Fic: Rollerball (J2, nc-17, 4/6)
Title:Rollerball
Author:Ladyjanelly
Movie Adapted: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0246894/
Genre: CW RPS
Characters/Pairings:Jared/Jensen
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 10,202. Done.
Warnings: violence
Notes/Credits: Thanks to Jellicle for looking over this for me and giving me hand-holding and feed-back.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; fair use only. Not created for profit.
Jensen sleeps for maybe three hours in the car, the isolation and hum of the road making him feel safe. As soon as they’re back to the hotel though, his worries come crashing back on him. He’d thought that was it, out on the track, when “The Tank” had broadsided him. He’d thought today was the day they were done with him, when his bloody end would make good ratings.
He has to get out, and that’s no joke. This game will kill him surer than cancer.
The kid tries to follow him to bed, and God, as much as he’d like to not be alone, he knows the freakin’ hotel room is bugged like the car. He can’t risk Jared saying something that the company will hear.
He can’t risk becoming emotionally attached to someone the company sent him. It’d be stupid and Jensen hasn't survived this long by being an idiot.
Alone in his room, Jensen works on the plan in his head. He’s got a new asset, maybe a liability too. He wants to play fair with Jared, let him earn Jensen's trust. First, he needs to know what he has to work with.
----------
Ackles’ toes to his ribs wakes Jared up in the morning. And okay, so it’s not really a kick so much as a nudge, but Jared’s not even in the mood.
“Why are you such an asshole?” he whines and stretches his aching limbs. Floors suck. Sleeping on floors sucks even more.
Ackles hands him a plain black helmet. “You skate?”
Jared can totally see why they needed to hire somebody to keep this guy alive. If it wasn’t his job, Jared would kill him himself.
“Now?”
Ackles reaches down and grabs Jared’s hand, hauling him up to his feet. “Now. Do you skate?”
Jared scrubs a hand over his face. “A little. Not like you guys.”
Ackles steers him over to the couch and starts strapping protective gear to his knees and elbows and wrists. There’s something hot about another man touching him like that, all business but in his personal space. Jared hasn’t even lost his morning wood, and Jensen on his knees at Jared’s feet isn’t helping--the thin tank-top and loose, low-slung pants either.
Sure, strong hands tape Jared’s ankles with white sports tape. “You’ll have less sensitivity this way, but I can’t afford to have you out with a sprain.” Then he puts a pair of heavy rollerblades on Jared’s feet, lacing them up so tight he thinks his feet will be numb in minutes.
Ackles puts on his own skates and a pair of gloves. Jared feels stupidly over-protected as they clomp out of the room and to the elevator. Wheels and carpet don’t work so well together and he catches himself on the brass rail to keep from going down. The lobby’s worse, the waxed and polished marble too-slick under his wheels.
“Come on,” Ackles says, surprisingly patient, “You can’t walk, you have to push, glide.”
“What am I doing here?” Jared asks when they hit the outside. The sun is just starting to lighten the horizon and the streetlights are still on. The rough cement of the sidewalk gives him enough friction to get his balance, and he starts to move better.
Jensen glances behind them, and Jared follows his gaze to a big black car, slowly pulling away from the curb at their hotel. Jared knows a tail when he sees one.
“We losin’ them?” he asks without looking over at Ackles.
“Not yet. I work out every morning; they’re used to this. Get your feet under you; I want to see what you can do.”
So they skate, Jared scuttling along while Ackles glides around him. He moves like the hawk he’s nicknamed for, swooshing up and down the street, sliding down rails and bouncing off of walls on his wheels. Just killing time and trying not to be bored out of his head keeping the pace so slow. Jared wonders what the usual morning workout looks like without a noob to slow him down.
Jared doesn’t even realize how Ackles is herding him, guiding him, until they slip down an alley too narrow for the car.
“Move,” Jensen says, pointing the way, and Jared goes, doing his best. He hasn’t felt this awkward since he was twelve and hit that growth spurt. They roll through alleyways and down sidewalks and through a tiny little park. At a deep doorway, Ackles grabs Jared’s arm and stops them, swinging Jared around and up against the wall.
They stand there for a moment, Ackles’ head cocked to the side like he’s listening for their pursuit.
“We can talk now,” Ackles says when he’s decided they’re in the clear. “What do you want? What are they offering you, what do I have to trump to get your loyalty?”
Jared shivers. Jensen's so close, up in his personal space. He’s so direct, not playing the games everyone else does in this new world. He’s never seen eyes like Jensen's, burning in their intensity.
“I want to go home,” Jared says before he can stop himself, before he can figure out what his opening bid should be for the haggling. “I want to get back to the states. Back to Texas.”
Jensen's eyes narrow. “They tell you to say that?”
Jared’s skates and safety gear suddenly feel more dangerous than protective as Ackles leans in against his chest. If they fight here, he’s not going to be able to keep his feet, never mind getting enough balance to throw much of a punch. Jensen fights on skates for a living.
“No, man. They don’t even know that’s what I want their money for.” He tries to push every bit of earnestness he has out through his eyes, to force Ackles to believe him. “I got stuck here during the crash, no money to get back; my parents lost their house, their jobs, nobody can afford to send me a ticket.” He fights back the stupid display of emotion that threatens to choke him.
“I haven’t--I haven’t even spoken to them in a year. I just want to go home.”
He expects Ackles to laugh at him or deck him. Instead, he steps back, the permafrost thawed in his eyes. “Okay,” he says, like he’s come to some great conclusion, “Okay. I can work with that.”
-------
Istanbul
“Here,” Ackles whispers in the arena parking lot as he slides a cell-phone into Jared’s hand. “Don’t use it in the hotel room or the car or anywhere the company has control over the security cameras.”
Jared looks down at the phone, a quick glance before he hides it in his pocket. It’s got the logo of one of the pre-paid companies. Virtually untraceable.
“Do you understand?” Ackles asks, impatient. Jared bobbles his head in agreement.
“No problem. Jensen, where did you get this?” They’ve been together all day every day since the first time they met. Except when Jensen closed the bedroom door at night, which Jared still didn’t get, and who the heck tips whores with expensive cell-phones when they’re not even fucking?
“It doesn’t matter,” he whispers back, waving for the flashing cameras of his fans. His smile is hard and fake, but it’ll make good posters, good television stills. “There’s five hundred US minutes on there. Don’t let it go to waste.”
A part of Jared feels sick, knowing this stupid phone cost half what it would take to get home. Ackles could just send him home; he’s apparently got the money to do it. He doesn’t know why this particular customer’s selfishness pisses him off so bad, but it does.
Jared’s angry all through the game, through helping Jensen dress before and undress after. He’s angry as Ackles drives them back to the hotel. He’s pissed off when Ackles gets off the elevator at their floor, and points Jared down the hall. “Switch to the service elevator, go up on the roof. Make sure they don’t follow you.”
In a corner of the roof, between some air conditioner thing and the wall, he calls information and fights the long-distance phone codes. The last time he talked to his family, they were losing the house, and he’s not surprised the home phone number is long gone. He goes through his memories, trying to think of where his parents would have gone, who would give them shelter. He hits dead ends--friends who haven’t heard from them in months, disconnected lines. Finally, finally he gets a number for his great-aunt Betty that rings through.
He hates Ackles, right up until the moment Betty hands his mom the phone. Her voice is scratchy and hollow over all that distance, but still his momma’s.
“JT? Jared! Oh, God, we’d been so worried.”
Jared’s crying like a baby, and he’s almost glad he couldn’t make this call in the hotel room or anywhere that anybody might see him like this. “I’m okay,” he says. “I’m okay, momma. I’m trying to get home.”
---------
There’s a bar in the flashier part of the city. There’s always a bar.
It’s a game, pretending to drink, pretending to laugh and have a good time. Some of the others know he’s faking--Costas, probably Misha. Those who almost knew him, before. They’re way on the other side of the club though.
Jared’s standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall, trying to be a bodyguard without looking like he’s squashing Jensen's good time.
There’s a dark haired girl grinding in Jensen’s lap, pretty enough, for a girl. It’s what people expect of him, the fans, the hard-partying crowd around them. Her eyes are dark and her lips too red, but she reminds him of home, of the sweet Latinas he knew there. There’s a similarity in their exoticness, and he tries to lose himself in her body rocking against his, tries to forget the tall man beside him who makes him ache for Texas.
Not-thinking about Jared forces him to think of him. Jensen can’t help but look up, and Jesus, how did the kid survive this long with that crappy a poker face. Everything Jared’s feeling is written in the lines of his face--his anger, jealousy, pain. It hurts just to look at him and Jensen's stomach twists. This--it can’t mean what the kid wants it to, but Jensen isn’t in the mood to kick puppies tonight. It’s not worth it, too much work, too much fallout, just to get his rocks off.
“Get off me,” he says to the girl, and when she smiles and grinds down against him, he pushes her off his lap.
“I said, go away,” he tells her, shooing her off with an imperious wave of his hand. Fuck this. If they’re gonna call him an asshole anyway, he can get away with being one. The chick finds her footing, standing and screaming in Jensen's face in whatever foreign language they speak around here.
Then Jared’s there between them, all “Look, I’m really sorry, but you need to leave now,” his voice all reasonable and calm, and she goes.
“The hell was that?” Jared asks, leaning in to be heard over the pounding bass of the club.
“No fucking style,” Jensen hollers back, knowing that neither of them believe it.
“Anyone tell you you’re picky as shit?” Jared teases, but there’s an edge to it, and Jensen figures he’s been taking all those nights with the bedroom door shut and all those days spent not-fucking to heart.
He can’t say “I want you so bad it’s dangerous” or “I can’t afford to fuck someone I care about,” so he snickers and waves the comment off, promising himself that when this is all over, he’ll do something, anything to make it up to the kid.
-------
Author:Ladyjanelly
Movie Adapted: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0246894/
Genre: CW RPS
Characters/Pairings:Jared/Jensen
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 10,202. Done.
Warnings: violence
Notes/Credits: Thanks to Jellicle for looking over this for me and giving me hand-holding and feed-back.
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended; fair use only. Not created for profit.
Jensen sleeps for maybe three hours in the car, the isolation and hum of the road making him feel safe. As soon as they’re back to the hotel though, his worries come crashing back on him. He’d thought that was it, out on the track, when “The Tank” had broadsided him. He’d thought today was the day they were done with him, when his bloody end would make good ratings.
He has to get out, and that’s no joke. This game will kill him surer than cancer.
The kid tries to follow him to bed, and God, as much as he’d like to not be alone, he knows the freakin’ hotel room is bugged like the car. He can’t risk Jared saying something that the company will hear.
He can’t risk becoming emotionally attached to someone the company sent him. It’d be stupid and Jensen hasn't survived this long by being an idiot.
Alone in his room, Jensen works on the plan in his head. He’s got a new asset, maybe a liability too. He wants to play fair with Jared, let him earn Jensen's trust. First, he needs to know what he has to work with.
----------
Ackles’ toes to his ribs wakes Jared up in the morning. And okay, so it’s not really a kick so much as a nudge, but Jared’s not even in the mood.
“Why are you such an asshole?” he whines and stretches his aching limbs. Floors suck. Sleeping on floors sucks even more.
Ackles hands him a plain black helmet. “You skate?”
Jared can totally see why they needed to hire somebody to keep this guy alive. If it wasn’t his job, Jared would kill him himself.
“Now?”
Ackles reaches down and grabs Jared’s hand, hauling him up to his feet. “Now. Do you skate?”
Jared scrubs a hand over his face. “A little. Not like you guys.”
Ackles steers him over to the couch and starts strapping protective gear to his knees and elbows and wrists. There’s something hot about another man touching him like that, all business but in his personal space. Jared hasn’t even lost his morning wood, and Jensen on his knees at Jared’s feet isn’t helping--the thin tank-top and loose, low-slung pants either.
Sure, strong hands tape Jared’s ankles with white sports tape. “You’ll have less sensitivity this way, but I can’t afford to have you out with a sprain.” Then he puts a pair of heavy rollerblades on Jared’s feet, lacing them up so tight he thinks his feet will be numb in minutes.
Ackles puts on his own skates and a pair of gloves. Jared feels stupidly over-protected as they clomp out of the room and to the elevator. Wheels and carpet don’t work so well together and he catches himself on the brass rail to keep from going down. The lobby’s worse, the waxed and polished marble too-slick under his wheels.
“Come on,” Ackles says, surprisingly patient, “You can’t walk, you have to push, glide.”
“What am I doing here?” Jared asks when they hit the outside. The sun is just starting to lighten the horizon and the streetlights are still on. The rough cement of the sidewalk gives him enough friction to get his balance, and he starts to move better.
Jensen glances behind them, and Jared follows his gaze to a big black car, slowly pulling away from the curb at their hotel. Jared knows a tail when he sees one.
“We losin’ them?” he asks without looking over at Ackles.
“Not yet. I work out every morning; they’re used to this. Get your feet under you; I want to see what you can do.”
So they skate, Jared scuttling along while Ackles glides around him. He moves like the hawk he’s nicknamed for, swooshing up and down the street, sliding down rails and bouncing off of walls on his wheels. Just killing time and trying not to be bored out of his head keeping the pace so slow. Jared wonders what the usual morning workout looks like without a noob to slow him down.
Jared doesn’t even realize how Ackles is herding him, guiding him, until they slip down an alley too narrow for the car.
“Move,” Jensen says, pointing the way, and Jared goes, doing his best. He hasn’t felt this awkward since he was twelve and hit that growth spurt. They roll through alleyways and down sidewalks and through a tiny little park. At a deep doorway, Ackles grabs Jared’s arm and stops them, swinging Jared around and up against the wall.
They stand there for a moment, Ackles’ head cocked to the side like he’s listening for their pursuit.
“We can talk now,” Ackles says when he’s decided they’re in the clear. “What do you want? What are they offering you, what do I have to trump to get your loyalty?”
Jared shivers. Jensen's so close, up in his personal space. He’s so direct, not playing the games everyone else does in this new world. He’s never seen eyes like Jensen's, burning in their intensity.
“I want to go home,” Jared says before he can stop himself, before he can figure out what his opening bid should be for the haggling. “I want to get back to the states. Back to Texas.”
Jensen's eyes narrow. “They tell you to say that?”
Jared’s skates and safety gear suddenly feel more dangerous than protective as Ackles leans in against his chest. If they fight here, he’s not going to be able to keep his feet, never mind getting enough balance to throw much of a punch. Jensen fights on skates for a living.
“No, man. They don’t even know that’s what I want their money for.” He tries to push every bit of earnestness he has out through his eyes, to force Ackles to believe him. “I got stuck here during the crash, no money to get back; my parents lost their house, their jobs, nobody can afford to send me a ticket.” He fights back the stupid display of emotion that threatens to choke him.
“I haven’t--I haven’t even spoken to them in a year. I just want to go home.”
He expects Ackles to laugh at him or deck him. Instead, he steps back, the permafrost thawed in his eyes. “Okay,” he says, like he’s come to some great conclusion, “Okay. I can work with that.”
-------
Istanbul
“Here,” Ackles whispers in the arena parking lot as he slides a cell-phone into Jared’s hand. “Don’t use it in the hotel room or the car or anywhere the company has control over the security cameras.”
Jared looks down at the phone, a quick glance before he hides it in his pocket. It’s got the logo of one of the pre-paid companies. Virtually untraceable.
“Do you understand?” Ackles asks, impatient. Jared bobbles his head in agreement.
“No problem. Jensen, where did you get this?” They’ve been together all day every day since the first time they met. Except when Jensen closed the bedroom door at night, which Jared still didn’t get, and who the heck tips whores with expensive cell-phones when they’re not even fucking?
“It doesn’t matter,” he whispers back, waving for the flashing cameras of his fans. His smile is hard and fake, but it’ll make good posters, good television stills. “There’s five hundred US minutes on there. Don’t let it go to waste.”
A part of Jared feels sick, knowing this stupid phone cost half what it would take to get home. Ackles could just send him home; he’s apparently got the money to do it. He doesn’t know why this particular customer’s selfishness pisses him off so bad, but it does.
Jared’s angry all through the game, through helping Jensen dress before and undress after. He’s angry as Ackles drives them back to the hotel. He’s pissed off when Ackles gets off the elevator at their floor, and points Jared down the hall. “Switch to the service elevator, go up on the roof. Make sure they don’t follow you.”
In a corner of the roof, between some air conditioner thing and the wall, he calls information and fights the long-distance phone codes. The last time he talked to his family, they were losing the house, and he’s not surprised the home phone number is long gone. He goes through his memories, trying to think of where his parents would have gone, who would give them shelter. He hits dead ends--friends who haven’t heard from them in months, disconnected lines. Finally, finally he gets a number for his great-aunt Betty that rings through.
He hates Ackles, right up until the moment Betty hands his mom the phone. Her voice is scratchy and hollow over all that distance, but still his momma’s.
“JT? Jared! Oh, God, we’d been so worried.”
Jared’s crying like a baby, and he’s almost glad he couldn’t make this call in the hotel room or anywhere that anybody might see him like this. “I’m okay,” he says. “I’m okay, momma. I’m trying to get home.”
---------
There’s a bar in the flashier part of the city. There’s always a bar.
It’s a game, pretending to drink, pretending to laugh and have a good time. Some of the others know he’s faking--Costas, probably Misha. Those who almost knew him, before. They’re way on the other side of the club though.
Jared’s standing a few feet away, leaning against the wall, trying to be a bodyguard without looking like he’s squashing Jensen's good time.
There’s a dark haired girl grinding in Jensen’s lap, pretty enough, for a girl. It’s what people expect of him, the fans, the hard-partying crowd around them. Her eyes are dark and her lips too red, but she reminds him of home, of the sweet Latinas he knew there. There’s a similarity in their exoticness, and he tries to lose himself in her body rocking against his, tries to forget the tall man beside him who makes him ache for Texas.
Not-thinking about Jared forces him to think of him. Jensen can’t help but look up, and Jesus, how did the kid survive this long with that crappy a poker face. Everything Jared’s feeling is written in the lines of his face--his anger, jealousy, pain. It hurts just to look at him and Jensen's stomach twists. This--it can’t mean what the kid wants it to, but Jensen isn’t in the mood to kick puppies tonight. It’s not worth it, too much work, too much fallout, just to get his rocks off.
“Get off me,” he says to the girl, and when she smiles and grinds down against him, he pushes her off his lap.
“I said, go away,” he tells her, shooing her off with an imperious wave of his hand. Fuck this. If they’re gonna call him an asshole anyway, he can get away with being one. The chick finds her footing, standing and screaming in Jensen's face in whatever foreign language they speak around here.
Then Jared’s there between them, all “Look, I’m really sorry, but you need to leave now,” his voice all reasonable and calm, and she goes.
“The hell was that?” Jared asks, leaning in to be heard over the pounding bass of the club.
“No fucking style,” Jensen hollers back, knowing that neither of them believe it.
“Anyone tell you you’re picky as shit?” Jared teases, but there’s an edge to it, and Jensen figures he’s been taking all those nights with the bedroom door shut and all those days spent not-fucking to heart.
He can’t say “I want you so bad it’s dangerous” or “I can’t afford to fuck someone I care about,” so he snickers and waves the comment off, promising himself that when this is all over, he’ll do something, anything to make it up to the kid.
-------