FIC: Racing in the Street
Title: Racing in the Street
Author: neros_violin
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,000
Summary: Race-car inspired PWP. Jared has a thing for fast cars, and Jensen notices.
Author's Notes: Inspired, as usual, by dugindeep, who showed me the picture posted below. I am not linking to it because you have to SEE it to BELIEVE it. SO MUCH HOTNESS. IT IS AN INTEGRAL PART OF UNDERSTANDING MY STORY, LOL! Title from, well, "Racing in the Street" by Bruce Springsteen. And huge thanks to zoemathemata for the beta!
Jared's got a thing for fast cars. Doesn't matter what shape and size, whether they're sleek and sporty and sexy like a Porsche or big, mean, and loud like the working models of the Impala on set - as long as they can go zero to sixty in under four seconds, Jared is there, talking quarter-miles and differentials and crap that Jensen doesn't really get but pretends to, just like Jared pretends to listen when Jensen is expositing about golf or the next horse race at San Jose.
So in August, when Champ Car returns auto racing to Vancouver on one of the four days off they have that month, Jensen pulls some strings and scores VIP passes for the event. The look on Jared's face when he presents the tickets, already tucked into plastic covers hanging from two lanyards, is worth every favor he had to call in to get them.
The day of the race is sunny and warm with a light breeze, Vancouver in the summer when it's not scorchingly hot or piss pouring rain, perfect. Their spots are reserved near the lap marker on one of the few stretches of straight road at the end of Yaletown, almost in the shadow of GM Place. There are huge screens and temporary bleachers and about a million people dressed in shorts and sundresses milling about, any excuse to be outside in this weather a good one. The cars are already on the course, engines growling and snarling like dogs held back on a leash, and the ground beneath Jensen's feet is actually vibrating with it, running up his legs, making his skin tingle. He smells motor oil and seawater and beer and thinks he could develop a taste for this, sunshine, engines, and Jared, all at the same time.
Jared leans up against the barricade, practically vibrating with energy, trying to get a better view than their front row seat provides. He's wearing a gray v-neck t-shirt and aviator sunglasses and his hair is tousled and messy, still a little wet from the shower. He looks so good that Jensen isn't sure how many of the surreptitious glances tossed Jared's way are recognition of that guy on that TV show and how many are just blatant admiration, pure want, acknowledgement of how completely and utterly hot Jared is.
It's early - the race starts at ten - but everyone around him is drinking beer out of plastic cups so Jensen figures he should be, too. He taps Jared's shoulder, points at the vendor, and Jared nods. Jensen comes back with a Sleeman's for himself - goddamn if he hasn't developed a taste for Canadian beer - and a Miller for Jared. As he takes his first sip he thinks that life is good: beautiful day, good beer, happy Jared.
As if reading his mind, Jared bumps his shoulder and grins, bright as the Texas sky and just as wide. He has to yell to be heard over the noise of the cars, press his body close to Jensen's, put his mouth practically against Jensen's ear. "Thanks for this, man. Time of my life, seriously."
Jensen laughs, shakes his head, thinks maybe he's offended that after everything they've done together, this is the time of Jared's life.
Jared slugs him in the shoulder, reading his mind again, and says, "You know what I mean, you ass."
"Anytime," Jensen says, and really, it's true. Anytime he can make Jared this happy, anything he can do, he's wants to.
The announcer's voice rings out, reverberating, and it's only seconds until the starting shot, the cars hurtling into motion, faster than it looks on tv. The noise is incredible, energy converted by all these parts moving together, and the freaking air feels alive, shifting and grabbing, displaced by heat and motion. Jared folds forward again, his body leaning unconsciously as he watches the pace car makes the first turn, a sharp left - Jensen knows, because he's driven it at much lower speeds in his truck.
After the first two laps, which take a lot less time than Jensen realized they would based on the map of the route through a slice of downtown Vancouver, the whole thing becomes slightly hypnotic: the Doppler effect of the engines fading in and out as they approach and pass, the murmur of voices around them, the increasing heat of the sun, the never-ending vibrations numbing his feet, the rotation of tires.
Jared is obviously enjoying himself, leaning forward onto his elbows with a look of concentration that Jensen usually only sees when Jared's preparing for a scene or preparing to fuck. He's so into the race that Jensen wonders if he's even aware of the impressive erection he's sporting, an obvious shape along the leg of his just-right-tight jeans. Jensen is torn between being amused that Jared is turned on by cars, and being turned on that Jared is turned on. He pretty much splits his attention between the race and Jared's crotch, lazy arousal starting to curl in his belly at just the sight of Jared hard, imagining scenarios about what he'll do to take care of it later.
It goes like that for ten minutes or so, until Jared catches Jensen out, eyes clearly focused somewhere south of Jared's waistline, and Jensen looks up and shrugs, like he likes what he sees and Jared knows it but it's no big deal. It can wait.
Except apparently it can't, because a few minutes later Jared nudges Jensen's hip with his hip, one of those gestures that makes up their nonverbal vocabulary, and Jensen's dick perks up a little more because that one means let's get the fuck out of here, so we can fuck.
Most of the people who bought tickets to this race are dedicated fans, so there aren't a lot of people to wade through on their way to find a little privacy. They walk one block, two, away from the course, far enough that there aren't any barricades and normal street traffic has resumed. Jared's hands are hot on Jensen's lower back, on his hips, guiding him into a turn, and Jensen trusts that he has a destination in mind. They take another left and he can't really hear the crowd anymore, though the buzzing noise of the cars is still loud enough to mask the sound of their footsteps. His dick throbs, anticipating whatever's about to happen, and walking's starting to get a little painful when Jared finally stops, looking around, looking a little desperate around the mouth and eyes. Sometime during their search, he'd taken his sunglasses off, hanging them off the collar of his shirt and Jensen thinks it's probably a good idea for him to do the same; they weren't expensive but he likes these sunglasses and he gets the feeling that they won't survive if they're on his face when Jared finally makes his move.
They're in an alley behind and between residential buildings, condos and more condos, and Jensen thinks they've probably filmed here. Jared resumes manhandling him forward until they reach some kind of alcove - a loading bay or something - and slams him against the rough concrete wall, using his hand to cushion the back of Jensen's head just as he crashes their mouths together, immediately messy, rough, demanding. Jensen goes with it, totally on board, sucking at Jared's bottom lip, fucking his tongue into Jared's mouth with the same ferocity Jared is rocking their hips together, thrusting their dicks against each other as best he can through double layers of denim and cotton. Jared like this - wild, uncontrolled, turned on out of is mind - is fucking irresistible, who the hell would want to, it's goddamn beautiful is what it is, this combination of safety and danger, of knowing Jared and not knowing what he'll come up with, of the familiar laced with the possibility of finding some new way that they'll fit together.
Jensen's hand burrows into the sun-warmed thickness of Jared's hair, fingernails dragging against his scalp, strands catching against his knuckles as he tugs and yanks and makes Jared growl into his mouth. One of Jared's giant hands catches his thigh, drags it up and around his hip with no help or permission from Jensen, and fuck, the angle's so incredibly perfect, so much friction on his cock, that feeling of Jared's hips between his legs, of being open, that Jensen gasps, turns his head away just so he can breathe. Jared's fingers dig into his thigh, making pressure bruises, and he leans forward, putting more of his weight onto Jensen, covering him, pinning him with his body as he trails bites down the straining tendons in Jensen's neck.
"Fuck," Jensen says, panting, eyes squeezed shut with pleasure spiked with little bursts of pain from Jared's teeth. He pulls on Jared's hair, a reflexive response barely controlled, it probably hurts a little - maybe it hurts a lot, and maybe, right this second, he wants it to - and Jared makes an indescribable sound, something between a sob and a whimper, that causes Jensen's dick to twitch and his balls to draw up tight.
"So fucking hot," Jared mumbles against Jensen's skin, abandoning the bruised terrain of his neck for his collarbone, stretching the neck of Jensen's shirt to lick and sink his teeth in, unmistakably and unapologetically marking. "Things I wanted to do to you back there, you have no idea."
Jensen shudders, thrashes, gets nowhere. "Show me," he says, and he barely recognizes his voice, low and wanting, shot through and broken, ready to beg.
"Shit," Jared says, breathing hard into the hollow of Jensen's throat. "Shit, Jensen, wanted to do this." He puts some space between them, lets go of Jensen's legs to put two shaking hands to work on the button of Jensen's jeans, his hair falling onto his forehead and obscuring his eyes. But Jensen can still see Jared's mouth, red with friction and stubble burn, and god, he wants to kiss it again, bite it, fuck it.
Jensen uses the space to get at what he wants, hands seeking skin, one finding the smooth, tight plane of Jared's stomach under his shirt, the other curling and pressing against the obscene bulge in Jared's jeans, making Jared twitch and jerk and loose coordination. He squeezes, almost vicious, and Jared hisses, renews his struggles with Jensen's clothes, finally wins, tugging everything down at once, hobbling Jensen with his pants and underwear bunched around his ankles. His fingers wrap around Jensen's dick, strong grip and hot skin and dry tug, just right, god, so good, but not as good as the sight of Jared going to his knees, right there in the alley, for Jensen.
"Jared," Jensen whines, and Jared just goes for it, hands on Jensen's hips, thumbs digging into the divots of his hipbones, tongue dipping into the slit of Jensen's cock, gathering precome on the tip and smearing it around the head, making it shiny. Jensen watches, hands and legs trembling, his lungs burning until he remembers to breathe, because Jared's putting on a show and he's going to get his money's worth.
Jared works him over with his pointed pink tongue, long, hard licks along the big vein on the underside, short, teasing ones at the bundle of nerves beneath the head, until Jensen's cock is dripping with Jared's spit and trailing, sticky strands of precome. He's so soaked that when Jared opens wide and slides the head of Jensen's cock along the flat of his tongue, pushing forward until Jensen can feel the back of Jared's throat and short bursts of air against his public hair as Jared pants through his nose, it's a smooth glide, effortless, wet and tight and so perfect that his knees buckle.
Jared's hands tighten on his hips, holding him up, letting Jensen slip out of his mouth until just the widest part of his cock remains inside, stretching Jared's lips, dragging at them, and Jensen's hips thrust forward involuntarily, just to see the slide and pull of taut, slippery skin. Jared's eyes slip shut at that, pleasure and permission, and Jensen's not going to refuse.
He slides his fingers through the soft silk of Jared's hair, gently, affection and warning at once, before grasping it tightly, using his grip as a guide to move Jared's head where he wants it, his hips working in short, smooth strokes, getting Jared's mouth used to being fucked, letting Jared swirl his tongue, curl it, have a little fun, a little control, before he loses it. It's a tight fit, requires care on both their parts, but that's part of the appeal - seeing how much Jared can take, how much Jensen can give.
Jared moans around Jensen's cock, vibrations that mean hurry up, get on with it already, so Jensen does, rides Jared's mouth, even thrusts that get deeper with each withdrawal and re-entry, spaced so that Jared knows what's coming, has a second to anticipate how deep Jensen might go this time, and god, Jensen can see it on Jared's face, want and need and trust. Jared's fingers are still digging into Jensen's hips, but now he's hanging on, not restraining.
Jensen places his free hand on Jared's cheek, feeling himself through the thin skin, added pressure and friction. His thumb brushes against Jared's cheekbone, and Jared sucks harder, completely lost in what he's doing, fucking gorgeous, red, abused lips and flush across his cheeks and tears leaking from his eyes and drool leaking from the corners of his mouth, pupils blown so wide the only color remaining is a thin ring of hazel gray. Spots dance across Jensen's vision as he drives into Jared's mouth, the head of his cock breaching Jared's throat, wet, sucking sensation, wet, sucking sound. Jensen grunts like he's been punched, thinks he's getting even less air than Jared, lungs locked with heat and suction and Jared, Jared, Jared.
Jared, who is wriggling, writhing, messing up Jensen's rhythm while he unbuttons his jeans, and taking his cock in hand. Jensen can see his shoulders bunching and releasing with each stroke, wishes he could see Jared's cock, so thick and long and fucking huge, but he knows that Jared is working himself hard, that he's wet enough from precome to use a snug grip, that he won't last long because when he does himself like that, he starts shaking, the sensation overwhelming his muscles and nerves until he can barely coordinate his motions.
Jensen tries to pick up a rhythm again, something predictable and smooth but heat is pooling at the base of his spine, flickering out along his nerve endings like fireworks, and this is almost over, both of them so worked up. Jared's fucking loud, making filthy noises, groaning and harsh breathing through his nose and the squelch of his hand on his wet cock, still managing to work his jaw with the roll of Jensen's hips through all of it, keeping the suction that's going to make Jensen's head explode, driving every thought out of his mind, driving him out of his mind.
"Jared, God, Jared," he says, which are the only words he can manage, but he trusts that Jared knows they mean Jensen's about to burst. Every muscle in Jensen's body is hot, tensing up, ready. Jensen pushes into Jared's mouth one last time, deep and good, and Jared swallows around him, throat rippling, and Jensen is done.
His orgasm rips through his body, seems to start at the tips of his toes and the top of his skull, all that incredible pleasure converging and pouring of his dick, ropes of come, so much that Jared can't swallow it all, twin streaks of white trailing down his chin, onto his neck. He curls over Jared, twitching, shaking, his cock still spurting little dribbles of fluid into Jared's mouth, his hand still clenched in Jared's sweaty hair, and tries to stay on his feet, has to lean back against the scratchy concrete wall for support.
Jared pulls off as Jensen starts to soften, looks up at Jensen through the fringes of his bangs, and if Jensen hadn't just come his brain out, that image alone would be enough to get him rock hard in about point five seconds. Jared's cockhead is red and painful-looking where it appears and disappears into his fist, swollen like over-ripe fruit, balls drawn up tight over the band of his underwear. He locks eyes with Jensen as he drops his other hand to cup his sac, fingers pulling and stroking in time with the hand squeezing his dick, and Jesus, Jensen's never really stopped to think about it before, but Jared is coordinated. Jensen watches, totally mesmerized, when Jared's cock starts to spurt, a fountain of white into the air and arcing onto the pavement, stringy and thick, his hips thrusting into nothing as his dick pulses over and over again, his head lolling back, letting it take him.
Jensen drops to his knees in front of Jared, can't help himself. The moment he's sure Jared's done, he takes his right hand - Jared jerks off right handed - and brings it to his mouth, licking up the sticky remains of Jared's come, needing the taste in his mouth. Jared's eyes are hot, predatory, and he waits until Jensen has had his fill to drag him forward, fisting Jensen's shirt collar, his tongue licking into Jensen's mouth, chasing his own taste, coming down but maybe finding some inspiration to get back up, and Jensen's right there with him.
But what he wants to do can't be done in an alley, clean as it is - and seriously, it's the cleanest alley he's ever seen - so he pulls back, and asks a question he already knows the answer to. "So, you wanna get back to the race?"
Jared rolls his eyes at Jensen's obviousness, unselfconscious as he tucks himself back into his pants and zips up. "Naw, man, I've had enough of that. Let's go home."
Jensen smiles, trails after him in a contented, fucked out haze, assumes Jared is leading them to wherever the hell they parked.
Jared's got a thing for fast cars, and Jensen finally sees the appeal.
Author: neros_violin
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 3,000
Summary: Race-car inspired PWP. Jared has a thing for fast cars, and Jensen notices.
Author's Notes: Inspired, as usual, by dugindeep, who showed me the picture posted below. I am not linking to it because you have to SEE it to BELIEVE it. SO MUCH HOTNESS. IT IS AN INTEGRAL PART OF UNDERSTANDING MY STORY, LOL! Title from, well, "Racing in the Street" by Bruce Springsteen. And huge thanks to zoemathemata for the beta!
Jared's got a thing for fast cars. Doesn't matter what shape and size, whether they're sleek and sporty and sexy like a Porsche or big, mean, and loud like the working models of the Impala on set - as long as they can go zero to sixty in under four seconds, Jared is there, talking quarter-miles and differentials and crap that Jensen doesn't really get but pretends to, just like Jared pretends to listen when Jensen is expositing about golf or the next horse race at San Jose.
So in August, when Champ Car returns auto racing to Vancouver on one of the four days off they have that month, Jensen pulls some strings and scores VIP passes for the event. The look on Jared's face when he presents the tickets, already tucked into plastic covers hanging from two lanyards, is worth every favor he had to call in to get them.
The day of the race is sunny and warm with a light breeze, Vancouver in the summer when it's not scorchingly hot or piss pouring rain, perfect. Their spots are reserved near the lap marker on one of the few stretches of straight road at the end of Yaletown, almost in the shadow of GM Place. There are huge screens and temporary bleachers and about a million people dressed in shorts and sundresses milling about, any excuse to be outside in this weather a good one. The cars are already on the course, engines growling and snarling like dogs held back on a leash, and the ground beneath Jensen's feet is actually vibrating with it, running up his legs, making his skin tingle. He smells motor oil and seawater and beer and thinks he could develop a taste for this, sunshine, engines, and Jared, all at the same time.
Jared leans up against the barricade, practically vibrating with energy, trying to get a better view than their front row seat provides. He's wearing a gray v-neck t-shirt and aviator sunglasses and his hair is tousled and messy, still a little wet from the shower. He looks so good that Jensen isn't sure how many of the surreptitious glances tossed Jared's way are recognition of that guy on that TV show and how many are just blatant admiration, pure want, acknowledgement of how completely and utterly hot Jared is.
It's early - the race starts at ten - but everyone around him is drinking beer out of plastic cups so Jensen figures he should be, too. He taps Jared's shoulder, points at the vendor, and Jared nods. Jensen comes back with a Sleeman's for himself - goddamn if he hasn't developed a taste for Canadian beer - and a Miller for Jared. As he takes his first sip he thinks that life is good: beautiful day, good beer, happy Jared.
As if reading his mind, Jared bumps his shoulder and grins, bright as the Texas sky and just as wide. He has to yell to be heard over the noise of the cars, press his body close to Jensen's, put his mouth practically against Jensen's ear. "Thanks for this, man. Time of my life, seriously."
Jensen laughs, shakes his head, thinks maybe he's offended that after everything they've done together, this is the time of Jared's life.
Jared slugs him in the shoulder, reading his mind again, and says, "You know what I mean, you ass."
"Anytime," Jensen says, and really, it's true. Anytime he can make Jared this happy, anything he can do, he's wants to.
The announcer's voice rings out, reverberating, and it's only seconds until the starting shot, the cars hurtling into motion, faster than it looks on tv. The noise is incredible, energy converted by all these parts moving together, and the freaking air feels alive, shifting and grabbing, displaced by heat and motion. Jared folds forward again, his body leaning unconsciously as he watches the pace car makes the first turn, a sharp left - Jensen knows, because he's driven it at much lower speeds in his truck.
After the first two laps, which take a lot less time than Jensen realized they would based on the map of the route through a slice of downtown Vancouver, the whole thing becomes slightly hypnotic: the Doppler effect of the engines fading in and out as they approach and pass, the murmur of voices around them, the increasing heat of the sun, the never-ending vibrations numbing his feet, the rotation of tires.
Jared is obviously enjoying himself, leaning forward onto his elbows with a look of concentration that Jensen usually only sees when Jared's preparing for a scene or preparing to fuck. He's so into the race that Jensen wonders if he's even aware of the impressive erection he's sporting, an obvious shape along the leg of his just-right-tight jeans. Jensen is torn between being amused that Jared is turned on by cars, and being turned on that Jared is turned on. He pretty much splits his attention between the race and Jared's crotch, lazy arousal starting to curl in his belly at just the sight of Jared hard, imagining scenarios about what he'll do to take care of it later.
It goes like that for ten minutes or so, until Jared catches Jensen out, eyes clearly focused somewhere south of Jared's waistline, and Jensen looks up and shrugs, like he likes what he sees and Jared knows it but it's no big deal. It can wait.
Except apparently it can't, because a few minutes later Jared nudges Jensen's hip with his hip, one of those gestures that makes up their nonverbal vocabulary, and Jensen's dick perks up a little more because that one means let's get the fuck out of here, so we can fuck.
Most of the people who bought tickets to this race are dedicated fans, so there aren't a lot of people to wade through on their way to find a little privacy. They walk one block, two, away from the course, far enough that there aren't any barricades and normal street traffic has resumed. Jared's hands are hot on Jensen's lower back, on his hips, guiding him into a turn, and Jensen trusts that he has a destination in mind. They take another left and he can't really hear the crowd anymore, though the buzzing noise of the cars is still loud enough to mask the sound of their footsteps. His dick throbs, anticipating whatever's about to happen, and walking's starting to get a little painful when Jared finally stops, looking around, looking a little desperate around the mouth and eyes. Sometime during their search, he'd taken his sunglasses off, hanging them off the collar of his shirt and Jensen thinks it's probably a good idea for him to do the same; they weren't expensive but he likes these sunglasses and he gets the feeling that they won't survive if they're on his face when Jared finally makes his move.
They're in an alley behind and between residential buildings, condos and more condos, and Jensen thinks they've probably filmed here. Jared resumes manhandling him forward until they reach some kind of alcove - a loading bay or something - and slams him against the rough concrete wall, using his hand to cushion the back of Jensen's head just as he crashes their mouths together, immediately messy, rough, demanding. Jensen goes with it, totally on board, sucking at Jared's bottom lip, fucking his tongue into Jared's mouth with the same ferocity Jared is rocking their hips together, thrusting their dicks against each other as best he can through double layers of denim and cotton. Jared like this - wild, uncontrolled, turned on out of is mind - is fucking irresistible, who the hell would want to, it's goddamn beautiful is what it is, this combination of safety and danger, of knowing Jared and not knowing what he'll come up with, of the familiar laced with the possibility of finding some new way that they'll fit together.
Jensen's hand burrows into the sun-warmed thickness of Jared's hair, fingernails dragging against his scalp, strands catching against his knuckles as he tugs and yanks and makes Jared growl into his mouth. One of Jared's giant hands catches his thigh, drags it up and around his hip with no help or permission from Jensen, and fuck, the angle's so incredibly perfect, so much friction on his cock, that feeling of Jared's hips between his legs, of being open, that Jensen gasps, turns his head away just so he can breathe. Jared's fingers dig into his thigh, making pressure bruises, and he leans forward, putting more of his weight onto Jensen, covering him, pinning him with his body as he trails bites down the straining tendons in Jensen's neck.
"Fuck," Jensen says, panting, eyes squeezed shut with pleasure spiked with little bursts of pain from Jared's teeth. He pulls on Jared's hair, a reflexive response barely controlled, it probably hurts a little - maybe it hurts a lot, and maybe, right this second, he wants it to - and Jared makes an indescribable sound, something between a sob and a whimper, that causes Jensen's dick to twitch and his balls to draw up tight.
"So fucking hot," Jared mumbles against Jensen's skin, abandoning the bruised terrain of his neck for his collarbone, stretching the neck of Jensen's shirt to lick and sink his teeth in, unmistakably and unapologetically marking. "Things I wanted to do to you back there, you have no idea."
Jensen shudders, thrashes, gets nowhere. "Show me," he says, and he barely recognizes his voice, low and wanting, shot through and broken, ready to beg.
"Shit," Jared says, breathing hard into the hollow of Jensen's throat. "Shit, Jensen, wanted to do this." He puts some space between them, lets go of Jensen's legs to put two shaking hands to work on the button of Jensen's jeans, his hair falling onto his forehead and obscuring his eyes. But Jensen can still see Jared's mouth, red with friction and stubble burn, and god, he wants to kiss it again, bite it, fuck it.
Jensen uses the space to get at what he wants, hands seeking skin, one finding the smooth, tight plane of Jared's stomach under his shirt, the other curling and pressing against the obscene bulge in Jared's jeans, making Jared twitch and jerk and loose coordination. He squeezes, almost vicious, and Jared hisses, renews his struggles with Jensen's clothes, finally wins, tugging everything down at once, hobbling Jensen with his pants and underwear bunched around his ankles. His fingers wrap around Jensen's dick, strong grip and hot skin and dry tug, just right, god, so good, but not as good as the sight of Jared going to his knees, right there in the alley, for Jensen.
"Jared," Jensen whines, and Jared just goes for it, hands on Jensen's hips, thumbs digging into the divots of his hipbones, tongue dipping into the slit of Jensen's cock, gathering precome on the tip and smearing it around the head, making it shiny. Jensen watches, hands and legs trembling, his lungs burning until he remembers to breathe, because Jared's putting on a show and he's going to get his money's worth.
Jared works him over with his pointed pink tongue, long, hard licks along the big vein on the underside, short, teasing ones at the bundle of nerves beneath the head, until Jensen's cock is dripping with Jared's spit and trailing, sticky strands of precome. He's so soaked that when Jared opens wide and slides the head of Jensen's cock along the flat of his tongue, pushing forward until Jensen can feel the back of Jared's throat and short bursts of air against his public hair as Jared pants through his nose, it's a smooth glide, effortless, wet and tight and so perfect that his knees buckle.
Jared's hands tighten on his hips, holding him up, letting Jensen slip out of his mouth until just the widest part of his cock remains inside, stretching Jared's lips, dragging at them, and Jensen's hips thrust forward involuntarily, just to see the slide and pull of taut, slippery skin. Jared's eyes slip shut at that, pleasure and permission, and Jensen's not going to refuse.
He slides his fingers through the soft silk of Jared's hair, gently, affection and warning at once, before grasping it tightly, using his grip as a guide to move Jared's head where he wants it, his hips working in short, smooth strokes, getting Jared's mouth used to being fucked, letting Jared swirl his tongue, curl it, have a little fun, a little control, before he loses it. It's a tight fit, requires care on both their parts, but that's part of the appeal - seeing how much Jared can take, how much Jensen can give.
Jared moans around Jensen's cock, vibrations that mean hurry up, get on with it already, so Jensen does, rides Jared's mouth, even thrusts that get deeper with each withdrawal and re-entry, spaced so that Jared knows what's coming, has a second to anticipate how deep Jensen might go this time, and god, Jensen can see it on Jared's face, want and need and trust. Jared's fingers are still digging into Jensen's hips, but now he's hanging on, not restraining.
Jensen places his free hand on Jared's cheek, feeling himself through the thin skin, added pressure and friction. His thumb brushes against Jared's cheekbone, and Jared sucks harder, completely lost in what he's doing, fucking gorgeous, red, abused lips and flush across his cheeks and tears leaking from his eyes and drool leaking from the corners of his mouth, pupils blown so wide the only color remaining is a thin ring of hazel gray. Spots dance across Jensen's vision as he drives into Jared's mouth, the head of his cock breaching Jared's throat, wet, sucking sensation, wet, sucking sound. Jensen grunts like he's been punched, thinks he's getting even less air than Jared, lungs locked with heat and suction and Jared, Jared, Jared.
Jared, who is wriggling, writhing, messing up Jensen's rhythm while he unbuttons his jeans, and taking his cock in hand. Jensen can see his shoulders bunching and releasing with each stroke, wishes he could see Jared's cock, so thick and long and fucking huge, but he knows that Jared is working himself hard, that he's wet enough from precome to use a snug grip, that he won't last long because when he does himself like that, he starts shaking, the sensation overwhelming his muscles and nerves until he can barely coordinate his motions.
Jensen tries to pick up a rhythm again, something predictable and smooth but heat is pooling at the base of his spine, flickering out along his nerve endings like fireworks, and this is almost over, both of them so worked up. Jared's fucking loud, making filthy noises, groaning and harsh breathing through his nose and the squelch of his hand on his wet cock, still managing to work his jaw with the roll of Jensen's hips through all of it, keeping the suction that's going to make Jensen's head explode, driving every thought out of his mind, driving him out of his mind.
"Jared, God, Jared," he says, which are the only words he can manage, but he trusts that Jared knows they mean Jensen's about to burst. Every muscle in Jensen's body is hot, tensing up, ready. Jensen pushes into Jared's mouth one last time, deep and good, and Jared swallows around him, throat rippling, and Jensen is done.
His orgasm rips through his body, seems to start at the tips of his toes and the top of his skull, all that incredible pleasure converging and pouring of his dick, ropes of come, so much that Jared can't swallow it all, twin streaks of white trailing down his chin, onto his neck. He curls over Jared, twitching, shaking, his cock still spurting little dribbles of fluid into Jared's mouth, his hand still clenched in Jared's sweaty hair, and tries to stay on his feet, has to lean back against the scratchy concrete wall for support.
Jared pulls off as Jensen starts to soften, looks up at Jensen through the fringes of his bangs, and if Jensen hadn't just come his brain out, that image alone would be enough to get him rock hard in about point five seconds. Jared's cockhead is red and painful-looking where it appears and disappears into his fist, swollen like over-ripe fruit, balls drawn up tight over the band of his underwear. He locks eyes with Jensen as he drops his other hand to cup his sac, fingers pulling and stroking in time with the hand squeezing his dick, and Jesus, Jensen's never really stopped to think about it before, but Jared is coordinated. Jensen watches, totally mesmerized, when Jared's cock starts to spurt, a fountain of white into the air and arcing onto the pavement, stringy and thick, his hips thrusting into nothing as his dick pulses over and over again, his head lolling back, letting it take him.
Jensen drops to his knees in front of Jared, can't help himself. The moment he's sure Jared's done, he takes his right hand - Jared jerks off right handed - and brings it to his mouth, licking up the sticky remains of Jared's come, needing the taste in his mouth. Jared's eyes are hot, predatory, and he waits until Jensen has had his fill to drag him forward, fisting Jensen's shirt collar, his tongue licking into Jensen's mouth, chasing his own taste, coming down but maybe finding some inspiration to get back up, and Jensen's right there with him.
But what he wants to do can't be done in an alley, clean as it is - and seriously, it's the cleanest alley he's ever seen - so he pulls back, and asks a question he already knows the answer to. "So, you wanna get back to the race?"
Jared rolls his eyes at Jensen's obviousness, unselfconscious as he tucks himself back into his pants and zips up. "Naw, man, I've had enough of that. Let's go home."
Jensen smiles, trails after him in a contented, fucked out haze, assumes Jared is leading them to wherever the hell they parked.
Jared's got a thing for fast cars, and Jensen finally sees the appeal.