Speed Limit 1/6
Title: Speed Limit 1/6
Author: insane_songbird
Pairing: J2
Words: 4,200
Warnings: loan sharks, bike racing, violence, hurt/comfort, slash, sex (m/m), cussing, betting, organized crime etc.
Disclaimer: If I said they were mine, you’d just laugh at me, so I won’t.
Summary: Investigative reporter Jared Padalecki has an nose for fishy business and god help him if the last few races in the big motor bike derby didn’t stink. Acting as a sports reporter, Jared tries to prove the involvement of organized crime, bribing drivers and faking race outcomes to cash in high value bets. His first hint leads to driver Jensen Ackles… - This fic is complete to be updated once a week -
Part One
Jared Padalecki thought he might get dizzy very soon. His neck muscles protested as he snapped his head around repeatedly as if he were watching a damn fast game of tennis. Not that Jared really ever watched any tennis, but maybe he would soon enough. Working in sports news was forcing him to go to games he had never had the desire to experience live before.
Personally Jared didn’t understand how people could even consider motor sports as sport in the first place, but then he knew he'd better not say that out loud or the crowd of mechanics and managers around him might just decide to lynch him for that notion. He tried to look interested in the bikes racing by with the deafening roar of engines and the smell of hot rubber.
Jared’s friends had only shaken their head as he told them of his new job. Sports journalism had never been something he'd seemed overly enthusiastic about, and, honestly, he wasn’t. Jared had graduated in journalism at the top of his class and then started an internship with one of the big, serious papers. He had hoped to get the right connections quickly and be promoted far enough to write about the really important events. Jared always wanted to be an investigative reporter. His friend Aldis used to call him Lois Lane, and Jared always rolled his eyes at him, but then again Lois did what was Jared’s dream - minus Superman… although the guy did look pretty hot for someone wearing blue tights.
But journalism was a cut-throat business, and a good diploma wasn’t a guaranteed in for the big stage. Jared had sadly found himself in a position that was more Jimmy Olsen than Lois Lane - minus the camera - and a nice clap on the shoulder every now and again, telling him that after only a few more years in the crappy job he had would guarantee him a spot with the big boys, was not enough for Jared. Most of the big boys were only touring from event to event, not at liberty to do the deep digging Jared was craving for, finding the fishy business and exposing it to the world.
He had always had a good eye for people and an extraordinarily sharp nose for lies. Jared was good at the investigating; he was awesome at finding the right places to dig and the right stories to pursue, but even when he found the latest story that stank like three week old fisherman’s socks, he knew that his employers would probably not take the risk of pursuing his crazy hunch, and even if they did, he wouldn’t be the one doing the digging. And so Jared left his crappy apartment and the crappy intern salary behind and started calling in a favor or three.
Thankfully Jared had an outgoing persona and a captivating smile. Early in his internship he had done messenger runs to one of the bigger cable stations just down the bloc,k and one of the news moderators, Katie Cassidy, a pretty blond with a sharp tongue and a quick intellect, had taken a liking to him. They had hit it off instantly, and since Katie was one of the young, up and coming sharks in the business, because that girl could hit hard, Jared was always willing to take her advice. When she suggested to him to try out standing in front of a camera instead of behind a computer screen, Jared waved her off. Yes, he was tall, and Katie said his face was made for television, but although Jared was an easy talker and rather good with words, reading texts from a screen next to the camera man was not his vision of journalism.
But of course sometimes the end justified the means, and so Jared found himself in a rather uncomfortable ensemble of dark, tight jeans, a sporty black button down shirt, and a rather unhealthy amount of make-up, standing at the side of the race track, waiting for the engine noise to die down enough to do his trained monkey job and read down the lines he'd had hardly any hand in preparing.
They had two takes done already and only one more to go, before he got to interview a driver or two, once the test race was over. He fidgeted in his clothes and nodded to the camera guy, lifting his microphone while the time until they’d start rolling was counted down.
“This is Jared Padalecki reporting from the last day of preparations before, the big motor cycle derby tomorrow. We were able to watch the drivers doing their test runs today, and so far we can guarantee you an interesting race tomorrow. In the first half of this season the fans have seen some unexpected winners and losers…”
Jared started recapping the motor cycling season so far, reading the text displayed on the boards behind the camera man, while his mind thought up his own opinion of this whole thing. ‘Unexpected’ was a nice way of saying that something stank in the results of this season’s races. It had been by accident that Jared had come across this, when his brother was bitching about the fact that every bet he made with his colleagues about who would win the next race went down the drain. Jeff said that it was inexplicable. It had made Jared interested. Nothing was inexplicable once all the influencing factors were known, and he had started digging in his free time, until he was sure there was something illegal, or at least semi-legal, going on behind the scenes.
It seemed impossible that repeatedly the driver tipped to win the next race, the one who had managed to come up first in the try out races, would fail while some other biker, who had been low in the ranking and not placed in the betting would come in first. Things like that just didn’t happen, and Jared would be surprised if he was the only person to think so. But the thing was that there was no proof that these incidents were organized. Whoever timed them did a good job at making them look random and disconnected. Jared had taken hours looking into the drivers and organizers and had found one person he thought might be his best lead so far: Jensen Ackles.
Ackles’ name had jumped out at Jared repeatedly. His role in these scenarios was mixed, and made firm suspicions difficult, but Jared followed his hunch here. Ackles had won although his ranking had suggested that he was anywhere but at the front of the field, and he had also lost even he had worked himself to the prime position. Ackles also twice had seemed to make mistakes that threw off the front runner and let some other rider pull in first. Jared knew this man was involved. He had spent hours watching tapes of this season’s races, and he was sure of two things: Jensen Ackles was one hell of a rider, and that he was in someone’s bag. The only problem Jared had was the why. Ackles was good enough to win most races, and, after the last season, where he had pulled in fourth in the overall ranking, critics had prophesied that he would step it up and run to the very top. Only he hadn’t, and Jared was sure that it was not due to lack of ability to do so, but because he'd lost on purpose more than once. The money a racer could make not just with the winner's prize, but also with the promotion that came with success was big, and Jared wondered how high the price for Jensen Ackles' integrity was.
The last round was over, and the bikers pulled their machines towards the boxes. One of the managers waved at the rider of a green and black machine. He wore dark green leather with some sponsor’s logo blazed on the back. Jared saw the machine swerve and roll towards them as the manager told them that they could do the interview while the driver was still sitting on his machine. Jared felt his pulse go up. He recognized the bike and the rider’s ensemble at once. He swallowed and schooled his face into a professional smile, and the cameras followed him as approached Jensen Ackles.
The bike stopped beside the boxes, and the man still straddling the roaring machine shut off the engine before pulling off his helmet. Jared was glad that the cameras were at his back, so his moment of wide eyed irritation was not caught on tape. He had seen pictures of Ackles in different news paper clippings and internet searches, but he'd never cared to search for a portrait of the man, so he'd only seen small, full-body shots of him, donned up in racing gear. Jared wasn’t prepared for the man to be that handsome. He had dark green eyes that complemented his sponsor colors perfectly. beneath a shock of short, dark-blond hair. A freckled face was flushed from the heat that must have caught under the helmet, and Jared watched him wet pouty lips. Holy shit!
Jared knew he blushed when Ackles grinned at him and pulled off a racing glove to shake his hand. “Hi, I’m Jensen.”
„Jared Padalecki for...“
“Yes, I know. You’re new around here, right?”
Jared nodded aware that the riders probably knew most of the usual crowd of reporters. “Do you have time for a short interview, Mister Ackles?”
“Jensen.” Jared responded to the man’s easy smile with one of his own and wondered if maybe he was wrong about this man. His mind hit him across the back of the head - telling himself to think with his brain instead of his dick.
Jared nodded at the camera team and positioned himself next to Ackles, so they would both be in line for the shot. “This is Jared Padalecki talking to rider Jensen Ackles. Jensen, today you seemed to get a good feeling for this stadium, and you will start in third position tomorrow. What's your feeling about tomorrow’s race?”
Jensen’s mouth quirked into a smirk, and he shrugged, the helmet resting on his lap. “I think I have a shot at the podium tomorrow, but let’s not jinx that, okay.”
“This season you have been keeping the fans on tenterhooks with some surprise wins as well as some unexpected losses. How do you explain those?”
He saw Jensen’s eyes catch his for a moment, his face not betraying anything to the cameras, but Jared knew that Jensen wasn't really happy about that question. “I think the fans would be bored if they knew the outcome of a race from the start. There are some things one just cannot anticipate. Sometimes I hardly have to do anything, because everything just fits. When the bike just runs, and the field is easy, and I am just feeling it flow, then I can win anything. However, once in a while it just isn't to be, and then I have to brush it off and put my mind to being better in the next race.”
“So the condition of your bike is different with every race?”
“The interaction between the bike and the lane is. Have you ever done bike racing, Jared?” There was a sparkle in Jensen’s eyes that made Jared want to swallow hard around the lump in his throat.
“I have to admit that I haven’t.”
Jensen nodded and raised his helmet. “Jump on. I’m gonna show you what I mean.”
Jared stared at the man for a second, pretty sure that the bike was too small for two grown men, but Jensen’s crew practically pushed him onto the back of it, and it was only a matter of minutes, before he was clad in a leather jacket and a helmet of his own.
“Hold on!” Jensen’s voice was muffled, and he emphasized his point by pulling Jared’s arms around his waist. Jared knew this was a horrible idea. Jensen had slid far to the front of his seat, and Jared doubted it was at all comfortable; for himself, he was scared of falling of the back of the bike.
The engine roared to life beneath them and Jared pulled close to the driver as the vibrations seeped through his thighs and along his spine. When Jensen accelerated Jared felt his guts dragging behind for a second or two. This bike was damn fast. He knew he breathed harder than he should and was thankful that the helmet obscured the silly look of panic he must have on his face.
Jared tried to ignore the scenery flying by, making him dizzy and his stomach churn. He leaned further against the steady presence that was Jensen Ackles. He knew that the channel would love the material they got of their reporter riding shotgun with one of the drivers, but he couldn’t quite figure out why Ackles had made that offer in the first place.
Jared held on tight, terribly aware of the strange situation. Here he was pressed flush against the - definitely very fine - backside of the one man he had chosen to grill. He didn’t plan on ruining anybody, but if his suspicions were right, and he found his story, the racing career of Jensen Ackles would most probably come to a rather unhappy ending.
He pushed that thought away, trying to concentrate on figuring out who this man in front of him was rather than what he did. Jared needed to understand, and the flat stomach shielded from his tight grasp only by closely fitted leather was not helping to clear his mind. Jared took a deep breath, finally getting used to the pull of speed, and the quickly changing surroundings and relaxed against the strong body in front of him. Fuck impropriety… He would just take this moment, these two minutes and savor them fully.
When the bike slowed down and rolled towards their starting place, Jared felt reluctant to let go. He hadn’t been on a bike before, and the experience was a good one. When they came to a stop, Jared held on for a moment longer than absolutely necessary before retracting his arms and swinging off. The sudden loss of acceleration made his knees weak, and he found himself swaying slightly, until a gloved hand steadied him in the small of his back.
“Easy, tiger. Take your time to get used to solid ground beneath your feet again.”
Jared watched the rider pull off his helmet, saw the amused smirk in Ackles’ face and rolled his eyes, tying to maintain some of his dignity. “Your bike is hardly a ship, Jensen.”
The other man laughed and got off the back of his machine. “No, it’s more like flying.”
Jared couldn’t argue with that. Part of his mind doubted that his enthusiasm would be as strong if Ackles were some ugly brute. So, maybe he was a little superficial… so what? He answered Ackles' smile with one of his own and handed the helmet and jacket back to the mechanic who had shoved them at him in the first place.
The following interviews and takes were not anywhere near as exciting as his little ride with Ackles, and Jared found himself watching the driver move around in front of the mechanics' box over the shoulder of an interviewee. Thankfully the journalist in him was able to multi-task.
~~~oo0oo~~~
The bar smelled of beer, and salted nuts and too many people crammed into the tiny space. He wasn’t sure how common it was for the reporters to be invited to the drivers’ private after-race party. One of the mechanics working for Jensen Ackles’ team had asked if he wanted to come by and have a drink with the men after the race, and of course Jared had jumped on it. Jared, the t.v. sports news’ face was here in his off time, but Jared the investigative reporter with a story to hunt, was pure business.
Jared smiled at Chris, the mechanic, before heading towards the bar to order himself a beer, taking a sip as he started scouting the place. His eyes caught the sight of one or two other members of the press and a few of the riders. He tried to put names to the faces and recall the research he did on pretty much everyone in the league. On Jared’s desk, documents upon documents of personal and professional data about most of these people piled, and he bit his tongue imagining what they would say if they knew. Thankfully, Jared always was a fast runner.
“Look who it is... Did you get your sea legs back?”
Jared whipped around nearly knocking the beer out of the hand of the man standing behind him. Jensen Ackles avoided Jared’s elbow with a well timed step back and grinned at the young reporter. “Dude, no reason to knock me out…”
“Sorry, I didn’t expect anybody to stand that close behind me.” This was the first time he'd seen the rider standing in such close proximity to Jared instead of sitting on his bike, and Jared only then noticed that he was taller than he had expected. Ackles was well over 6 feet tall, still being dwarfed by Jared. The reporter had always thought rider’s were similar to jockeys: Small and mean. Not that he knew any mean jockeys, but in Jared’s experience, really small men did not have giving personalities. It had to be an ego-thing. But Jensen wasn’t small, and the smile he gave Jared was anything but mean. That mouth needed to be illegal, because it was trying to fry Jared’s brain.
“It’s a small bar.” Jared laughed at the lack of effort Jensen put into making his excuse sound any more plausible and shook his head.
“Yeah, it is… Do you come here often?” Only after asking, Jared noticed how THAT had sounded.
Jensen’s grin went incredibly wide, and his eyes danced with mischief. “Are you trying to come on to me, Mr. Padalecki?”
Jared hardly registered the fact that Jensen was probably the only person in this business so far, who had pronounced his name right on the first try, before spluttering out excuses. “No, I meant… I wanted to know if the riders come here after every race… I mean, if you… as one of them…”
Jensen held up his hand laughing. “Okay, stop. I know what you mean. I don’t. Not all the time anyway. But today I thought I deserved it.” Jared nodded. Jensen had come in second in this afternoon’s race - the first one Jared reported on - and for once it hadn’t been too much of a surprise. Jared’s memories of the race disappeared as Jensen leaned closer, voice lowered. “If you wanna come on to me, you would need a fresh line…”
Jared stared at the smaller man for a long moment, trying to figure out if he was in trouble, or if Jensen - Ackles… when had he started thinking of him by his first name? - was pulling his leg. Ackles licked his lips, smirking as Jared’s eyes followed the movement. “I saw you watching me, Jared. When racing, one needs to always be aware of one’s surroundings.” Ackles moved past Jared, brushing up against his side as he leaned over the counter to order another beer for himself.
“I’m a reporter… I have to have my eyes on the story.” He took the opportunity of Ackles facing away from him to take in the man’s appearance, appreciating the movement of toned muscle under tight jeans.
“Huh, I never thought my butt could make it into the headlines…”
Jared’s head snapped up, and he knew he was beet red at being caught, eyes wide as Ackles gave him a smirk around his fresh beer and took a step closer to Jared, eyes wandering up and down the reporter in return. “You really need to work on that sneaky routine there, Jared. You kinda suck at it.”
Jared slowly swallowed the lump in his throat, realizing that Ackles was playing him with cruel calculation. The man wasn’t just teasing Jared. He knew that Jared wasn’t merely interested in interviewing him. Only he didn’t know that, even though Jared could hardly deny that he thought Ackles was sex on legs, he had another agenda, hidden behind the lusting. Jared hadn’t planned on it, couldn’t have anticipated the other man to be as hot as he was, or to notice that he was being eyed up. But he could certainly act like he fell for the seduction. Act like part of him wanted to, like he would have done if he hadn’t suspected Ackles to be the key to the big game.
Jared bit his bottom lip before looking Ackles straight in the eye, and, damn, that man had the greenest eyes ever. “Who said I was trying to be sneaky?”
An eyebrow rose as Ackles retreated a little from his predatory prowl. “So a rising star on the TV screens like yourself wouldn’t care if people knew he was drooling over guys?”
Jared laughed, honest to God laughed. “Dude, I never made a secret out of it. Anyone who wants to find out will not have much of a problem doing so. I am a reporter not George Clooney… and not Jensen Ackles.” Jared shot a sidewards glance toward the riders and mechanics and managers that were scattered around the bar, none really paying their little banter any attention.
Ackles nodded, grinning. All play had left his body language, and Jared thought that this was Ackles being as honest as he could be. “I like you, Jared. You’re not scared.”
Jared nodded back, holding Ackles’ gaze, sides of his mouth turning up just slightly. “Neither are you, or you wouldn’t be flirting with a reporter like that.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
~~~oo0oo~~~
By the time they left the bar, Jared was slightly tipsy but not overly drunk. Jensen was a little further down that road, but Jared doubted he had drunk enough to have a hangover the next day. Jared had learned a lot about Jensen Ackles in the last few hours. The man had a good sense of humor, and quite a few stories about the sport and its participants to tell. Jared had learned that Ackles liked dogs, missed the dry heat of Texas in the summer and would choose one good steak over ten pounds of first class Sushi. Jensen Ackles liked to tell anecdotes, but the one thing that made Jared even more interested was the fact that he didn’t really say anything. They spoke a lot but Jared had no idea who Jensen Ackles really was - other than a pretty face and an assortment of amusing stories.
That made the journalist, the investigator, in Jared interested. His inner bloodhound had long since perked up. Jensen Ackles had the great talent of talking a lot, making people feel like he shared, without actually exposing himself. This was usually the kind of skill undercover-cops, conmen and many other professional liars possessed. Men in Ackles line of work were more often bragging than not, although this man did not talk about work at all, no stories of greatness, of winning or training. He didn’t exactly circumvent questions regarding the races and training; he always answered, but never in depth, never more than it took to have Jared nod at the answer.
It was infuriating and intriguing at the same time, and Jared rolled his inner eyes at himself for over thinking this whole matter. He was sure Ackles faked races; he was sure that the driver kept secrets, and he’d find out what they were. Of course his determination would have been greater if the guy wasn’t hot as hell, but Jared was enough of a professional not to let a pair of stunning eyes and a cocky demeanor let him forget why he was there.
Then Jared found himself up against a wall, and he had to admit that it felt great. Jensen’s lips crushed against his, and he melted into the touch, opening his mouth to an insistent tongue and returning the kiss full force. Jensen’s hands pressed hard against his sides, keeping him in place. That was the moment that Jared’s mind gave in, and decided that he couldn’t call the other man by his family name anymore. The realization hit Jared hard, and he could practically feel his walls and his resolve falling away. This couldn’t be happening. He pushed Jensen away after a few minutes, trying to find an excuse, but before he could come up with anything Jensen just winked at him and left. Jared stood still as a statue for a moment, overwhelmed by the lingering memory of lips and hands. Shit, he was in trouble.
...next part...
Feedback is LOVE, please don't disappoint me here!
*hugs* Birdie
Author: insane_songbird
Pairing: J2
Words: 4,200
Warnings: loan sharks, bike racing, violence, hurt/comfort, slash, sex (m/m), cussing, betting, organized crime etc.
Disclaimer: If I said they were mine, you’d just laugh at me, so I won’t.
Summary: Investigative reporter Jared Padalecki has an nose for fishy business and god help him if the last few races in the big motor bike derby didn’t stink. Acting as a sports reporter, Jared tries to prove the involvement of organized crime, bribing drivers and faking race outcomes to cash in high value bets. His first hint leads to driver Jensen Ackles… - This fic is complete to be updated once a week -
Part One
Jared Padalecki thought he might get dizzy very soon. His neck muscles protested as he snapped his head around repeatedly as if he were watching a damn fast game of tennis. Not that Jared really ever watched any tennis, but maybe he would soon enough. Working in sports news was forcing him to go to games he had never had the desire to experience live before.
Personally Jared didn’t understand how people could even consider motor sports as sport in the first place, but then he knew he'd better not say that out loud or the crowd of mechanics and managers around him might just decide to lynch him for that notion. He tried to look interested in the bikes racing by with the deafening roar of engines and the smell of hot rubber.
Jared’s friends had only shaken their head as he told them of his new job. Sports journalism had never been something he'd seemed overly enthusiastic about, and, honestly, he wasn’t. Jared had graduated in journalism at the top of his class and then started an internship with one of the big, serious papers. He had hoped to get the right connections quickly and be promoted far enough to write about the really important events. Jared always wanted to be an investigative reporter. His friend Aldis used to call him Lois Lane, and Jared always rolled his eyes at him, but then again Lois did what was Jared’s dream - minus Superman… although the guy did look pretty hot for someone wearing blue tights.
But journalism was a cut-throat business, and a good diploma wasn’t a guaranteed in for the big stage. Jared had sadly found himself in a position that was more Jimmy Olsen than Lois Lane - minus the camera - and a nice clap on the shoulder every now and again, telling him that after only a few more years in the crappy job he had would guarantee him a spot with the big boys, was not enough for Jared. Most of the big boys were only touring from event to event, not at liberty to do the deep digging Jared was craving for, finding the fishy business and exposing it to the world.
He had always had a good eye for people and an extraordinarily sharp nose for lies. Jared was good at the investigating; he was awesome at finding the right places to dig and the right stories to pursue, but even when he found the latest story that stank like three week old fisherman’s socks, he knew that his employers would probably not take the risk of pursuing his crazy hunch, and even if they did, he wouldn’t be the one doing the digging. And so Jared left his crappy apartment and the crappy intern salary behind and started calling in a favor or three.
Thankfully Jared had an outgoing persona and a captivating smile. Early in his internship he had done messenger runs to one of the bigger cable stations just down the bloc,k and one of the news moderators, Katie Cassidy, a pretty blond with a sharp tongue and a quick intellect, had taken a liking to him. They had hit it off instantly, and since Katie was one of the young, up and coming sharks in the business, because that girl could hit hard, Jared was always willing to take her advice. When she suggested to him to try out standing in front of a camera instead of behind a computer screen, Jared waved her off. Yes, he was tall, and Katie said his face was made for television, but although Jared was an easy talker and rather good with words, reading texts from a screen next to the camera man was not his vision of journalism.
But of course sometimes the end justified the means, and so Jared found himself in a rather uncomfortable ensemble of dark, tight jeans, a sporty black button down shirt, and a rather unhealthy amount of make-up, standing at the side of the race track, waiting for the engine noise to die down enough to do his trained monkey job and read down the lines he'd had hardly any hand in preparing.
They had two takes done already and only one more to go, before he got to interview a driver or two, once the test race was over. He fidgeted in his clothes and nodded to the camera guy, lifting his microphone while the time until they’d start rolling was counted down.
“This is Jared Padalecki reporting from the last day of preparations before, the big motor cycle derby tomorrow. We were able to watch the drivers doing their test runs today, and so far we can guarantee you an interesting race tomorrow. In the first half of this season the fans have seen some unexpected winners and losers…”
Jared started recapping the motor cycling season so far, reading the text displayed on the boards behind the camera man, while his mind thought up his own opinion of this whole thing. ‘Unexpected’ was a nice way of saying that something stank in the results of this season’s races. It had been by accident that Jared had come across this, when his brother was bitching about the fact that every bet he made with his colleagues about who would win the next race went down the drain. Jeff said that it was inexplicable. It had made Jared interested. Nothing was inexplicable once all the influencing factors were known, and he had started digging in his free time, until he was sure there was something illegal, or at least semi-legal, going on behind the scenes.
It seemed impossible that repeatedly the driver tipped to win the next race, the one who had managed to come up first in the try out races, would fail while some other biker, who had been low in the ranking and not placed in the betting would come in first. Things like that just didn’t happen, and Jared would be surprised if he was the only person to think so. But the thing was that there was no proof that these incidents were organized. Whoever timed them did a good job at making them look random and disconnected. Jared had taken hours looking into the drivers and organizers and had found one person he thought might be his best lead so far: Jensen Ackles.
Ackles’ name had jumped out at Jared repeatedly. His role in these scenarios was mixed, and made firm suspicions difficult, but Jared followed his hunch here. Ackles had won although his ranking had suggested that he was anywhere but at the front of the field, and he had also lost even he had worked himself to the prime position. Ackles also twice had seemed to make mistakes that threw off the front runner and let some other rider pull in first. Jared knew this man was involved. He had spent hours watching tapes of this season’s races, and he was sure of two things: Jensen Ackles was one hell of a rider, and that he was in someone’s bag. The only problem Jared had was the why. Ackles was good enough to win most races, and, after the last season, where he had pulled in fourth in the overall ranking, critics had prophesied that he would step it up and run to the very top. Only he hadn’t, and Jared was sure that it was not due to lack of ability to do so, but because he'd lost on purpose more than once. The money a racer could make not just with the winner's prize, but also with the promotion that came with success was big, and Jared wondered how high the price for Jensen Ackles' integrity was.
The last round was over, and the bikers pulled their machines towards the boxes. One of the managers waved at the rider of a green and black machine. He wore dark green leather with some sponsor’s logo blazed on the back. Jared saw the machine swerve and roll towards them as the manager told them that they could do the interview while the driver was still sitting on his machine. Jared felt his pulse go up. He recognized the bike and the rider’s ensemble at once. He swallowed and schooled his face into a professional smile, and the cameras followed him as approached Jensen Ackles.
The bike stopped beside the boxes, and the man still straddling the roaring machine shut off the engine before pulling off his helmet. Jared was glad that the cameras were at his back, so his moment of wide eyed irritation was not caught on tape. He had seen pictures of Ackles in different news paper clippings and internet searches, but he'd never cared to search for a portrait of the man, so he'd only seen small, full-body shots of him, donned up in racing gear. Jared wasn’t prepared for the man to be that handsome. He had dark green eyes that complemented his sponsor colors perfectly. beneath a shock of short, dark-blond hair. A freckled face was flushed from the heat that must have caught under the helmet, and Jared watched him wet pouty lips. Holy shit!
Jared knew he blushed when Ackles grinned at him and pulled off a racing glove to shake his hand. “Hi, I’m Jensen.”
„Jared Padalecki for...“
“Yes, I know. You’re new around here, right?”
Jared nodded aware that the riders probably knew most of the usual crowd of reporters. “Do you have time for a short interview, Mister Ackles?”
“Jensen.” Jared responded to the man’s easy smile with one of his own and wondered if maybe he was wrong about this man. His mind hit him across the back of the head - telling himself to think with his brain instead of his dick.
Jared nodded at the camera team and positioned himself next to Ackles, so they would both be in line for the shot. “This is Jared Padalecki talking to rider Jensen Ackles. Jensen, today you seemed to get a good feeling for this stadium, and you will start in third position tomorrow. What's your feeling about tomorrow’s race?”
Jensen’s mouth quirked into a smirk, and he shrugged, the helmet resting on his lap. “I think I have a shot at the podium tomorrow, but let’s not jinx that, okay.”
“This season you have been keeping the fans on tenterhooks with some surprise wins as well as some unexpected losses. How do you explain those?”
He saw Jensen’s eyes catch his for a moment, his face not betraying anything to the cameras, but Jared knew that Jensen wasn't really happy about that question. “I think the fans would be bored if they knew the outcome of a race from the start. There are some things one just cannot anticipate. Sometimes I hardly have to do anything, because everything just fits. When the bike just runs, and the field is easy, and I am just feeling it flow, then I can win anything. However, once in a while it just isn't to be, and then I have to brush it off and put my mind to being better in the next race.”
“So the condition of your bike is different with every race?”
“The interaction between the bike and the lane is. Have you ever done bike racing, Jared?” There was a sparkle in Jensen’s eyes that made Jared want to swallow hard around the lump in his throat.
“I have to admit that I haven’t.”
Jensen nodded and raised his helmet. “Jump on. I’m gonna show you what I mean.”
Jared stared at the man for a second, pretty sure that the bike was too small for two grown men, but Jensen’s crew practically pushed him onto the back of it, and it was only a matter of minutes, before he was clad in a leather jacket and a helmet of his own.
“Hold on!” Jensen’s voice was muffled, and he emphasized his point by pulling Jared’s arms around his waist. Jared knew this was a horrible idea. Jensen had slid far to the front of his seat, and Jared doubted it was at all comfortable; for himself, he was scared of falling of the back of the bike.
The engine roared to life beneath them and Jared pulled close to the driver as the vibrations seeped through his thighs and along his spine. When Jensen accelerated Jared felt his guts dragging behind for a second or two. This bike was damn fast. He knew he breathed harder than he should and was thankful that the helmet obscured the silly look of panic he must have on his face.
Jared tried to ignore the scenery flying by, making him dizzy and his stomach churn. He leaned further against the steady presence that was Jensen Ackles. He knew that the channel would love the material they got of their reporter riding shotgun with one of the drivers, but he couldn’t quite figure out why Ackles had made that offer in the first place.
Jared held on tight, terribly aware of the strange situation. Here he was pressed flush against the - definitely very fine - backside of the one man he had chosen to grill. He didn’t plan on ruining anybody, but if his suspicions were right, and he found his story, the racing career of Jensen Ackles would most probably come to a rather unhappy ending.
He pushed that thought away, trying to concentrate on figuring out who this man in front of him was rather than what he did. Jared needed to understand, and the flat stomach shielded from his tight grasp only by closely fitted leather was not helping to clear his mind. Jared took a deep breath, finally getting used to the pull of speed, and the quickly changing surroundings and relaxed against the strong body in front of him. Fuck impropriety… He would just take this moment, these two minutes and savor them fully.
When the bike slowed down and rolled towards their starting place, Jared felt reluctant to let go. He hadn’t been on a bike before, and the experience was a good one. When they came to a stop, Jared held on for a moment longer than absolutely necessary before retracting his arms and swinging off. The sudden loss of acceleration made his knees weak, and he found himself swaying slightly, until a gloved hand steadied him in the small of his back.
“Easy, tiger. Take your time to get used to solid ground beneath your feet again.”
Jared watched the rider pull off his helmet, saw the amused smirk in Ackles’ face and rolled his eyes, tying to maintain some of his dignity. “Your bike is hardly a ship, Jensen.”
The other man laughed and got off the back of his machine. “No, it’s more like flying.”
Jared couldn’t argue with that. Part of his mind doubted that his enthusiasm would be as strong if Ackles were some ugly brute. So, maybe he was a little superficial… so what? He answered Ackles' smile with one of his own and handed the helmet and jacket back to the mechanic who had shoved them at him in the first place.
The following interviews and takes were not anywhere near as exciting as his little ride with Ackles, and Jared found himself watching the driver move around in front of the mechanics' box over the shoulder of an interviewee. Thankfully the journalist in him was able to multi-task.
~~~oo0oo~~~
The bar smelled of beer, and salted nuts and too many people crammed into the tiny space. He wasn’t sure how common it was for the reporters to be invited to the drivers’ private after-race party. One of the mechanics working for Jensen Ackles’ team had asked if he wanted to come by and have a drink with the men after the race, and of course Jared had jumped on it. Jared, the t.v. sports news’ face was here in his off time, but Jared the investigative reporter with a story to hunt, was pure business.
Jared smiled at Chris, the mechanic, before heading towards the bar to order himself a beer, taking a sip as he started scouting the place. His eyes caught the sight of one or two other members of the press and a few of the riders. He tried to put names to the faces and recall the research he did on pretty much everyone in the league. On Jared’s desk, documents upon documents of personal and professional data about most of these people piled, and he bit his tongue imagining what they would say if they knew. Thankfully, Jared always was a fast runner.
“Look who it is... Did you get your sea legs back?”
Jared whipped around nearly knocking the beer out of the hand of the man standing behind him. Jensen Ackles avoided Jared’s elbow with a well timed step back and grinned at the young reporter. “Dude, no reason to knock me out…”
“Sorry, I didn’t expect anybody to stand that close behind me.” This was the first time he'd seen the rider standing in such close proximity to Jared instead of sitting on his bike, and Jared only then noticed that he was taller than he had expected. Ackles was well over 6 feet tall, still being dwarfed by Jared. The reporter had always thought rider’s were similar to jockeys: Small and mean. Not that he knew any mean jockeys, but in Jared’s experience, really small men did not have giving personalities. It had to be an ego-thing. But Jensen wasn’t small, and the smile he gave Jared was anything but mean. That mouth needed to be illegal, because it was trying to fry Jared’s brain.
“It’s a small bar.” Jared laughed at the lack of effort Jensen put into making his excuse sound any more plausible and shook his head.
“Yeah, it is… Do you come here often?” Only after asking, Jared noticed how THAT had sounded.
Jensen’s grin went incredibly wide, and his eyes danced with mischief. “Are you trying to come on to me, Mr. Padalecki?”
Jared hardly registered the fact that Jensen was probably the only person in this business so far, who had pronounced his name right on the first try, before spluttering out excuses. “No, I meant… I wanted to know if the riders come here after every race… I mean, if you… as one of them…”
Jensen held up his hand laughing. “Okay, stop. I know what you mean. I don’t. Not all the time anyway. But today I thought I deserved it.” Jared nodded. Jensen had come in second in this afternoon’s race - the first one Jared reported on - and for once it hadn’t been too much of a surprise. Jared’s memories of the race disappeared as Jensen leaned closer, voice lowered. “If you wanna come on to me, you would need a fresh line…”
Jared stared at the smaller man for a long moment, trying to figure out if he was in trouble, or if Jensen - Ackles… when had he started thinking of him by his first name? - was pulling his leg. Ackles licked his lips, smirking as Jared’s eyes followed the movement. “I saw you watching me, Jared. When racing, one needs to always be aware of one’s surroundings.” Ackles moved past Jared, brushing up against his side as he leaned over the counter to order another beer for himself.
“I’m a reporter… I have to have my eyes on the story.” He took the opportunity of Ackles facing away from him to take in the man’s appearance, appreciating the movement of toned muscle under tight jeans.
“Huh, I never thought my butt could make it into the headlines…”
Jared’s head snapped up, and he knew he was beet red at being caught, eyes wide as Ackles gave him a smirk around his fresh beer and took a step closer to Jared, eyes wandering up and down the reporter in return. “You really need to work on that sneaky routine there, Jared. You kinda suck at it.”
Jared slowly swallowed the lump in his throat, realizing that Ackles was playing him with cruel calculation. The man wasn’t just teasing Jared. He knew that Jared wasn’t merely interested in interviewing him. Only he didn’t know that, even though Jared could hardly deny that he thought Ackles was sex on legs, he had another agenda, hidden behind the lusting. Jared hadn’t planned on it, couldn’t have anticipated the other man to be as hot as he was, or to notice that he was being eyed up. But he could certainly act like he fell for the seduction. Act like part of him wanted to, like he would have done if he hadn’t suspected Ackles to be the key to the big game.
Jared bit his bottom lip before looking Ackles straight in the eye, and, damn, that man had the greenest eyes ever. “Who said I was trying to be sneaky?”
An eyebrow rose as Ackles retreated a little from his predatory prowl. “So a rising star on the TV screens like yourself wouldn’t care if people knew he was drooling over guys?”
Jared laughed, honest to God laughed. “Dude, I never made a secret out of it. Anyone who wants to find out will not have much of a problem doing so. I am a reporter not George Clooney… and not Jensen Ackles.” Jared shot a sidewards glance toward the riders and mechanics and managers that were scattered around the bar, none really paying their little banter any attention.
Ackles nodded, grinning. All play had left his body language, and Jared thought that this was Ackles being as honest as he could be. “I like you, Jared. You’re not scared.”
Jared nodded back, holding Ackles’ gaze, sides of his mouth turning up just slightly. “Neither are you, or you wouldn’t be flirting with a reporter like that.”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
~~~oo0oo~~~
By the time they left the bar, Jared was slightly tipsy but not overly drunk. Jensen was a little further down that road, but Jared doubted he had drunk enough to have a hangover the next day. Jared had learned a lot about Jensen Ackles in the last few hours. The man had a good sense of humor, and quite a few stories about the sport and its participants to tell. Jared had learned that Ackles liked dogs, missed the dry heat of Texas in the summer and would choose one good steak over ten pounds of first class Sushi. Jensen Ackles liked to tell anecdotes, but the one thing that made Jared even more interested was the fact that he didn’t really say anything. They spoke a lot but Jared had no idea who Jensen Ackles really was - other than a pretty face and an assortment of amusing stories.
That made the journalist, the investigator, in Jared interested. His inner bloodhound had long since perked up. Jensen Ackles had the great talent of talking a lot, making people feel like he shared, without actually exposing himself. This was usually the kind of skill undercover-cops, conmen and many other professional liars possessed. Men in Ackles line of work were more often bragging than not, although this man did not talk about work at all, no stories of greatness, of winning or training. He didn’t exactly circumvent questions regarding the races and training; he always answered, but never in depth, never more than it took to have Jared nod at the answer.
It was infuriating and intriguing at the same time, and Jared rolled his inner eyes at himself for over thinking this whole matter. He was sure Ackles faked races; he was sure that the driver kept secrets, and he’d find out what they were. Of course his determination would have been greater if the guy wasn’t hot as hell, but Jared was enough of a professional not to let a pair of stunning eyes and a cocky demeanor let him forget why he was there.
Then Jared found himself up against a wall, and he had to admit that it felt great. Jensen’s lips crushed against his, and he melted into the touch, opening his mouth to an insistent tongue and returning the kiss full force. Jensen’s hands pressed hard against his sides, keeping him in place. That was the moment that Jared’s mind gave in, and decided that he couldn’t call the other man by his family name anymore. The realization hit Jared hard, and he could practically feel his walls and his resolve falling away. This couldn’t be happening. He pushed Jensen away after a few minutes, trying to find an excuse, but before he could come up with anything Jensen just winked at him and left. Jared stood still as a statue for a moment, overwhelmed by the lingering memory of lips and hands. Shit, he was in trouble.
...next part...
Feedback is LOVE, please don't disappoint me here!
*hugs* Birdie