Safeword 1/3
Title: Safeword
Author: kaylynnkie
Disclaimer: Not Mine
Previous Installments of the Center 'Verse Here:
Based on jaenivitechia 's CW Center
Summary: A dystopian AU inspired by CW Center where corporal punishment is the norm and handled by dominant persons called caseworkers. Jensen is found guilty of several violations of speech and distribution of information and is sent to the Center for correction. He captivates a certain caseworker who knows better but can't stop his fascination with this specific case.
An appointment with the Center doesn't go entirely as planned.
Notes:These pieces are written as installments, so background isn't necessary. It certainly does clarifies some things to read the other parts if you choose to.
Pairing: Jared/Jensen, others mentioned in passing
Warnings: whipping, domination, strapping, humiliation, swearing, non-con, het, slash, femslash referenced
Word Count:10,455
Parts: I, II, III
Reviews make me smile!
Part One: Third Appointment
“This is an exercise, 67,” Jared paused, checking to make sure Jensen was holding onto the edge of the table securely. He thrust his knee between Jensen's legs, bracing them wide. “Relax.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“As I said before, 67. This is an exercise in trust.”
He let the air hang between them, heavy and silent, for a long time. When he spoke next, his voice was soft. “I am aware you have PTSD triggers. It is not the desire of the State to cause you anguish in any way. I am here to help you become a better citizen. What we are going to do here is about you trusting in others, in me. The State. When I crack the whip, you are to keep still.
Every time you move, either away from me or merely as reflex, you will receive five lashes with the whip. After you are able to stay still for the duration of a 100 lashes, your punishment will be over. Do you have any questions before we begin?”
“No, Sir.”
“You have read the pamphlet?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Are you ready to begin?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Jared turned to face the camera. “Case 67. Date; March 28, 2010; time; 10:45AM; caseworker; Jared.” He took a deep breath. “The case has reported for correctional blinding, and the State will provide.”
He approached Jensen from behind and fit a silk blindfold securely over his eyes before unfurling the whip he had been holding loosely in his left hand. Letting him know what was coming, Jared gently stroked the handle and leather over Jensen's exposed form.
“This is my whip, 67. It is the whip of the State, and today, I am the State. Respect the whip. Respect me. And respect the State.”
He cracked the whip loudly like lighting in a storm. To his disappointment, Jensen flinched.
“67, grip the frame.”
Jensen scrambled to obey before Jared brought the whip down hard across his backside. Over and over. Five thin red lines appeared across the taunt skin of his buttocks.
“Recite the stipulations of your punishment.”
“To keep still, Sir.”
“Why haven't you kept still then?”
He hesitated and Jared leaned forward to grip Jensen's chin.
“Answer me, 67,” he ordered quietly but firmly.
Jensen leaned into his touch slightly. “I'm afraid, Sir.”
“Of?” he pressed.
“You, Sir.”
Jared slowly removed his hand. “Thank you for being honest with me. We will resume now. Remember to keep still.”
He brought the whip down three times and found that the other man managed to keep perfectly still. “You're doing well. That was three.” The next five lashes were successful and Jared praised him.
But, tension was settling in his thighs and he was worked up from being so close to Jared that he flinched at the next two lashes. He heard Jared sigh, and his heart plummeted.
“I'm sorry, Sir.”
“I know you are,” he said kindly before proceeding to rain down 10 more unmerciful blows to his ass.
Jensen wavered and almost fell to his knees, but Jared pressed a large hand against his belly to hold him up. He placed his other hand on top of Jensen's.
“Keep your grip!” he snapped.
“Yes, Sir,” he gasped. “Try to, Sir.”
Worry knotted uncomfortably in Jared's chest. They weren't more than a tenth of the way through, and Jensen was exhausted. He ran his hands over the muscles of Jensen's legs to find that they were trembling, and a fine sheen of sweat covered his flesh.
“Good. Steady yourself,” he warned before cracking the whip once.
Pleased by Jensen's response, he stroked the tails of the ship down the middle of his back, soothing him in this small way. Three more cracks, and Jensen kept his place, trembling. But not flinching.
“Tell the State how you feel, 67.”
No answer.
“67”? he asked cautiously.
“Sorry, Sir!” He swallowed. “Afraid, Sir. I feel...afraid.”
He pressed further. “Why?”
“I'll get hit, Sir. Don't wanna get hit, Sir.” He rested his head on his knuckles. “Sorry, Sir,” he added softly. “Please...”
“Yes, 67?”
“Don't hate me, Sir,” he whispered.
“67, this is correction. No one hates anyone. Least of all me.”
When it became clear that Jensen was done speaking, Jared ran the whip over his flesh again. Up and down his inner thighs this time. Jensen shivered and rubbed against the leather.
“Careful,” Jared murmured.
This time he kept up a steady thrumming pace that Jensen relaxed into. “25 lashes done. You're doing well.”
The next lash made Jensen flinch. This time there was no warning when Jared rained down the blows. Jensen's cries were sharp and cut through the air, biting deep into Jared's core.
Jared set down the whip. “Take a moment to gather yourself.”
“Sir!” he cried out. “My leg hurts, Sir.”
He turned back to see Jensen's left calf tense in a cramp, and the man fell forward knocking into the frame before hitting the floor and curling into a ball.
“Hurts,” he whimpered.
Jared rushed forward and gathered the other man close. “I'm suspending the session. Come on. Let's get some ice on that and a heating pad.”
He lifted the other man up into his arms and walked through the back, where there was a private bath area. A mat was laid out on the floor, thick and plush.
“Here. Get down on you belly, Jensen.”
The other man looked at him warily, sliding down Jared's chest and whimpering when his feet came into contact with the floor. Jared caught him easily when he almost fell again and helped him lie down.
Calmly and methodically, Jared proceeded to first clean out the bleeding wounds on his ass and thighs and cover them with clean dressings. He places an ice pack across the tense muscle, then wiped away the sticky sheen of sweat away with a cool damp clothe. Before he removed the ice, he stood and opened a metal cabinet built into the wall and pulled out a warm towel, which he wrapped in a blanket. He switched the ice out for the warmth. Jensen sighed in content.
“Lay on your belly, Jen. Here's a pillow and while you wind down, I'll get your clothes.
~
Jensen closed his eyes gratefully and felt when Jared removed the keys from his wrist. He let himself drift between unconsciousness and consciousness. Occasionally, the warmth of Jared's hands pressed against his flesh, and he sighed, relishing in the feeling of safety and comfort it ignited within him.
“Come on, Jen. Let's get you dressed.”
Jared gently tugged on Jensen's underwear and jeans, taking care to jostle his wounds as little as possible.
“I can finish,” he murmured taking his shirt from Jared and pulling it on with his socks.
Jared watched him intently. “You cut your lip.”
His hand flew up to his lower lip, and he was surprised when the tips of his fingers caught on the forming scab. “I fell,” he whispered.
There was a tangible fear in his voice that Jared didn't like at all. He sat down near the mat and motioned for Jensen to sit by him.
“Or you can sit on the toilet.”
Jensen chose the latter and looked down at Jared silently.
“I'm sorry you fell. That should not have happened. I'm going to apply for a change in your sentencing program. I don't like the blinding,” he added quietly.
The other man tilted his head careful not to say anything, but Jared was willing to bet there was something akin to affection in his eyes.
“There is another option available to,” he paused here before repeating himself. “There is another option available for special cases at the Center. A pleasure session instead of a punishment session would be a different experience. The goal, overall, would be the same. I am here to help you become a better citizen of the State in any way I can. The implementation of the punishment would be different. Our relationship at the Center would become more...sexually demanding than physically demanding. Would you be willing to make that concession?”
Jensen toyed with the hem of his shirt, thinking all of what he was saying over carefully and trying to ignore the burning pain of his ass. He wriggled uncomfortably.
Jared took notice of his movements. “Are you comfortable here?” He frowned. “We'll go upstairs to the main offices.”
He stood up, unfolding himself from this curled up ball into this gigantic form of a man, and reached out to tug Jensen to his feet. He took Jensen back through the room but went through a different door that went down another hallway to an elevator. Jensen folded his arms self consciously, rubbing his arms anxiously. The elevator was made of glass, and when they stepped inside, Jared pushed the button for floor 30. Upstairs was a world away from the emergency room sterility of the reception area Jensen walked through for his appointments. Where Jared brought him was well lit and cheery. The carpet was thick and lush, and Jensen felt a little guilty when his dirty sneakers left marks over the pretty colors. Portraits hung on the wall in a strange juxtaposition to the somberness of the Center and what was happening on the lower floors. Jensen paused at a particularly captivating oil canvas of a woman sitting in front of a window. Her chin was resting on the top of her hand and elegant jewelry hung loose on her wrists and was draped eccentrically from her neck. He reached to touch the painted pendent in the shape of a hear but stopped short.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jared watched Jensen carefully. What he was doing was incredibly unorthodox. Cases weren't typically allowed on the upper levels even if they were accompanied by caseworkers.
“Come on, Jensen. We'll stop on the way out if you want to look.”
Jensen jumped and turned to him in surprise, eyes wide as if he had forgotten that someone else was there with him. His hand fell slowly to his side. Nodding reluctantly, he followed. They stopped in front of a large entryway. Jensen took a step back when the doors swung open wide, but Jared was behind him, gripping his elbow and firmly pushing him inside. The office was made almost entirely of glass.
It was warm inside and smelled of lavender. There were two large desks in front of a set of smaller see through glass doors. They had pretty frosted designs on them, and Jensen wanted to run his fingers over the swirls and feel whether or not they were smooth. Maybe he could do something like that the next time he did a painting. Jared spoke quietly with one of the men behind the desk and was led into through the glass doors. Jensen only noticed because the frosted glass changed when the light caught it, and he could see the dark color of Jared's pants swirling darkly when the delicate decoration blended with the ruggedness of Jared's clothing. Reality crashing into fantasy. He froze suddenly, realizing for the first time that he was all alone, and he didn't know any of these people. He started to gasp desperately for air, and the room started to darken and close in around him.
“Hey there,” a woman said touching his elbow. “Let me help you sit down.” She led him over to a comfortable chair with a small stack of magazines and books on a table next to it. “Can I get you some water?” He nodded mutely, and she went through a door Jensen couldn't remember seeing when they first came in. There were too many doors. Too many ways to get lost. It was too...
“There we are!” she declared in triumph and passed him a glass full of more ice than water.
He accepted it with a soft, “Thank you,” and settled deeper into the cushions, hopeful that he could vanish into their large plushness.
He didn't.
When the doors opened again, it wasn't Jared who came out but instead, a man who was slightly shorter and wearing a suit and earpiece. He spoke in a rough bark that frightened Jensen into movement.
“67 Ackles!”
Jensen jumped up. “Yes, Sir?”
“You're wanted inside.”
He left his glass on the table, a ring of water forming underneath , and followed the newest stranger he had encountered today.
The room was even nicer than the doors. Huge windows formed one of the walls and led out onto a balcony. What of the view he could make out from here was breathtaking. This place must have soured above the sky because he could see the entire city below and the fluffy white tops of some of the clouds. There were men and women seated at a large round table dressed in fancy suits and looking extremely busy and bored at the same time. Jared was seated nearest the door, and for the first time, Jensen noticed that the band on his arm bore the same silver CW as the building because it was on all of their lapels.
It was an older man who spoke first. He was middle aged and a little pudgy, the hair on his head was thinning and he smiled sadly. “Hello, Mr. Ackles. My name is Erik Kripke. I'm a senior partner here at the CW Center. Please, sit down. Wherever you prefer.”
There was a general murmur of agreement. Jensen looked at Jared hopefully, but he didn't see a seat next to him and began to panic. Jared, however, seemed to understand the cause of his unease.
“Can he sit next to me, Eric?”
Eric nodded and gestured to the big man from before, and a chair was set down next to Jared. Jensen took it and waited for someone to start talking.
“It's been brought to our attention by Jared,” a woman was speaking this time, “that your sentence should be reconsidered. As a member of the Review Committee, I do have to admit that I don't see a whole lot of progress from the current course of treatment. Do you disagree?”
Jensen felt his chest clench. “Lock up?” he whispered.
“No.” She shook her head. “I don't think that's the best place for you right now.”
Jared leaned forward, and Jensen leaned back. He didn't understand, and he felt foolish for not understanding when everyone else seemed to.
“Jared has suggested a pleasure scene. Are you familiar with the Center's involvement in creating a fantasy atmosphere for those who benefit from a restriction of control and movement during pleasurably activities?”
“BDSM?” he asked unable to stop himself from raising an eyebrow.
There was a soft chorus of polite laughter. “Similar. However, you are a case of the State. We want you to benefit from your time here. Your classes help, but Jared has suggested something that he thinks this will be more powerful. You do have the right to refuse this alternative and continue your current treatment,” she paused, “or as you mentioned before, there is always lockup.”
He spoke before he could stop himself. “Why didn't Jared tie me up?”
The youngest looking women out of all of them spoke up. Her hair was bright blonde, and on any other day, Jensen would have said she was pretty, but the set of her mouth made her hard.
“The Center practices blinding. At this stage in your recovery program, you should have been able to hold your position with little difficulty. The fact that you were unable to does speak to Jared's concern about this course of treatment, though.”
“That's not fair, Alona.” Jared was speaking now, and his tone was clipped, serious. “Blinding only has an eight percent success rate with most sessions ending in injury or worse. It's dangerous for the case and the caseworker.”
“We can only ask for everyone to follow the safety guidelines. We cannot enforce them. That is the job of the caseworkers. Is it not?”
Jared tightened his hand into a fist, but he said nothing more on the matter. “I understand what you're trying to say, Alona.”
Eric cleared his throat softly and the others at the table turned to him. “Jensen, this is your treatment, and we have very high hopes for you. You are a very promising case. Jared agrees that you have amazing potential. Now,” he leaned forward, resting his chin on the tops of his hands, “should you agree to this alternate procedure, you will not have the aid of our general pamphlets and suggested correction courses. Jared will personalize a plan for, and he is a trusted caseworker here. You will answer to him, and he will provide the best care you could imagine.”
The woman who had given Jensen the water in the waiting area entered the room carrying a small stack of paper and several pens. “Here is the revised contract you asked for, Mr. Kripke.”
“Very good.” He smiled at her and took the offered papers. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome, Sir.” She smiled back before walking out quietly.
Eric passed the papers down to Jensen. “This is yours. You have 48 hours to decide if this is the course of action you would like to take. If you decide yes, then bring this back and Jared will set up your first scene that day. If not, then dispose of this contract and report back in a month. You still come back in a month regardless, so you should make that appointment before you leave.”
~
The drive back to Jensen's apartment was quiet. The older man refused to look at Jared, and Jared didn't want to admit that it upset him in some small way. When the pulled in to the parking lot, Jensen got out and walked into the building without looking back. Jared stayed in the car, chewing his lip and trying to decide if he would be overstepping his bounds by following him inside. After reaching the third consecutive 'I still have to work with him,' he cursed himself and shoved the door open.
Caseworkers had key-card access to all of their cases homes and places of work. Since Jensen's was an all in one, it was an even better perk than usual. Jared slid his card through the reader and it whirred for a moment before shining the tell tale blue and unlocking. He stepped into the space and was instantly comforted by the atmosphere. The same safety he had felt that first afternoon when he had driven Jensen home overwhelmed him and embraced him at the same time. He could hear water running in another room. Making himself at home, he found the kitchen and poured himself a glass of lemonade from the fridge and rooted around for something to munch on. He was starving and...nervous.
It couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes later, when he heard the water turn off and puttering about coming from the bathroom. Jensen entered the kitchen in a pair of jeans and a towel draped around his shoulders. He didn't look all that surprised to see Jared leaning against the counter eating crackers almost conspiratorially and merely nodded before starting to make a cup of coffee.
“Are you going to agree to the contract?”
Jensen's mouth twisted as if he were in pain, and Jared mentally kicked himself. Of course he wasn't ready to talk about all of his options yet. They had just had a session and it had ended on the most terrible note so far. It hadn't even technically ended. It had been suspended due to an unintended injury.
“You don't have to-”
“Can we pretend I have some control in my own home?” he muttered quietly. “At least for a little while?”
He glared and Jared felt his stomach plummet.
“Why the hell did you do that?”
“Because I don't like blinding,” he said easily. “It's not safe. A lot of cases get hurt that way, and I don't like seeing them get hurt.”
“You didn't tell me you were going to propose a sentence change today, Jared.”
The other man looked up at his name. It sounded strangely alien after hearing Jensen call him 'Sir' for so long.
“I didn't think that you would consider the idea if I didn't prove to you that I was serious about proposing it. There didn't seem to a better time.”
“You lied to me,” he whispered. “You promised me you were gonna help me.”
And that was when Jared noticed the bright pools of tears in Jensen's eyes. The other man had wrapped his arms around himself and was trying not to lose it.
“I am,” he promised, stepping towards Jensen experimentally. When the other man didn't pull away, he drew him close. “I know you feel like I hid something from you, but I didn't. I take my job very seriously, Jen. Your safety and your growth are the most important things to me. I didn't ask for a -Wait.” He pulled back, gripping Jensen's shoulders. “Do you think I asked for a change in treatment because I want sexual power over you?”
Jensen shrugged, his eyes glued to the floor.
“Jensen.” Lowering his voice when he saw Jensen flinch, he repeated gently, “Jensen. I would never abuse my power like that.” He tilted Jensen's face up towards him. “Listen to me. I promise. I would never do that to you. You can trust me. I've never lied to you.”
“I don't think...I don't know if I can be that with you if we're not,” he motioned at the air between them, and Jared sighed.
“A relationship is the last thing you need right now, and the Center prohibits involvement between cases and caseworkers while they're still engaged in a Center rehabilitation program. I can't give that to you right now.”
He looked hurt, and he really had every right to. They were both thinking back to that one night where Jared had stayed over and done a whole lot more than 'rehabilitate.'
“Where the hell do you get off being so high and mighty?” he snapped and stepped back, folding his arms. The cup of coffee was resting on the counter.
“I'm not the one with the criminal record!” Once the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could scoop them all up and put them back in.
A stricken look crossed Jensen's face, and he picked up the coffee and retreated into the living room. Jared's chest tightened. He knew better than to use his case's records as a weapon against them. Jensen knew that he had done something wrong, hell, he was reminded every single day. He was forced to wear an ID bracelet, report his itinerary every week, attend sessions at the Center and go to Citizenship classes. The fact that he still didn't think he had done anything wrong wasn't helping either.
He poured himself his own cup of coffee and followed Jensen. The older man was curled up on the sofa, gazing off into the distance. Jared set down his mug on the table next to Jensen's and settled down on his knees.
“I lied.”
Jensen looked down at him, but he didn't say anything.
“About the criminal record thing,” he continued. “About not having one. I did. I used to.” He toyed with the chain around his wrist, a plate hung from it with his caseworker number on it. “If you'd like to hear it, I'd like to tell you about my time at the Center.”
Those green eyes lit up with interest, and Jared felt happiness bubble up inside of him as he realized that he was the reason Jensen looked so happy. Even if it was happiness at his mistakes
“My family is from the higher sects of the city. They're...wealthy.”
“Which family?”
He shook his head. “It doesn't-”
More firmly this time. “I want to know. Which family?”
“The Padeleckies.” He flinched at Jensen's sharp intake of breath, but he didn't say anything. For that Jared was grateful. “I was young...stupid. It was just after Chancellor Gamble had assumed power. I was seventeen and thought the world was my plaything.” He smiled bitterly. “So, I started drinking and...betting. It was foolish and selfish and...” he drifted off shaking his head. “I bet against the wrong people. There was a race down at the track my parents owned before it was made illegal and there was a mare who never lost.
And I thought I was so smart. So much better than everyone else because I knew stuff, you know? There wasn't even a good reason. I bet on her. Desert Storm was her name and I bet on her against this guy: Martin Kane. He was friends with my parents and my godfather. He bet on the circuit with high stakes. I had been drinking and partying. There was this pretty girl who suggested it, and I though 'what the hell?' I laid down money and got a ticket on loan with a high interest rate. I was at home when the results came in. The call came in around 2AM. My grandmother picked up and I'll never forget the look on her face.
She was so mad at me.”
Jensen looked up at his tone. Jared's voice had been steady throughout the whole story not pausing once and not inflecting in the slightest. When he mentioned his grandmother, though, it started to crack and waver.
“See,” he paused and ran his fingers through his hair in annoyance. “See, I had brought shame to out family name. The Padeleckies are never wrong, and that's all there is to it. My mother, she tried to defend me, but my grandmother had backed her into a corner. My mom didn't have any claim to the fortune, and I don't think my dad would ever leave her high and dry, but in my family you never know.
She,” he laughed bitterly here. “Grandma was furious with me. She refused to pay off the debt, and my dad couldn't go against his own mother. Judge Harlan gave my two months of Center correction, but it didn't do much for me. Physical pain isn't...scary for me or pleasant either. I ended up back in his courtroom a handful of times and my family disowned me. Haven't seen them in years.”
Harlan felt bad I think. I wasn't a bad kid. I didn't hurt anyone, but I kept getting in trouble. I didn't have a job or money. He gave me a rehabilitation assignment at the Center as a caseworker. I was nineteen years old. I'd had at least ten years of sentencing built up. Harlan said if I stayed for five, then I was free to go. Or stay.” Jared smiled. “I think he knew I needed something like this. Being able to help people without tripping all over my family's purse strings.”
Jensen frowned. “I don't know what you want from me.”
“Nothing. It doesn't matter. I just wanted you to know.”
“You think I did something wrong.”
“You did.”
“I didn't,” he said shaking his head. “I did what I thought was right, and I don't think there's anything you can tell me that's going to change that.”
Jared laughed and grunted a little as he got up from kneeling on the floor. It had to hurt, but he didn't complain. “That's why I want you to start doing pleasure sessions with me. All you see in our sessions is abuse. Until you can differentiate correction from mistreatment all these sessions aren't going to accomplish anything.” He gripped Jensen's chin in his palm. Not hard but enough so that Jensen couldn't break free. “You don't think I care.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched between them. Jared held his gaze until Jensen couldn't bear it anymore and looked away.
“Did you like what we did that night?”
His face flamed but Jared kept a firm grip on his jaw until he nodded.
“What was that?”
“I liked it.”
He heard Jared laugh softly.
“Did you now?”
“Yes,” he snapped.
“Yes what?”
His tone softened. “Yes, Sir.”
Jared smiled and rubbed his thumb over Jensen's lower lip. They were so close Jared could have leaned forward and captured those lips with his own. Instead, he blew out a shaky breath.
“Will I see you in two days?”
Jensen blushed nodding with enthusiasm.
He left Jensen there breathless and trembling with anticipation on the sofa.
He left a piece of paper on Jensen's desk hoping that the other man would be willing to give it a try. When he shut the door behind himself, Jared smiled.
Part II
Author: kaylynnkie
Disclaimer: Not Mine
Previous Installments of the Center 'Verse Here:
Based on jaenivitechia 's CW Center
Summary: A dystopian AU inspired by CW Center where corporal punishment is the norm and handled by dominant persons called caseworkers. Jensen is found guilty of several violations of speech and distribution of information and is sent to the Center for correction. He captivates a certain caseworker who knows better but can't stop his fascination with this specific case.
An appointment with the Center doesn't go entirely as planned.
Notes:These pieces are written as installments, so background isn't necessary. It certainly does clarifies some things to read the other parts if you choose to.
Pairing: Jared/Jensen, others mentioned in passing
Warnings: whipping, domination, strapping, humiliation, swearing, non-con, het, slash, femslash referenced
Word Count:10,455
Parts: I, II, III
Reviews make me smile!
Part One: Third Appointment
“This is an exercise, 67,” Jared paused, checking to make sure Jensen was holding onto the edge of the table securely. He thrust his knee between Jensen's legs, bracing them wide. “Relax.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“As I said before, 67. This is an exercise in trust.”
He let the air hang between them, heavy and silent, for a long time. When he spoke next, his voice was soft. “I am aware you have PTSD triggers. It is not the desire of the State to cause you anguish in any way. I am here to help you become a better citizen. What we are going to do here is about you trusting in others, in me. The State. When I crack the whip, you are to keep still.
Every time you move, either away from me or merely as reflex, you will receive five lashes with the whip. After you are able to stay still for the duration of a 100 lashes, your punishment will be over. Do you have any questions before we begin?”
“No, Sir.”
“You have read the pamphlet?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Are you ready to begin?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Jared turned to face the camera. “Case 67. Date; March 28, 2010; time; 10:45AM; caseworker; Jared.” He took a deep breath. “The case has reported for correctional blinding, and the State will provide.”
He approached Jensen from behind and fit a silk blindfold securely over his eyes before unfurling the whip he had been holding loosely in his left hand. Letting him know what was coming, Jared gently stroked the handle and leather over Jensen's exposed form.
“This is my whip, 67. It is the whip of the State, and today, I am the State. Respect the whip. Respect me. And respect the State.”
He cracked the whip loudly like lighting in a storm. To his disappointment, Jensen flinched.
“67, grip the frame.”
Jensen scrambled to obey before Jared brought the whip down hard across his backside. Over and over. Five thin red lines appeared across the taunt skin of his buttocks.
“Recite the stipulations of your punishment.”
“To keep still, Sir.”
“Why haven't you kept still then?”
He hesitated and Jared leaned forward to grip Jensen's chin.
“Answer me, 67,” he ordered quietly but firmly.
Jensen leaned into his touch slightly. “I'm afraid, Sir.”
“Of?” he pressed.
“You, Sir.”
Jared slowly removed his hand. “Thank you for being honest with me. We will resume now. Remember to keep still.”
He brought the whip down three times and found that the other man managed to keep perfectly still. “You're doing well. That was three.” The next five lashes were successful and Jared praised him.
But, tension was settling in his thighs and he was worked up from being so close to Jared that he flinched at the next two lashes. He heard Jared sigh, and his heart plummeted.
“I'm sorry, Sir.”
“I know you are,” he said kindly before proceeding to rain down 10 more unmerciful blows to his ass.
Jensen wavered and almost fell to his knees, but Jared pressed a large hand against his belly to hold him up. He placed his other hand on top of Jensen's.
“Keep your grip!” he snapped.
“Yes, Sir,” he gasped. “Try to, Sir.”
Worry knotted uncomfortably in Jared's chest. They weren't more than a tenth of the way through, and Jensen was exhausted. He ran his hands over the muscles of Jensen's legs to find that they were trembling, and a fine sheen of sweat covered his flesh.
“Good. Steady yourself,” he warned before cracking the whip once.
Pleased by Jensen's response, he stroked the tails of the ship down the middle of his back, soothing him in this small way. Three more cracks, and Jensen kept his place, trembling. But not flinching.
“Tell the State how you feel, 67.”
No answer.
“67”? he asked cautiously.
“Sorry, Sir!” He swallowed. “Afraid, Sir. I feel...afraid.”
He pressed further. “Why?”
“I'll get hit, Sir. Don't wanna get hit, Sir.” He rested his head on his knuckles. “Sorry, Sir,” he added softly. “Please...”
“Yes, 67?”
“Don't hate me, Sir,” he whispered.
“67, this is correction. No one hates anyone. Least of all me.”
When it became clear that Jensen was done speaking, Jared ran the whip over his flesh again. Up and down his inner thighs this time. Jensen shivered and rubbed against the leather.
“Careful,” Jared murmured.
This time he kept up a steady thrumming pace that Jensen relaxed into. “25 lashes done. You're doing well.”
The next lash made Jensen flinch. This time there was no warning when Jared rained down the blows. Jensen's cries were sharp and cut through the air, biting deep into Jared's core.
Jared set down the whip. “Take a moment to gather yourself.”
“Sir!” he cried out. “My leg hurts, Sir.”
He turned back to see Jensen's left calf tense in a cramp, and the man fell forward knocking into the frame before hitting the floor and curling into a ball.
“Hurts,” he whimpered.
Jared rushed forward and gathered the other man close. “I'm suspending the session. Come on. Let's get some ice on that and a heating pad.”
He lifted the other man up into his arms and walked through the back, where there was a private bath area. A mat was laid out on the floor, thick and plush.
“Here. Get down on you belly, Jensen.”
The other man looked at him warily, sliding down Jared's chest and whimpering when his feet came into contact with the floor. Jared caught him easily when he almost fell again and helped him lie down.
Calmly and methodically, Jared proceeded to first clean out the bleeding wounds on his ass and thighs and cover them with clean dressings. He places an ice pack across the tense muscle, then wiped away the sticky sheen of sweat away with a cool damp clothe. Before he removed the ice, he stood and opened a metal cabinet built into the wall and pulled out a warm towel, which he wrapped in a blanket. He switched the ice out for the warmth. Jensen sighed in content.
“Lay on your belly, Jen. Here's a pillow and while you wind down, I'll get your clothes.
~
Jensen closed his eyes gratefully and felt when Jared removed the keys from his wrist. He let himself drift between unconsciousness and consciousness. Occasionally, the warmth of Jared's hands pressed against his flesh, and he sighed, relishing in the feeling of safety and comfort it ignited within him.
“Come on, Jen. Let's get you dressed.”
Jared gently tugged on Jensen's underwear and jeans, taking care to jostle his wounds as little as possible.
“I can finish,” he murmured taking his shirt from Jared and pulling it on with his socks.
Jared watched him intently. “You cut your lip.”
His hand flew up to his lower lip, and he was surprised when the tips of his fingers caught on the forming scab. “I fell,” he whispered.
There was a tangible fear in his voice that Jared didn't like at all. He sat down near the mat and motioned for Jensen to sit by him.
“Or you can sit on the toilet.”
Jensen chose the latter and looked down at Jared silently.
“I'm sorry you fell. That should not have happened. I'm going to apply for a change in your sentencing program. I don't like the blinding,” he added quietly.
The other man tilted his head careful not to say anything, but Jared was willing to bet there was something akin to affection in his eyes.
“There is another option available to,” he paused here before repeating himself. “There is another option available for special cases at the Center. A pleasure session instead of a punishment session would be a different experience. The goal, overall, would be the same. I am here to help you become a better citizen of the State in any way I can. The implementation of the punishment would be different. Our relationship at the Center would become more...sexually demanding than physically demanding. Would you be willing to make that concession?”
Jensen toyed with the hem of his shirt, thinking all of what he was saying over carefully and trying to ignore the burning pain of his ass. He wriggled uncomfortably.
Jared took notice of his movements. “Are you comfortable here?” He frowned. “We'll go upstairs to the main offices.”
He stood up, unfolding himself from this curled up ball into this gigantic form of a man, and reached out to tug Jensen to his feet. He took Jensen back through the room but went through a different door that went down another hallway to an elevator. Jensen folded his arms self consciously, rubbing his arms anxiously. The elevator was made of glass, and when they stepped inside, Jared pushed the button for floor 30. Upstairs was a world away from the emergency room sterility of the reception area Jensen walked through for his appointments. Where Jared brought him was well lit and cheery. The carpet was thick and lush, and Jensen felt a little guilty when his dirty sneakers left marks over the pretty colors. Portraits hung on the wall in a strange juxtaposition to the somberness of the Center and what was happening on the lower floors. Jensen paused at a particularly captivating oil canvas of a woman sitting in front of a window. Her chin was resting on the top of her hand and elegant jewelry hung loose on her wrists and was draped eccentrically from her neck. He reached to touch the painted pendent in the shape of a hear but stopped short.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jared watched Jensen carefully. What he was doing was incredibly unorthodox. Cases weren't typically allowed on the upper levels even if they were accompanied by caseworkers.
“Come on, Jensen. We'll stop on the way out if you want to look.”
Jensen jumped and turned to him in surprise, eyes wide as if he had forgotten that someone else was there with him. His hand fell slowly to his side. Nodding reluctantly, he followed. They stopped in front of a large entryway. Jensen took a step back when the doors swung open wide, but Jared was behind him, gripping his elbow and firmly pushing him inside. The office was made almost entirely of glass.
It was warm inside and smelled of lavender. There were two large desks in front of a set of smaller see through glass doors. They had pretty frosted designs on them, and Jensen wanted to run his fingers over the swirls and feel whether or not they were smooth. Maybe he could do something like that the next time he did a painting. Jared spoke quietly with one of the men behind the desk and was led into through the glass doors. Jensen only noticed because the frosted glass changed when the light caught it, and he could see the dark color of Jared's pants swirling darkly when the delicate decoration blended with the ruggedness of Jared's clothing. Reality crashing into fantasy. He froze suddenly, realizing for the first time that he was all alone, and he didn't know any of these people. He started to gasp desperately for air, and the room started to darken and close in around him.
“Hey there,” a woman said touching his elbow. “Let me help you sit down.” She led him over to a comfortable chair with a small stack of magazines and books on a table next to it. “Can I get you some water?” He nodded mutely, and she went through a door Jensen couldn't remember seeing when they first came in. There were too many doors. Too many ways to get lost. It was too...
“There we are!” she declared in triumph and passed him a glass full of more ice than water.
He accepted it with a soft, “Thank you,” and settled deeper into the cushions, hopeful that he could vanish into their large plushness.
He didn't.
When the doors opened again, it wasn't Jared who came out but instead, a man who was slightly shorter and wearing a suit and earpiece. He spoke in a rough bark that frightened Jensen into movement.
“67 Ackles!”
Jensen jumped up. “Yes, Sir?”
“You're wanted inside.”
He left his glass on the table, a ring of water forming underneath , and followed the newest stranger he had encountered today.
The room was even nicer than the doors. Huge windows formed one of the walls and led out onto a balcony. What of the view he could make out from here was breathtaking. This place must have soured above the sky because he could see the entire city below and the fluffy white tops of some of the clouds. There were men and women seated at a large round table dressed in fancy suits and looking extremely busy and bored at the same time. Jared was seated nearest the door, and for the first time, Jensen noticed that the band on his arm bore the same silver CW as the building because it was on all of their lapels.
It was an older man who spoke first. He was middle aged and a little pudgy, the hair on his head was thinning and he smiled sadly. “Hello, Mr. Ackles. My name is Erik Kripke. I'm a senior partner here at the CW Center. Please, sit down. Wherever you prefer.”
There was a general murmur of agreement. Jensen looked at Jared hopefully, but he didn't see a seat next to him and began to panic. Jared, however, seemed to understand the cause of his unease.
“Can he sit next to me, Eric?”
Eric nodded and gestured to the big man from before, and a chair was set down next to Jared. Jensen took it and waited for someone to start talking.
“It's been brought to our attention by Jared,” a woman was speaking this time, “that your sentence should be reconsidered. As a member of the Review Committee, I do have to admit that I don't see a whole lot of progress from the current course of treatment. Do you disagree?”
Jensen felt his chest clench. “Lock up?” he whispered.
“No.” She shook her head. “I don't think that's the best place for you right now.”
Jared leaned forward, and Jensen leaned back. He didn't understand, and he felt foolish for not understanding when everyone else seemed to.
“Jared has suggested a pleasure scene. Are you familiar with the Center's involvement in creating a fantasy atmosphere for those who benefit from a restriction of control and movement during pleasurably activities?”
“BDSM?” he asked unable to stop himself from raising an eyebrow.
There was a soft chorus of polite laughter. “Similar. However, you are a case of the State. We want you to benefit from your time here. Your classes help, but Jared has suggested something that he thinks this will be more powerful. You do have the right to refuse this alternative and continue your current treatment,” she paused, “or as you mentioned before, there is always lockup.”
He spoke before he could stop himself. “Why didn't Jared tie me up?”
The youngest looking women out of all of them spoke up. Her hair was bright blonde, and on any other day, Jensen would have said she was pretty, but the set of her mouth made her hard.
“The Center practices blinding. At this stage in your recovery program, you should have been able to hold your position with little difficulty. The fact that you were unable to does speak to Jared's concern about this course of treatment, though.”
“That's not fair, Alona.” Jared was speaking now, and his tone was clipped, serious. “Blinding only has an eight percent success rate with most sessions ending in injury or worse. It's dangerous for the case and the caseworker.”
“We can only ask for everyone to follow the safety guidelines. We cannot enforce them. That is the job of the caseworkers. Is it not?”
Jared tightened his hand into a fist, but he said nothing more on the matter. “I understand what you're trying to say, Alona.”
Eric cleared his throat softly and the others at the table turned to him. “Jensen, this is your treatment, and we have very high hopes for you. You are a very promising case. Jared agrees that you have amazing potential. Now,” he leaned forward, resting his chin on the tops of his hands, “should you agree to this alternate procedure, you will not have the aid of our general pamphlets and suggested correction courses. Jared will personalize a plan for, and he is a trusted caseworker here. You will answer to him, and he will provide the best care you could imagine.”
The woman who had given Jensen the water in the waiting area entered the room carrying a small stack of paper and several pens. “Here is the revised contract you asked for, Mr. Kripke.”
“Very good.” He smiled at her and took the offered papers. “Thank you.”
“You're welcome, Sir.” She smiled back before walking out quietly.
Eric passed the papers down to Jensen. “This is yours. You have 48 hours to decide if this is the course of action you would like to take. If you decide yes, then bring this back and Jared will set up your first scene that day. If not, then dispose of this contract and report back in a month. You still come back in a month regardless, so you should make that appointment before you leave.”
~
The drive back to Jensen's apartment was quiet. The older man refused to look at Jared, and Jared didn't want to admit that it upset him in some small way. When the pulled in to the parking lot, Jensen got out and walked into the building without looking back. Jared stayed in the car, chewing his lip and trying to decide if he would be overstepping his bounds by following him inside. After reaching the third consecutive 'I still have to work with him,' he cursed himself and shoved the door open.
Caseworkers had key-card access to all of their cases homes and places of work. Since Jensen's was an all in one, it was an even better perk than usual. Jared slid his card through the reader and it whirred for a moment before shining the tell tale blue and unlocking. He stepped into the space and was instantly comforted by the atmosphere. The same safety he had felt that first afternoon when he had driven Jensen home overwhelmed him and embraced him at the same time. He could hear water running in another room. Making himself at home, he found the kitchen and poured himself a glass of lemonade from the fridge and rooted around for something to munch on. He was starving and...nervous.
It couldn't have been more than fifteen minutes later, when he heard the water turn off and puttering about coming from the bathroom. Jensen entered the kitchen in a pair of jeans and a towel draped around his shoulders. He didn't look all that surprised to see Jared leaning against the counter eating crackers almost conspiratorially and merely nodded before starting to make a cup of coffee.
“Are you going to agree to the contract?”
Jensen's mouth twisted as if he were in pain, and Jared mentally kicked himself. Of course he wasn't ready to talk about all of his options yet. They had just had a session and it had ended on the most terrible note so far. It hadn't even technically ended. It had been suspended due to an unintended injury.
“You don't have to-”
“Can we pretend I have some control in my own home?” he muttered quietly. “At least for a little while?”
He glared and Jared felt his stomach plummet.
“Why the hell did you do that?”
“Because I don't like blinding,” he said easily. “It's not safe. A lot of cases get hurt that way, and I don't like seeing them get hurt.”
“You didn't tell me you were going to propose a sentence change today, Jared.”
The other man looked up at his name. It sounded strangely alien after hearing Jensen call him 'Sir' for so long.
“I didn't think that you would consider the idea if I didn't prove to you that I was serious about proposing it. There didn't seem to a better time.”
“You lied to me,” he whispered. “You promised me you were gonna help me.”
And that was when Jared noticed the bright pools of tears in Jensen's eyes. The other man had wrapped his arms around himself and was trying not to lose it.
“I am,” he promised, stepping towards Jensen experimentally. When the other man didn't pull away, he drew him close. “I know you feel like I hid something from you, but I didn't. I take my job very seriously, Jen. Your safety and your growth are the most important things to me. I didn't ask for a -Wait.” He pulled back, gripping Jensen's shoulders. “Do you think I asked for a change in treatment because I want sexual power over you?”
Jensen shrugged, his eyes glued to the floor.
“Jensen.” Lowering his voice when he saw Jensen flinch, he repeated gently, “Jensen. I would never abuse my power like that.” He tilted Jensen's face up towards him. “Listen to me. I promise. I would never do that to you. You can trust me. I've never lied to you.”
“I don't think...I don't know if I can be that with you if we're not,” he motioned at the air between them, and Jared sighed.
“A relationship is the last thing you need right now, and the Center prohibits involvement between cases and caseworkers while they're still engaged in a Center rehabilitation program. I can't give that to you right now.”
He looked hurt, and he really had every right to. They were both thinking back to that one night where Jared had stayed over and done a whole lot more than 'rehabilitate.'
“Where the hell do you get off being so high and mighty?” he snapped and stepped back, folding his arms. The cup of coffee was resting on the counter.
“I'm not the one with the criminal record!” Once the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could scoop them all up and put them back in.
A stricken look crossed Jensen's face, and he picked up the coffee and retreated into the living room. Jared's chest tightened. He knew better than to use his case's records as a weapon against them. Jensen knew that he had done something wrong, hell, he was reminded every single day. He was forced to wear an ID bracelet, report his itinerary every week, attend sessions at the Center and go to Citizenship classes. The fact that he still didn't think he had done anything wrong wasn't helping either.
He poured himself his own cup of coffee and followed Jensen. The older man was curled up on the sofa, gazing off into the distance. Jared set down his mug on the table next to Jensen's and settled down on his knees.
“I lied.”
Jensen looked down at him, but he didn't say anything.
“About the criminal record thing,” he continued. “About not having one. I did. I used to.” He toyed with the chain around his wrist, a plate hung from it with his caseworker number on it. “If you'd like to hear it, I'd like to tell you about my time at the Center.”
Those green eyes lit up with interest, and Jared felt happiness bubble up inside of him as he realized that he was the reason Jensen looked so happy. Even if it was happiness at his mistakes
“My family is from the higher sects of the city. They're...wealthy.”
“Which family?”
He shook his head. “It doesn't-”
More firmly this time. “I want to know. Which family?”
“The Padeleckies.” He flinched at Jensen's sharp intake of breath, but he didn't say anything. For that Jared was grateful. “I was young...stupid. It was just after Chancellor Gamble had assumed power. I was seventeen and thought the world was my plaything.” He smiled bitterly. “So, I started drinking and...betting. It was foolish and selfish and...” he drifted off shaking his head. “I bet against the wrong people. There was a race down at the track my parents owned before it was made illegal and there was a mare who never lost.
And I thought I was so smart. So much better than everyone else because I knew stuff, you know? There wasn't even a good reason. I bet on her. Desert Storm was her name and I bet on her against this guy: Martin Kane. He was friends with my parents and my godfather. He bet on the circuit with high stakes. I had been drinking and partying. There was this pretty girl who suggested it, and I though 'what the hell?' I laid down money and got a ticket on loan with a high interest rate. I was at home when the results came in. The call came in around 2AM. My grandmother picked up and I'll never forget the look on her face.
She was so mad at me.”
Jensen looked up at his tone. Jared's voice had been steady throughout the whole story not pausing once and not inflecting in the slightest. When he mentioned his grandmother, though, it started to crack and waver.
“See,” he paused and ran his fingers through his hair in annoyance. “See, I had brought shame to out family name. The Padeleckies are never wrong, and that's all there is to it. My mother, she tried to defend me, but my grandmother had backed her into a corner. My mom didn't have any claim to the fortune, and I don't think my dad would ever leave her high and dry, but in my family you never know.
She,” he laughed bitterly here. “Grandma was furious with me. She refused to pay off the debt, and my dad couldn't go against his own mother. Judge Harlan gave my two months of Center correction, but it didn't do much for me. Physical pain isn't...scary for me or pleasant either. I ended up back in his courtroom a handful of times and my family disowned me. Haven't seen them in years.”
Harlan felt bad I think. I wasn't a bad kid. I didn't hurt anyone, but I kept getting in trouble. I didn't have a job or money. He gave me a rehabilitation assignment at the Center as a caseworker. I was nineteen years old. I'd had at least ten years of sentencing built up. Harlan said if I stayed for five, then I was free to go. Or stay.” Jared smiled. “I think he knew I needed something like this. Being able to help people without tripping all over my family's purse strings.”
Jensen frowned. “I don't know what you want from me.”
“Nothing. It doesn't matter. I just wanted you to know.”
“You think I did something wrong.”
“You did.”
“I didn't,” he said shaking his head. “I did what I thought was right, and I don't think there's anything you can tell me that's going to change that.”
Jared laughed and grunted a little as he got up from kneeling on the floor. It had to hurt, but he didn't complain. “That's why I want you to start doing pleasure sessions with me. All you see in our sessions is abuse. Until you can differentiate correction from mistreatment all these sessions aren't going to accomplish anything.” He gripped Jensen's chin in his palm. Not hard but enough so that Jensen couldn't break free. “You don't think I care.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched between them. Jared held his gaze until Jensen couldn't bear it anymore and looked away.
“Did you like what we did that night?”
His face flamed but Jared kept a firm grip on his jaw until he nodded.
“What was that?”
“I liked it.”
He heard Jared laugh softly.
“Did you now?”
“Yes,” he snapped.
“Yes what?”
His tone softened. “Yes, Sir.”
Jared smiled and rubbed his thumb over Jensen's lower lip. They were so close Jared could have leaned forward and captured those lips with his own. Instead, he blew out a shaky breath.
“Will I see you in two days?”
Jensen blushed nodding with enthusiasm.
He left Jensen there breathless and trembling with anticipation on the sofa.
He left a piece of paper on Jensen's desk hoping that the other man would be willing to give it a try. When he shut the door behind himself, Jared smiled.
Part II