles, happily.
The man laughs, off camera, “Proper manners boy, you from the south?”
“Texas,” Max laughs. “I ain’t telling you where.”
“How do you like cock?”
“Up my ass or in my mouth, doesn’t much matter how it’s in me, sir,” Max says, cool demeanor and this is probably pre-scripted bullshit, but Max is moving like he’s waiting for the order to take off his shirt, and there’s the outline of a hard-as-nails cock through his jeans as he leans back into the couch and slides his hands into his pockets. “’s long as it’s in me, I don’t have much reason to complain.”
“Would you call yourself a slut?”
If Jared didn’t already have his hand on his cock, he would so be laughing at this. It’s cliché, but Max looks like he’s still green enough to totally be blindsided by the question. It’s almost comforting.
“I think that’s a little strong, (period)” Max grins, cocky even though he’s clearly a little nervous. Jared wonders if it’s an act, “I mean, heaven knows I’m hungry for cock.”
“Can you take off your clothes?”
Max looks at whoever is behind the camera like he’s questioning himself, and oh, Jared knows that look; Jensen’s used it a thousand different times as Dean. If he didn’t, he’d honestly think Max was virginal about this, having second thoughts. He bites his lip, and Jared does the same, grabbing his dick at the base because he’s curious as to how the rest of this will go.
“All of them?” Max asks.
“Why not. Got anything to hide, Max?” The voice grows playful. “You hard already? All we’ve been doing is talking about cock?”
“Like I said,” Max grins, shedding his shirt and pulling his hips upward so his jeans can slide clean off to pool around his ankles.
“Tell me,” the voice leads on, “What your favorite body part on a guy other than cock?”
“What kinda question is that, man?” Max says, a finger rubbing at the head of his cock, before molding the rest of his hand around it. He’s playing miraculously coy, looking through long eyelashes to the man behind the camera, licking his lips. “I like hands. Huge ones, so fucking large that they can do whatever they please to me. They can hold me down, they can fuck my ass, they can be as rough as they want. I fucking love being pushed around, held down.”
The man that’s been talking all along, stands beside him and grins. “Hands like these?”
“Fuck,” Max laughs that little Jensen-laugh, deep and silky smooth enough to slide right down into Jared’s crotch. “Fuck yeah.”
“You want to be held down?” the man asks.
“If you like.” Max shrugs, like he doesn’t care. The man wraps a hand into Max’s hair, and pulls his head back.
“So, you gonna suck my cock?” the man asks casually. Max blinks up for him for a few seconds, and even though Jared’s a seasoned Max Sin fan, he almost thinks Max is thinking twice. Then, that face stretches into a cocky smile.
“Sure,” he says, voice like honey, and opens his mouth. The camera comes close, and zooms on Max’s mouth as he licks his lips and readily accepts the man’s thrusts. Jared sighs, licks his palm sloppy-wet, and wraps it around his erection. It’s a little gross when Jared looks down at it, but so is Max’s mouth as it wraps around some anonymous cock, bobbling up and down, so he keeps stroking, willing his imagination away so he can pretend it’s not Jensen again. His hips work in tandem with the hips on screen, first slow then quick, and when the man stops and throws Max down, Jared holds himself at the base, curious to see what happens next.
“Look at this ass,” the man says, as the camera focuses on it. Max spreads himself open, and he’s already shiny with lube and looks a bit like he’d been fucked twenty minutes before, and Jared thinks maybe he has. There’s a smattering of lubed-down hair, and his entrance pouts a bit before the man slides his finger in. “Look at it.”
Max makes this noise, halfway between a moan and a sigh, and Jared has to hold himself ever harder than he was before. “Fuck me.”
“You think you can handle it?” the man asks. “Big chance, kid. You gonna take it?”
“Fuck yeah.” Max nods. Jared almost laughs at the cheesy dialogue, but shuts up when Max takes the dick that slides inside him like a pro, all the way to the hilt while moaning. It slides out just as easy and slow, and soon, Max is pushing back against those thrusts, slow and complete and hard enough to make himself come.
Jared doesn’t even have to stroke himself again, he’s already coming in his hand.
“So, you done anything about Jensen, yet?” Sandy asks.
“Uh, no?” Jared says.
“You’ve just been whacking off to the porn I’m sending you, then?” Sandy says.
“I’m not even sure it’s him!” Jared reasons with her, and sighs. He’s right, and the last thing he wants is to fuck up his working relationship with Jensen over a case of mistaken identity. “What am I supposed to do other then whack off ?”
“I don’t know,” Sandy sighs. “Asking him would be a good idea, maybe. If you don’t ask him, then you might try and find a way to figure out how, exactly, he got latex chaps, maybe?”
Jared laughs at that, and sighs. “What the fuck am I gonna do over this shit, man?”
“Ask him, fuck him, go snooping, I don’t care,” Sandy mutters. “Just…find out, okay? Look, I have to go, but I’ll talk to you later.”
“Where are you getting all this shit from, anyway?’ Jared asks.
The phone is dead before Jared gets his answer.
Next
It’s supposed to be a simple story, really. Boy meets boy, boy works with boy, boy hangs out with boy. Boy gets drunk and makes out with boy. Boy falls in love with boy. Boy and boy live happily ever after. With lots and lots of boy-on-boy.
Jared should have known by now that actually, things don’t work that way. At all. Ever. Jensen hasn’t even looked at him in the same way since that night, like he’s keeping his distance. The very heat of rejection off Jensen is so fierce that it is too much to fathom, and Jared hopes that this won’t destroy the chemistry that keeps Supernatural thriving for the both of them and everybody else.
This whole mess started with Sandy, actually.
She’d given him a dazzling smile when he broke up with her, hands on her hips as she asked, “this is ‘cause you want Jensen, isn’t it?”
He’d blushed at that. When he made it back to Vancouver a single man that week, she’d kissed him goodbye and good luck on the cheek, pushing an oversized padded envelope into his bag and ordering him not to open it until he got back to his apartment.
Jared opens the envelope three days later, after it’s been taunting him, sitting on his kitchen counter. A note from Sandy says good luck and that she hopes things work out for the best. There’s a DVD in a clear plastic case, an authentic copy instead of a computer-burned bootleg. The dirty scrawl of ‘On the Farm 3; Younger and Stronger’ makes Jared’s eyebrows furrow. His computer’s DVD player spins up, and all he gets is a menu screen for a gay porno that looks about ten years old.
Sandy was a smarter girl than anybody would have guessed. She’d loved proving it to him. She was all clues and puzzles while he was with her, and it was one of the things he’d grown to find comfortable about her, one of the things he’d grown to love. Jared searched until he found himself looking at a time stamp and someone’s name in her messy scrawl on the inside flap of the envelope.
01:50:27
Max Sin
Jared has always hated treasure hunts, but he fast forwarded past young boys fucking in a barn, a gang bang in a country kitchen, a rather unattractive looking man wielding one of the hugest cocks Jared had ever seen jacking off in the middle of a freaking cornfield, and a rather engaged rimming session in a stable.
Jared’s almost jaded, and he wonders whether or not Sandy sent him this as a consolation prize for something Jared knows he can’t have when he sees cocksucking lips pushed together, and stops fast-forwarding. At first, he doesn’t know why, it’s only two boys in the back of a pick-up truck making out, but one turns away, dropping soft kisses on the other’s shoulder and there’s a moan and familiar eyes looking directly at the camera and is that Jensen?
There’s that smirk that is all too familiar before he takes the head of his partner’s cock into his mouth, eyes closing for a timid second before opening again in slow motion and Jared thinks to himself that, oh god, it is Jensen.
It is Jensen getting turned around, bent over, and ridden like a fucking sleigh. It’s Jensen reaching behind himself to hold onto the boy who’s fucking him, his knees as wide apart as they can go in the flatbed of that dirty pickup truck, Jared thinks, lips pressing together before he lets out a moan of his own. This shouldn’t be nearly as hot as it is, but Jared can’t stop looking, hunched over his computer in the darkness of his apartment after a long day of filming, and without thinking, Jared makes a point-blank jump for his pants, hands fussing to undo his own fly before his dick busts through the material and he has to squeeze himself back together before he can even think of using his pre-come as lube, or watching Jensen come on screen, moaning like a whore, shaking like a porn star.
Jared lets out that moan he’s been holding in and tries not to think hard about just how crazy a situation this is. He could be seeing things, he rationalizes. He could be deluding himself and wishing this one. Hell, he could be dreaming. This isn’t real, he keeps saying, Jensen would weigh the risk of getting caught. Jensen would think about the rest of his career. Max just looks like Jensen, all high cheeks, pretty lips, shockingly masculine and looking like he belongs on fucking Sweet Valley High. It’s not Jensen, even though he moans like Jensen. Jared presses his lips together and wills himself to think ‘Max’.
Max Sin is licking his own come off the bed of an old pickup truck. Jared pauses the tape, focusing on the look on that face, eyes looking upward coyly, that ridiculous tongue curling like a cat with a saucer of milk, long span of back and arms that are still wrenched painfully backwards. Jared sits back in his chair and strokes himself hard, his thumb rough over the head, fingers smoothed with pre-come over the shaft. A sharp gasp, and Jared’s come all over himself.
Shit.
“You know what happens when you stare at the sun for too long, Jare?” Jensen asks one day while they’re sitting in makeup. Jensen’s being fitted with scars and scabs and all Jared can see is eyelashes spread wide on cheekbones as Max asks, begs for more, back arching and legs fanning outward impossibly wide.
“What?” Jared asks. “You go blind, right?”
Jensen’s face pouts a little, and the makeup girl leers at him, telling him to stay still. The room is quiet for a few minutes, like Jensen’s trying to ponder something without moving his face too much and Jared thinks he’s okay with that, okay with the silence ringing out.
“You don’t go blind. Your pupils pull open,” Jensen shrugs.
“Oh, really?” Jared asks.
Jensen smiles, like he’s humoring Jared, “the cones and rods fuck up. They burn out, even though you can’t feel it because dilated pupils hurt like a bitch already. Then, you get these black spots in your vision that show up, all the time. You can still see, but it’s different. Half your eye is dead, and the vision of the sun you were looking at gets stuck in your head, under your eyelids, you can see it everywhere.”
“What, auditioning for the remake of Bill Nye the Science guy?” Jared teases.
The joke hangs in the air like a shot from half court, everybody trying to figure out whether or not it’s going to make it to the hoop. Jensen shrugs off the makeup girl to reveal heavy scarring on the left side of his face and latex cut over his eyelid, like he’s gotten punched in the face before getting a hot iron to the cheek. He points to himself. “With a face like this? The kids would love me. Give me an egg, a bottle of jack, your script and a lighter and I’ll either give you scrambled eggs or find a way to get that egg in the bottle.”
Jared snorts. “Remind me never, ever to do that.”
“Your call, hotshot,” Jensen grins.
There’s another padded envelope about a week later from Sandy, with a long letter about how she’s found someone else but refuses to tell him who, and how she hopes he’s doing well, going after his career and Jensen. Jared pouts. He hasn’t had the chance to talk about anything casual with Jensen in the past week and a half, and every chance they’ve had to breathe around each other, Jared’s afraid to approach for fear of doing something extremely stupid.
There’s another CD in the envelope, a burned one this time that looks suspiciously like a bootleg, and when Jared puts it in his computer, he finds himself watching Max being made to take dick at both ends, one in his ass and a bigger one in his mouth, lips sealed tight and throat caressing, legs spread so wide Jared doesn’t know how he’s not screaming in pain. Max moans around the cock in his mouth, and his naked body is long, pale, hot and spread out between his co-stars, fingers winding into the black sheets on the bed.
Max’s moan is full around the cock in his mouth, the same kind of moan Jensen gives when his mouth’s full of anything other than cock, but he’s writhing, his whole body bending in two different directions, eager for the one in his ass at the same time as the one around his lips. Oh god, Jared thinks to himself; he can’t stop seeing Max and thinking ‘Jensen’, can’t stop seeing this relic of what Jensen presumably used to be, long lines and faint abs and sex, pure and raw. Jared tries not to think about how he wants that all over him, inside him and around him and-
There is nothing more horrifyingly scary than seeing Max fucking Sin take a load in the mouth and swallow without blinking. Even scarier, Jared’s hard as nails and on screen, Max’s asking to be fucked harder, to feel it tomorrow and the day afterward. His legs get pulled upward, and his costar fucks him in double time, every thrust multiplied, jackknifed, hard enough to make him break into a full-body writhe and scream out loud, bucking hard and close, being held down to the bed while all balled up and being made to come. Toes curling enough to crack, chest heaving, hands shaking. They call him a slut after they’re done with him, after the boy fucking him pulls out and gives Max a load on the chest, fingers dragging through the mess and lifted to Max’s mouth, slithering softly over his lips, tongue coming out to play and Jared’s hand is already down his goddamn pants, hissing and panting and Jesus tap-dancing Christ almighty, he’s gonna come.
He grunts, and bites his lip to stop himself from screaming Jensen’s name.
Jared opens the box, his brows furrowed. It’s a video tape, VHS, with time-faded writing.
“Boys Next Door 5,” he reads aloud, dryly. There’s no cover, it looks suspiciously like a bootleg, and the wheels have been fast forwarded to cue up to the middle of the tape. Another beer, and Jared feels drunk and bold enough to put it in the VCR and start it. He’s glad he still has that VCR, he’d been wanting to throw it out for a while, but there’s a black screen for a second, the name ‘Max Sin’ written in signature scrawl on the bottom before the porn music and full screen fade in. Jared forgets about everything but the screen.
Jensen, younger but no less indistinguishable, is sitting on the bed in his underwear, biting his lip, looking at the camera. Jared uncontrollably spits out the rest of his beer. He has to use his fingers and toes to count how many times he’s watched the relics of Jensen Ackles’ career in pornography, but that first glance always seems too good to be true, like he’s dreaming all of this up and he’s not sure as to why he hasn’t woken up.
He presses stop on the remote, cleans himself up, and goes back to fridge to pull out another bottle, and breathes to calm himself down. He tells himself, like he always does, that if you don’t acknowledge the fact that it’s Jensen, it doesn’t have to be. The guy on screen is Max. It’s not Jensen, he tells himself. It’s Max. Max Sin.
“Couldn’t you pick a better name, asshole?” Jared mutters and looks at nothing before sitting back down. He takes a long pull of beer, sighs, and starts the tape again.
Max is wide eyed, already panting as he sits back and slides his hand into his underwear to grasp his erection with a moan before pushing his underwear down far enough for his cock to hang over the top. The camera shifts, Max slides his other hand into his frosted-blonde hair, over pert nipples and the faint outlines of abs and pecs. He looks up at the camera with a tiny grin, just intimate enough, and then starts jerking himself off in earnest. It’s not long before Max stops, coming in his hand, rubbing it into his skin, over his lips, around his tongue while the camera zooms in on his face.
“You want me to do it again, baby?” Max asks in a satisfied purr, leaning back up on his elbows. “I’d rather you come over here and fuck me.”
The cameraman says something that Jared doesn’t even listen to, and tosses Max a bottle of lube on screen. He pouts at the camera, “C’mon, man. Don’t need that.”
Jared sits there, mouth hanging open in surprise, dick so hard it forces him to pay attention.
Max’s fingers slide into his mouth, batting his eyes like he’s all of seventeen, before rolling over smoothly, pushing his ass up obscenely in the air, legs spread apart like an offering. Jared leans back, watching as Max’s wet hand reaches backward and a finger spreads saliva around his hole, teasing himself before sliding the tip of his finger inside.
The camera slides to his face, eyes closed, plump lips giving way to a mouth open in a gasp before they zoom back to his ass and the fingers disappearing inside it. Max thrusts backward onto his hand, thumb pressing into his perineum, a finger bracing his ass cheeks out of the way on each side, just like every other porn star who has ever fingered their own ass.
“Come on, fuck me, I’m ready for you,” Max is smiling calmly, like he fingers his ass every time he gets a spare moment. And all of that steeling Jared’s done, all of the walls he’s built to support this addiction, feels like it’s ready to crumble. It’s Jensen on that screen, all wet lips and flawless finger fucking, jacking himself off. To make matters worse, Jared’s panting along, trying not to think of the erection he’s got screaming at him in his jeans, like jacking off while his co-star’s pleading someone to fuck him on tape is completely dishonorable.
“Fuck it,” Jared hisses, pulling himself out of his pants. Three strokes, and he’s wondering how his stamina seemed to run away screaming every time it sees Jensen-Max-Jensen naked on his TV. Six and he’s wondering why Jensen never told him about this. Nine and his orgasm hits him hard, aggressive like a brick to the side of the head.
Jared figures this shit is going too far when he can’t look at Jensen anymore without thinking if he comes the same way now, if he’s still eager for it the way he was when he was Max. He sees Jensen playfully blow him a kiss on set, normal banter on most days, and thinks candidly ‘I wonder if he’d bat his eyes while his mouth was around my cock.’
Worst of all, they’re on camera today, in one of the damn Impalas this time, and all Jared can think about is reaching over, pulling Jensen’s cock out of his pants and sucking it down like there’s no finer taste in the world and he wants all he can get.
“Action,” someone shouts, the clapboard in front of his face, and what the fuck are his lines?
Jensen’s looking at him worriedly off camera, and Jared lifts a hand to push his Sam-bangs out of the way.
“Max,” He says, a half groan, and tries really fucking hard to remember what Sam’s supposed to be saying right now. Jensen’s staring at him, now, trying not to be so suspicious but Jared knows that look. That look is a pretty big deal, and Jared finds himself waiting for a tirade that never comes.
“Cut!”
Jared can feel his face turning red. He wasn’t expecting that.
“Dude, you alright?” Jensen asks, lips pressing together “You’re off today, man.”
Jared leans forward until his forehead hits the dashboard.
“When subsistence dries away, the peasantry will be afflicted by heavy exactions,” Jensen says, sagely. Jared has to blink, turn his head and pause.
“Tell me you didn’t just quote the Art of War,” Jared groans. “That didn’t even make any sense! Do you know what that means?”
“Attaboy,” Jensen grins, slapping Jared on the back. “Least you’re thinkin’ with your upstairs brain.”
There’s this magazine Sandy sent him somewhere between sending him ‘Bend over Boyfriends 12’ and the always fun to watch ‘Buff Boy sandwiches- Now with extra boy mayo!’ It’s not a Playgirl, or anything so classy, but it’s not some no-name five dollar jizz rag that Sandy probably saw on the side of the road somewhere or something. The pictures of Max in there are astounding, all tied up in leather and rope and making it look like that’s where he belongs.
There’s one that Jared can’t stop looking at, where Max is in a shower stall, on his knees wearing black latex chaps and a white cotton wife beater, arms pulled above his head and tied together by the wrists and slung upward with rope that curves around the showerhead in a foreboding knot like he’s being held there for a reason. In the triangle of his arms, Max looks over his shoulder, an open and heated invitation to the camera-to Jared- to come and take him.
Jared leans back a bit, and slides his hand down into his jeans, licking his lips, imagining that waiting for him in his shower one afternoon after he’s done with shooting, all lubed and ready. Max would beg for it, too, Jared thinks, teasing himself, holding himself. Max would writhe mindlessly like a trapped animal, trying to pull apart the knots that held him, trying to beckon Jared closer. Max would plead for Jared’s cock in his ass, Jared’s fingers in his mouth, for Jared to turn on the shower so his shirt can cling in all the right places and his chaps will look slick. Max would plead and fuck himself on Jared’s cock, do all the work for the both of them even though his hands were tied above his head, spread his thighs wider and ask softly for more of Jared inside him. He’d shake and arch and fall apart in Jared’s arms until he was coming, washing away in the shower’s storm, wasting away until he simply sagged down, hissing and panting and spent.
Soon, though, Jared begins thinking less about Max and more about Jensen, how he would order to be cut down, how he would try to turn the water off himself, how he would push back and kiss and take matters into his own hands, with the quiet intensity Jared’s come to know from him in every other regard. It’s intense, and the need for it is almost as palpable and real as the picture under Jared’s fingertips.
His cell phone’s ringing next to the bed, and Jared’s pushing his pants down to his knees, shimmying them down to his ankles. Jared picks up his phone with his free hand, looking up and reading ‘Jensen’ on the caller id.
The part of Jared’s brain that is still functioning properly screams that this is a very bad idea. His dick says he should be going for the full sensory experience.
“Jared,” Jensen purrs his name. “You there?”
Shit, Jared thinks to himself. “Bad reception, man. So, what’s up?” Jared asks, holding himself tight around the base and trying to be as normal as possible. He’s an actor, and it’s time to act.
“Just woke up, wanted to see if you were up for coming over, tonight. Watch some TV, drink some booze. Haven’t had a chance to hang out with you for a while,” Jensen reasons, his drawl slipping out. Jared strokes himself slow, looking at the magazine, imagining Jensen on his knees, wet and perfect in cotton and latex, lubed for easy access. He wonders if Jensen would beg him to be fucked in the same voice he’s using now, slow and rough.
“I’d be up for that,” Jared chokes.
“What’s been up with you lately, huh?’ Jensen asks, and Jared swallows back a moan, forcing himself to stop stroking and pay attention to the normal conversation he’s supposed to be having. “Jare? What’re you doing?”
“Like I said man, bad reception. Where should we meet up? I can be over to your place in twenty minutes,” Jared says.
“I think I’d like that.”
Jared, obviously, didn’t hear that right. “Come again?”
“You over there gettin’ laid, dude? Is Sandy there? You putting the dick to someone else?” Jensen asks, laughing even though his voice is deep enough to let Jared pretend he’s sobbing, pleading instead. Jared’s stroking himself like he’s going to have to watch his dick fall off if he doesn’t come right now. “Jesus, you are gettin’ laid over there, man.”
“No,” Jared gasps, toes digging into the bedspread, “don’t hang up.”
“Why Jare, you kinky little bitch,” Jensen’s laughing, now. “Look, man, I’ll leave you to it, just come over when you’re done and we’ll figure something out. And tell Sandy or Max or whoever’s there that I’m sorry I interrupted you, man. Bye.”
“Jen,” Jared moans, his thumb rough over the head of his cock. Jared’s free hand snaps his phone shut. He uses the back of his hand to cover his mouth, knowing he’s close. His back arches and he holds his breath while he comes hard, crumbling into a panting mess as he falls back onto the bed.
“This has to stop,” Jared says out loud, but refuses to say that he’ll only let it stop when he gets what he wants.
In the book of bad ideas Jared’s followed through with, going to Jensen’s apartment to do anything with him for an extended amount of time while he’s still thinking of Max is worth a chapter. It’s always the same thing, the same equation: wrong because it’s too much of a good thing too soon. A couple of beers and a friendly tequila competition turns into hot hands and rough lips and pulling Jensen’s shirt off so he can kiss at the acres of skin underneath. They tangle on the sofa, Jensen’s jean clad thighs wrapping around Jared’s hips, and there’s the hot slide of tongue against tongue, fingers to fingers, sometimes a reach down into Jensen’s pants to rub that cock over the edge until Jensen’s whole body bucks up as he screams into Jared’s mouth.
It’s not serious, they’re always too drunk to remember just how good it was in the morning, and it’s not like they do it when they’re sober, so Jared doesn’t quite think it counts, most of the time. No matter, every time Jared goes to Jensen’s apartment, sits on the ugly sofa, and consumes considerable amounts of alcohol, he sees it imprinted on the back of his eyes, hears it echo in the back of his head, feels it on the pads of his fingertips like a full body memory.
Tonight’s no different, and he has to take it easy on the beer because staying the night is not an option for so many reasons, especially the ongoing thought that Max and Jensen are one in the same and that Jared’s honestly not just seeing things. Jensen’s talking about something that happened in his trailer earlier in the day, but Jared wouldn’t mind knowing if Jensen groans open mouthed the way that Max does in ‘Made to Fuck 4’, or if he hisses when his head is pulled back by the hair like Max in ‘Fetish Fantasy 15’.
“Man,” Jensen sighs. “It’s like you haven’t heard a goddamn word I’ve been saying. You still thinking about the pussy you got back at your place, man? You didn’t have to come if you didn’t want to.”
“I wanted to,” Jared assures him. “I’ve been listening.”
“Oh yeah?” Jensen grins at him. “So what’ve I been saying, if you’re not off in la la Land in that head of yours?”
Jared doesn’t know and he’s pretty sure Jensen can see that on his face. “That’s so lame and exactly like you, man.”
“I was going to break out the Jaeger tonight, but I don’t particularly think you can handle it, yourself,” Jensen grins. “Go home get some more pussy.”
“I didn’t get any pussy, man,” Jared laughs, and takes another long pull from his beer.
“So you got some ass? Not news to me, not like we haven’t gone through this before,” Jensen says, his bottle swinging back and forth to emphasize his words. “You dig the cock sometimes, I dig the cock most of the time, no big deal. Go back home and get some more ass. Or cock, or whatever you got.”
“I got some hand, man,” Jared admits, and then realizes what he’s just said. One thing you never admit to Jensen Ackles is that you’ve had to stay at home and jack off as a last resort. Judging from the look on Jensen’s face, Jared just did.
“You kept me on the phone with you, all awkward and shit, while you were waxin’ the Dolphin? You could have just said ‘I’m hobbin’ the knob, Jensen. I’ll call you back later,’” Jensen laughs. “Or was there a reason you kept me on, huh? Sick fuck.”
“Fuckin’ diva. You’d have started complaining about this on the phone if I would have told you I was,” Jared stops talking and starts laughing, “ ‘hobbin’ the knob’, as you put it. Who uses a euphemism like ‘hobbin’ the knob’ anymore, anyway?”
“Jessica Alba did while I was banging her gong, man,” Jensen says, taking the last pull from his beer and slapping Jared on the thigh. “You want another beer?”
“Yeah, sure.” Jared nods, and wonders. “You’re gay and it shows a lot, man. How did you even convince her to get close enough to her gong to bang it?”
“Told her I was bi, idiot,” Jensen shrugs. “I had a nice little three-way with her and that Weatherly guy, couple days before the show was canceled. She was good, looked good naked and all, but he was where it’s at, man.”
“And she used a euphemism as archaic and vulgar as ‘hobbin’ the knob?’” Jared asks.
“Yes, she did. Here’s your beer, Sam Winchester,” Jensen says, sitting back on the couch, pressing another bottle into Jared’s hand. Jared cuffs him on the back of the head, but lets Jensen sit close to him, more than friendly but less than intimate. It feels weird, even though Jensen and him have done this a million times before, quiet and easy, watching a hockey game or basketball on the couch and getting drunk. The more Jensen’s had to drink, the more affectionate he becomes, it seems, and Jared can’t take his eyes off Jensen’s throat as he takes a swig from his beer. “You alright, huh?”
“Yeah,” Jared thinks, as the world turns sideways. And he takes his eyes off the TV screen.
Jensen chuckles at him. “Lightweight.”
“Fuck you,” Jared snaps.
“Just name the time and the place,” The cockiness in Jensen’s voice rolls off in waves. “I might just hob your knob better than you do.”
“I’m sure you’re a master at the five finger shuffle.” Jared laughs, raising his hand to slide across his face.
“Like you’d know.” Jensen smirks that self-satisfied smirk of his. For a few deafening minutes, Jared doesn’t see Jensen, he sees Max and Max turning back into a secret part of Jensen. He sees open thighs and a hard cock and a wet chest soaked with cum and hard, crude gasp around fingers making plump lips stretch. He sees a column of skin, headless torso, splayed thighs, a long cock with a generous curve and he hears Jensen’s punch-drunk voice calling his name in the back of his head.
It’s paralyzing, and Jared has to jerk his eyes away to the much less gay hockey game and Jared has to bite his tongue before he says ‘Yeah, I do.’
Max is sitting on an uncomfortable-looking couch, fully clothed. Jared twirls the box in his idle hands without thinking. ‘Barely Legal’s Big Break’, and Max looks so young, he has to be just this side of eighteen, lips slick and wet, hands folded as he hunches over, hands in his lap.
The camera stays still, there’s a man talking off screen. “So,” he asks, “you a virgin?”
“Far from it, sir.” Max smiles, happily.
The man laughs, off camera, “Proper manners boy, you from the south?”
“Texas,” Max laughs. “I ain’t telling you where.”
“How do you like cock?”
“Up my ass or in my mouth, doesn’t much matter how it’s in me, sir,” Max says, cool demeanor and this is probably pre-scripted bullshit, but Max is moving like he’s waiting for the order to take off his shirt, and there’s the outline of a hard-as-nails cock through his jeans as he leans back into the couch and slides his hands into his pockets. “’s long as it’s in me, I don’t have much reason to complain.”
“Would you call yourself a slut?”
If Jared didn’t already have his hand on his cock, he would so be laughing at this. It’s cliché, but Max looks like he’s still green enough to totally be blindsided by the question. It’s almost comforting.
“I think that’s a little strong, (period)” Max grins, cocky even though he’s clearly a little nervous. Jared wonders if it’s an act, “I mean, heaven knows I’m hungry for cock.”
“Can you take off your clothes?”
Max looks at whoever is behind the camera like he’s questioning himself, and oh, Jared knows that look; Jensen’s used it a thousand different times as Dean. If he didn’t, he’d honestly think Max was virginal about this, having second thoughts. He bites his lip, and Jared does the same, grabbing his dick at the base because he’s curious as to how the rest of this will go.
“All of them?” Max asks.
“Why not. Got anything to hide, Max?” The voice grows playful. “You hard already? All we’ve been doing is talking about cock?”
“Like I said,” Max grins, shedding his shirt and pulling his hips upward so his jeans can slide clean off to pool around his ankles.
“Tell me,” the voice leads on, “What your favorite body part on a guy other than cock?”
“What kinda question is that, man?” Max says, a finger rubbing at the head of his cock, before molding the rest of his hand around it. He’s playing miraculously coy, looking through long eyelashes to the man behind the camera, licking his lips. “I like hands. Huge ones, so fucking large that they can do whatever they please to me. They can hold me down, they can fuck my ass, they can be as rough as they want. I fucking love being pushed around, held down.”
The man that’s been talking all along, stands beside him and grins. “Hands like these?”
“Fuck,” Max laughs that little Jensen-laugh, deep and silky smooth enough to slide right down into Jared’s crotch. “Fuck yeah.”
“You want to be held down?” the man asks.
“If you like.” Max shrugs, like he doesn’t care. The man wraps a hand into Max’s hair, and pulls his head back.
“So, you gonna suck my cock?” the man asks casually. Max blinks up for him for a few seconds, and even though Jared’s a seasoned Max Sin fan, he almost thinks Max is thinking twice. Then, that face stretches into a cocky smile.
“Sure,” he says, voice like honey, and opens his mouth. The camera comes close, and zooms on Max’s mouth as he licks his lips and readily accepts the man’s thrusts. Jared sighs, licks his palm sloppy-wet, and wraps it around his erection. It’s a little gross when Jared looks down at it, but so is Max’s mouth as it wraps around some anonymous cock, bobbling up and down, so he keeps stroking, willing his imagination away so he can pretend it’s not Jensen again. His hips work in tandem with the hips on screen, first slow then quick, and when the man stops and throws Max down, Jared holds himself at the base, curious to see what happens next.
“Look at this ass,” the man says, as the camera focuses on it. Max spreads himself open, and he’s already shiny with lube and looks a bit like he’d been fucked twenty minutes before, and Jared thinks maybe he has. There’s a smattering of lubed-down hair, and his entrance pouts a bit before the man slides his finger in. “Look at it.”
Max makes this noise, halfway between a moan and a sigh, and Jared has to hold himself ever harder than he was before. “Fuck me.”
“You think you can handle it?” the man asks. “Big chance, kid. You gonna take it?”
“Fuck yeah.” Max nods. Jared almost laughs at the cheesy dialogue, but shuts up when Max takes the dick that slides inside him like a pro, all the way to the hilt while moaning. It slides out just as easy and slow, and soon, Max is pushing back against those thrusts, slow and complete and hard enough to make himself come.
Jared doesn’t even have to stroke himself again, he’s already coming in his hand.
“So, you done anything about Jensen, yet?” Sandy asks.
“Uh, no?” Jared says.
“You’ve just been whacking off to the porn I’m sending you, then?” Sandy says.
“I’m not even sure it’s him!” Jared reasons with her, and sighs. He’s right, and the last thing he wants is to fuck up his working relationship with Jensen over a case of mistaken identity. “What am I supposed to do other then whack off ?”
“I don’t know,” Sandy sighs. “Asking him would be a good idea, maybe. If you don’t ask him, then you might try and find a way to figure out how, exactly, he got latex chaps, maybe?”
Jared laughs at that, and sighs. “What the fuck am I gonna do over this shit, man?”
“Ask him, fuck him, go snooping, I don’t care,” Sandy mutters. “Just…find out, okay? Look, I have to go, but I’ll talk to you later.”
“Where are you getting all this shit from, anyway?’ Jared asks.
The phone is dead before Jared gets his answer.
Next