Fic: An Instrument of Justice (Jared/Jensen, NC-17)
Fic: An Instrument of Justice
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Jensen has something of a reputation for getting people off.
Notes: For my fictictactoe game against mistyzeo. Prompt says justice, I say hot lawyers.
Words: ~3,000
Jensen has something of a reputation for getting people off. It's what he's known for citywide, the guy who takes on the most hopeless cases and leads them out of the courtroom triumphant, wrists unshackled, heads held high. Undoubtedly, he's kind of a devil's advocate, but whatever it is he does, it seems to work, all that rhetoric and charm twisting juries effortlessly around his long fingers.
Shit, his fingers. Other lawyers might remember Jensen by his turns of phrase and cutting closing arguments, but for Jared, the name has other associations. Jensen's hot. No two ways about it, the dude is movie-star spectacular, fine-featured and broad shouldered, with lips that look like they were fashioned to be fucked. Dresses well, too, immaculate tailoring enhancing all the long clean lines of his body, the taper of shoulder to waist, the way his thighs bow outward a little to the knee. Jared wants to know how they got that way, except that, like this, not knowing, he can pretend it's due to years of hard riding, first horses, then boys, Jensen's head thrown back while his body moves rhythmically. Jensen's really something, slick and smooth, and Jared - who gets off plenty of defendants in his own right, thank you - would probably fare better against him if he wasn't always so criminally distracted.
Five times they've faced each other in court: once, Jared's won. This is not reflective of his general pattern. Today was the fifth time, and Jensen walked it; threw Jared long looks before his every cross and stared at him, smirking, throughout the entirety of his closing. Jensen's all too obviously aware of the effect he can have, and Jared would be more ashamed of letting it get to him if he thought he had a snowball's chance in hell of developing an immunity to it. As it is, he's only flesh and blood, and the moment Jensen's eyes find his, Jared's effectively done for - and Jensen makes sure his eyes meet Jared's, first possible chance he gets.
Defeat normally leaves Jared disconsolate, irritable and tense, but losing to Jensen isn't quite the same. By the time he's fought his way through the straggling crowd of journalists and into the bathroom at the back of the courthouse, he's weak-kneed and unsettled, but not with irritation. Any rivalry between himself and Jensen never had a chance of getting off the ground with the way things have gone between them, and while Jared tries his hardest in every case, the fact remains that what he's left with is nothing but lust when he loses - lust, too, the time he won, pounding in his blood, hot between his legs. Nobody could be the long focus of that green-eyed stare and not wind up this way, forehead pressed to the cool bathroom mirror, breathing hard and tight and wanting. Christ.
He runs the faucet, splashes cold water on his face. He looks okay, as far as he can tell - hair a little damp at the front from the water, but that'll dry; flush on his cheeks dying down. He's still half-hard, but the further Jensen gets from the courthouse, the further that'll fade, the rawness of it stored up in his mind to be referred to later, when he gets some time to himself. He's jerked off to thoughts of Jensen more times than he can count - it'd be embarrassing, if he hadn't sworn off embarrassment where Jensen was concerned. He'd be fighting a losing battle with himself, otherwise.
He narrows his eyes, widens them again, repeats the process. Studying himself for no reason, really, beyond boredom, a childish, puerile exercise to keep himself entertained while he calms down. It's weirdly fascinating, watching his face move in the mirror, the man on the other side of it responding to his every command. If only real people could be so easily bent to his will.
He's just leaning in to attempt to rearrange his hair when a voice demands, "What the hell are you doing, Padalecki?" and he almost hits his head on the mirror in shock. Jensen. His heart slams into overdrive in his chest, pulse racing in his throat as he turns, blinking in consternation.
"I didn't hear you come in," he stammers. He feels mildly stupid, but then, he quite often feels stupid around Jensen. Jensen laughs and rolls his eyes.
"No, because you were too busy admiring your fine self in the mirror." He saunters over, nonchalant, and elbows Jared a little sideways, as if there weren't a second perfectly good sink available not two feet away. The place where his elbow made contact throbs like a burn. Jared swallows.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?"
"Don't you?" Jensen shoots back easily as he turns his hands under the water, working up the crappy institutional soap into a lather between long fingers, scissoring them briskly together.
"I had to pee," Jared protests, lamely. Jensen snorts.
"Yeah, and calm down."
Jared blinks. His shoulders have tensed up of their own accord, the nape of his neck prickling, but Jensen's still idly rubbing his hands, working the palms together in circles. "What?" Jared demands.
"Aw, come on, Padalecki." Jensen's voice is light as he turns off the water, reaches for a paper towel. "We both know how it gets you, facing me across a courtroom." He glances up, green eyes flashing. "Worked up." He forms the words very precisely, lips shaping them soft and deliberate and clear. "Turned on."
The rush in Jared's stomach at that is half-want, half-terror, breath punching out of him without a by-your-leave. "You're a fucking narcissist," he says, in the least convincing voice he's ever heard. No jury would have let it stand longer than a second, and Jensen is evidently equally unimpressed, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smirk. He takes a step closer, closing the distance, and then his hand's on Jared's arm and Jared hasn't moved. He's pretty sure he actually can't.
"You like it," Jensen accuses, levelly. "Don't you?" The hand creeps upward, skitters sideways to curl in the silk of Jared's tie, and, God, Jared does like it. He does.
"Jensen," he warns weakly, a last protest. "Look, man, I don't know - "
The hand tightens abruptly, pulling the tie taut as Jensen leans up closer, right up into his space. "You do know," he says, low and dark, and shit, they're really doing this, then. This is really Jensen Ackles with his mouth an inch from Jared's, Jensen practically pressed against him in a public bathroom. It's skeevy and ridiculous and the stuff of dirty fantasies, and Jared's never wanted anything more in his life. Jensen's perfectly right: he does know. He knows what Jensen's doing, and he wants it; doesn't care what that makes him.
It's a wild thought, but his stomach unclenches at it, breath skittering out between his parted lips to ghost over Jensen's. "Yeah," he confesses, his own hand coming up to Jensen's collar, fingers brushing the smooth skin of his neck. "But I don't want to be disbarred for public indecency, dude."
Jensen's smirk at that, at what it means, is nothing short of wicked, and he moves like a whirlwind, hauling Jared down by the tie for a kiss that's hard and brief and then shoving him backward in the direction of a stall. "Excellent point," he says, and locks the door; turns Jared by the shoulders and backs him up against it. "Though I think I could get us both off, if it came to that."
Jared laughs, head falling back against the door; angles his hips outward towards Jensen's. "Isn't that the general idea of this?"
"Lawyer puns," Jensen says, fingers working at Jared's belt-buckle, tugging the leather out smoothly through the metal. "Classy."
"You asked for it," Jared says, because hell, he did; and he's suddenly lightheaded now they're actually here, locked in a fucking bathroom stall with Jensen's hands in his pants. Jensen only huffs out a breath, tugs down Jared's zipper, and then, shit, there are his fingers, tracing Jared's cock through his shorts; burrowing under the waistband to the damp heat underneath.
"God, Jensen," Jared breathes, hot and strangled; cranes his head for Jensen's mouth.
It's not a kiss, not exactly, so much as a hard press of lips that gives way to Jensen's mouth opening filthily wide against his, rough slide of their tongues together, brutal scrapes of teeth. Jensen's fucking perfect mouth dirty and hot against his, finally, and Jared can't help but bite at it, hands coming up to grip Jensen's head, holding him still while he sucks at his lips, sucks hard and suggestive on Jensen's tongue. Jensen's hands are still cradling Jared's cock, but it's Jensen who's groaning, gravelled out of the back of his throat; Jensen who's panting when he pulls away, head ducked, eyelashes obscenely long against his pink cheeks.
"Fuck," Jensen mutters, "That," and then he's falling like a suit of clothes from a peg, firm solid thud as his knees hit the floor and Christ, Jared is fucking undone.
When Jensen shoves his shorts out of the way, Jared's already prickling with anticipatory want; has to shove his hand into his mouth just to be sure of keeping it inside. When Jensen leans in, sucks at him sideways on, it's all he can do not to jerk and thrust and Jensen's barely started - is mouthing up his shaft, almost nuzzling; presses an open-mouthed kiss to the head that sets Jared shivering, weak-kneed and disbelieving.
"Jensen," he whispers, "Jensen, please."
Jared wouldn't normally plead, but he can tell already that Jensen will like it, and sure enough, he's moaning when he sucks Jared's cockhead into his mouth, tongue pushing hard against the vein at the underside. Jared grips at his hair, half-experimental, and again, Jensen groans, likes that too; opens his throat and sinks a few smooth, slick inches onto Jared's cock, one hand coming up to cradle Jared's balls.
The visual alone is worth the price of admission, Jared thinks when he looks down at the top of Jensen's head, the sharp lines of his cheekbones and nose, the kiss-bitten perfect mouth spread wide around Jared's cock. Jensen's good at this, as he is at everything else, perfect suction and an easy rhythm, mouth making a tunnel to fuck down onto Jared, but he could have been clumsy as hell and Jared could have got off to the sight of it, that obscene, beautiful stretch, Jensen's clever mouth stoppered finally by his dick. He bites his lip, moans and hitches his hips up hard, and Jensen quickens his pace, corkscrewing downward and pulling up slickly, saliva drooling out of the corners of his mouth as he works.
It's surreal. Shit, everything's surreal when Jared's like this, wrenched to the edge of orgasm with a hot mouth on his dick and a warm hand palming his balls, but this is Jensen, and they're practically in public, and Jared feels like he's come unstuck inside some filthy porno. He's breathless, swallowing down his moans in the back of his throat, but anyone coming in couldn't help but hear Jensen, anyway, the wet sounds of his mouth on Jared's dick, his breathing coming harsh through his nose as he moves. He's got one hand pressed to the distended crotch of his suit pants and Jared half wants to push it away, but he's close now and shit, he wants to come more - wants to come down Jensen's throat, fill his smart-ass mouth, and maybe later just fill his smart ass.
The thought is enough to drag him up onto the precipice: Jensen spread under him, naked and sex-flushed, ready to take him. His fingers tighten in Jensen's hair, a warning, but Jensen only grips at Jared's hip and keeps sucking, head bobbing faster, and Jared can't say fairer than that with orgasm arrowing out of him, banking in his stomach and thighs until it bursts out into Jensen's mouth.
It's hard when it hits, deep and huge, and Jensen sputters at the sheer goddamn force of it. Still, he keeps on sucking like a professional, milking out the spurts until Jared's breathless, collapsed back against the wall in a puddle of limbs and vertigo and satisfaction. "Jesus," Jared gets out, "Jesus Christ," and Jensen laughs half-crazy, heel of his hand kneading his cock.
"Told you I'd get us off," he smirks, cheeks so pink Jared can see the freckles on them, picked out in contrast to the reddened skin.
"Fucker," Jared says, chest still heaving breathlessly, "Who's making lawyer jokes now?" Jensen's not really in a position to joke, anyway. "Besides, I don't think you have gotten us off, smart-ass." He tugs at Jensen's shoulder; grips the nape of his neck and tugs. "Get up here."
Jensen comes willingly, thrusts his tongue into Jared's slack mouth and grinds his erection against his hip and Jared lets him, for a long, slow moment while he catches his breath. Jensen's going to ruin that beautiful suit if he keeps that up, though, and Jared has too high a regard for tailoring to let that happen. Even apart from the fact that he really wants to know if Jensen's cock is actually as pretty as every other part of him.
When he fumbles it out of Jensen's fly - no underwear, shit - he has to admit that it actually is, all flushed up red and leaking from the slit. Saliva pulses under his tongue just at the sight of it, the scent of sex and sweat in the air, and Jensen moans when he gets a hand around it; turns his face to bite at the curve of Jared's throat like that'll muffle the sound at all.
It doesn't, really, but Jared's past the point of caring as he works his hand over Jensen's cock, fingers now open, now tight closed, thumb swiping over the drooling head until Jensen's shivering, leaning hard against him. He was close already just from sucking Jared off, Jared can tell, and the knowledge is hot enough; the way Jensen's fucking into his fist is hotter still, all barely-restrained whimpers and hot silk over iron.
"C'mon," Jared mutters; runs his fingers into Jensen's hair and tugs a little, just enough to hurt. "C'mon, I got you, Jensen, c'mon," and his hand moves faster, slippery-slick and blurring while Jensen's muscles go tight all over, tensing up as he bites his lip on a cry and comes, hot and wet all over Jared's fist.
He's still breathing raggedly when they hear the bathroom door swing open, the click of suit-shoes as someone crosses the room, the sound of water hitting the bowl of the urinal. Jared bites his lip on a manic urge to giggle and presses his face against the top of Jensen's head. Jensen, still leaning hard against him, doesn't seem to mind - holds equally still until the guy shakes off, zips up, crosses the room again to leave.
They both exhale at once, staggering apart, and Jensen's grinning too when he looks up at Jared, reaching down to tuck himself back into his pants.
"Shit," Jared says, shaking his head, "that was close."
"That's the joy," Jensen tells him, with a grin, shrugging. "Don't you know anything, Padalecki?"
"Enough," Jared counters, protesting. His hand's still sticky and smeared with Jensen's come, and he reaches for the toilet tissue to wipe it off; tosses the residue into the toilet. "It's not rocket science."
"No," Jensen agrees, mouth quirking up as he unlocks the door, steps out. "For one thing, this is fun." He smirks again, and it shouldn't be so fucking sexy with his mouth all blurred like that from kissing, but holy Jesus Christ, it is. Jared's so damn screwed. "See you in court, huh?"
"Yeah," Jared says, a little dazedly. "Guess so."
Jensen pulls him in for a last, hard kiss, fingers tucked into the pocket of his jacket for support. Just a long press, a brief fuck of tongue, and he's gone, leaving Jared's head ringing with orgasm and bemusement. Jesus Christ, but Jensen Ackles is something.
It's not until Jared's almost back to the office that he finds the card in his pocket, Jensen's office phone and personal cell. Call me.
The afternoon is long, but Jared spends it smiling.
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Jensen has something of a reputation for getting people off.
Notes: For my fictictactoe game against mistyzeo. Prompt says justice, I say hot lawyers.
Words: ~3,000
Jensen has something of a reputation for getting people off. It's what he's known for citywide, the guy who takes on the most hopeless cases and leads them out of the courtroom triumphant, wrists unshackled, heads held high. Undoubtedly, he's kind of a devil's advocate, but whatever it is he does, it seems to work, all that rhetoric and charm twisting juries effortlessly around his long fingers.
Shit, his fingers. Other lawyers might remember Jensen by his turns of phrase and cutting closing arguments, but for Jared, the name has other associations. Jensen's hot. No two ways about it, the dude is movie-star spectacular, fine-featured and broad shouldered, with lips that look like they were fashioned to be fucked. Dresses well, too, immaculate tailoring enhancing all the long clean lines of his body, the taper of shoulder to waist, the way his thighs bow outward a little to the knee. Jared wants to know how they got that way, except that, like this, not knowing, he can pretend it's due to years of hard riding, first horses, then boys, Jensen's head thrown back while his body moves rhythmically. Jensen's really something, slick and smooth, and Jared - who gets off plenty of defendants in his own right, thank you - would probably fare better against him if he wasn't always so criminally distracted.
Five times they've faced each other in court: once, Jared's won. This is not reflective of his general pattern. Today was the fifth time, and Jensen walked it; threw Jared long looks before his every cross and stared at him, smirking, throughout the entirety of his closing. Jensen's all too obviously aware of the effect he can have, and Jared would be more ashamed of letting it get to him if he thought he had a snowball's chance in hell of developing an immunity to it. As it is, he's only flesh and blood, and the moment Jensen's eyes find his, Jared's effectively done for - and Jensen makes sure his eyes meet Jared's, first possible chance he gets.
Defeat normally leaves Jared disconsolate, irritable and tense, but losing to Jensen isn't quite the same. By the time he's fought his way through the straggling crowd of journalists and into the bathroom at the back of the courthouse, he's weak-kneed and unsettled, but not with irritation. Any rivalry between himself and Jensen never had a chance of getting off the ground with the way things have gone between them, and while Jared tries his hardest in every case, the fact remains that what he's left with is nothing but lust when he loses - lust, too, the time he won, pounding in his blood, hot between his legs. Nobody could be the long focus of that green-eyed stare and not wind up this way, forehead pressed to the cool bathroom mirror, breathing hard and tight and wanting. Christ.
He runs the faucet, splashes cold water on his face. He looks okay, as far as he can tell - hair a little damp at the front from the water, but that'll dry; flush on his cheeks dying down. He's still half-hard, but the further Jensen gets from the courthouse, the further that'll fade, the rawness of it stored up in his mind to be referred to later, when he gets some time to himself. He's jerked off to thoughts of Jensen more times than he can count - it'd be embarrassing, if he hadn't sworn off embarrassment where Jensen was concerned. He'd be fighting a losing battle with himself, otherwise.
He narrows his eyes, widens them again, repeats the process. Studying himself for no reason, really, beyond boredom, a childish, puerile exercise to keep himself entertained while he calms down. It's weirdly fascinating, watching his face move in the mirror, the man on the other side of it responding to his every command. If only real people could be so easily bent to his will.
He's just leaning in to attempt to rearrange his hair when a voice demands, "What the hell are you doing, Padalecki?" and he almost hits his head on the mirror in shock. Jensen. His heart slams into overdrive in his chest, pulse racing in his throat as he turns, blinking in consternation.
"I didn't hear you come in," he stammers. He feels mildly stupid, but then, he quite often feels stupid around Jensen. Jensen laughs and rolls his eyes.
"No, because you were too busy admiring your fine self in the mirror." He saunters over, nonchalant, and elbows Jared a little sideways, as if there weren't a second perfectly good sink available not two feet away. The place where his elbow made contact throbs like a burn. Jared swallows.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?"
"Don't you?" Jensen shoots back easily as he turns his hands under the water, working up the crappy institutional soap into a lather between long fingers, scissoring them briskly together.
"I had to pee," Jared protests, lamely. Jensen snorts.
"Yeah, and calm down."
Jared blinks. His shoulders have tensed up of their own accord, the nape of his neck prickling, but Jensen's still idly rubbing his hands, working the palms together in circles. "What?" Jared demands.
"Aw, come on, Padalecki." Jensen's voice is light as he turns off the water, reaches for a paper towel. "We both know how it gets you, facing me across a courtroom." He glances up, green eyes flashing. "Worked up." He forms the words very precisely, lips shaping them soft and deliberate and clear. "Turned on."
The rush in Jared's stomach at that is half-want, half-terror, breath punching out of him without a by-your-leave. "You're a fucking narcissist," he says, in the least convincing voice he's ever heard. No jury would have let it stand longer than a second, and Jensen is evidently equally unimpressed, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smirk. He takes a step closer, closing the distance, and then his hand's on Jared's arm and Jared hasn't moved. He's pretty sure he actually can't.
"You like it," Jensen accuses, levelly. "Don't you?" The hand creeps upward, skitters sideways to curl in the silk of Jared's tie, and, God, Jared does like it. He does.
"Jensen," he warns weakly, a last protest. "Look, man, I don't know - "
The hand tightens abruptly, pulling the tie taut as Jensen leans up closer, right up into his space. "You do know," he says, low and dark, and shit, they're really doing this, then. This is really Jensen Ackles with his mouth an inch from Jared's, Jensen practically pressed against him in a public bathroom. It's skeevy and ridiculous and the stuff of dirty fantasies, and Jared's never wanted anything more in his life. Jensen's perfectly right: he does know. He knows what Jensen's doing, and he wants it; doesn't care what that makes him.
It's a wild thought, but his stomach unclenches at it, breath skittering out between his parted lips to ghost over Jensen's. "Yeah," he confesses, his own hand coming up to Jensen's collar, fingers brushing the smooth skin of his neck. "But I don't want to be disbarred for public indecency, dude."
Jensen's smirk at that, at what it means, is nothing short of wicked, and he moves like a whirlwind, hauling Jared down by the tie for a kiss that's hard and brief and then shoving him backward in the direction of a stall. "Excellent point," he says, and locks the door; turns Jared by the shoulders and backs him up against it. "Though I think I could get us both off, if it came to that."
Jared laughs, head falling back against the door; angles his hips outward towards Jensen's. "Isn't that the general idea of this?"
"Lawyer puns," Jensen says, fingers working at Jared's belt-buckle, tugging the leather out smoothly through the metal. "Classy."
"You asked for it," Jared says, because hell, he did; and he's suddenly lightheaded now they're actually here, locked in a fucking bathroom stall with Jensen's hands in his pants. Jensen only huffs out a breath, tugs down Jared's zipper, and then, shit, there are his fingers, tracing Jared's cock through his shorts; burrowing under the waistband to the damp heat underneath.
"God, Jensen," Jared breathes, hot and strangled; cranes his head for Jensen's mouth.
It's not a kiss, not exactly, so much as a hard press of lips that gives way to Jensen's mouth opening filthily wide against his, rough slide of their tongues together, brutal scrapes of teeth. Jensen's fucking perfect mouth dirty and hot against his, finally, and Jared can't help but bite at it, hands coming up to grip Jensen's head, holding him still while he sucks at his lips, sucks hard and suggestive on Jensen's tongue. Jensen's hands are still cradling Jared's cock, but it's Jensen who's groaning, gravelled out of the back of his throat; Jensen who's panting when he pulls away, head ducked, eyelashes obscenely long against his pink cheeks.
"Fuck," Jensen mutters, "That," and then he's falling like a suit of clothes from a peg, firm solid thud as his knees hit the floor and Christ, Jared is fucking undone.
When Jensen shoves his shorts out of the way, Jared's already prickling with anticipatory want; has to shove his hand into his mouth just to be sure of keeping it inside. When Jensen leans in, sucks at him sideways on, it's all he can do not to jerk and thrust and Jensen's barely started - is mouthing up his shaft, almost nuzzling; presses an open-mouthed kiss to the head that sets Jared shivering, weak-kneed and disbelieving.
"Jensen," he whispers, "Jensen, please."
Jared wouldn't normally plead, but he can tell already that Jensen will like it, and sure enough, he's moaning when he sucks Jared's cockhead into his mouth, tongue pushing hard against the vein at the underside. Jared grips at his hair, half-experimental, and again, Jensen groans, likes that too; opens his throat and sinks a few smooth, slick inches onto Jared's cock, one hand coming up to cradle Jared's balls.
The visual alone is worth the price of admission, Jared thinks when he looks down at the top of Jensen's head, the sharp lines of his cheekbones and nose, the kiss-bitten perfect mouth spread wide around Jared's cock. Jensen's good at this, as he is at everything else, perfect suction and an easy rhythm, mouth making a tunnel to fuck down onto Jared, but he could have been clumsy as hell and Jared could have got off to the sight of it, that obscene, beautiful stretch, Jensen's clever mouth stoppered finally by his dick. He bites his lip, moans and hitches his hips up hard, and Jensen quickens his pace, corkscrewing downward and pulling up slickly, saliva drooling out of the corners of his mouth as he works.
It's surreal. Shit, everything's surreal when Jared's like this, wrenched to the edge of orgasm with a hot mouth on his dick and a warm hand palming his balls, but this is Jensen, and they're practically in public, and Jared feels like he's come unstuck inside some filthy porno. He's breathless, swallowing down his moans in the back of his throat, but anyone coming in couldn't help but hear Jensen, anyway, the wet sounds of his mouth on Jared's dick, his breathing coming harsh through his nose as he moves. He's got one hand pressed to the distended crotch of his suit pants and Jared half wants to push it away, but he's close now and shit, he wants to come more - wants to come down Jensen's throat, fill his smart-ass mouth, and maybe later just fill his smart ass.
The thought is enough to drag him up onto the precipice: Jensen spread under him, naked and sex-flushed, ready to take him. His fingers tighten in Jensen's hair, a warning, but Jensen only grips at Jared's hip and keeps sucking, head bobbing faster, and Jared can't say fairer than that with orgasm arrowing out of him, banking in his stomach and thighs until it bursts out into Jensen's mouth.
It's hard when it hits, deep and huge, and Jensen sputters at the sheer goddamn force of it. Still, he keeps on sucking like a professional, milking out the spurts until Jared's breathless, collapsed back against the wall in a puddle of limbs and vertigo and satisfaction. "Jesus," Jared gets out, "Jesus Christ," and Jensen laughs half-crazy, heel of his hand kneading his cock.
"Told you I'd get us off," he smirks, cheeks so pink Jared can see the freckles on them, picked out in contrast to the reddened skin.
"Fucker," Jared says, chest still heaving breathlessly, "Who's making lawyer jokes now?" Jensen's not really in a position to joke, anyway. "Besides, I don't think you have gotten us off, smart-ass." He tugs at Jensen's shoulder; grips the nape of his neck and tugs. "Get up here."
Jensen comes willingly, thrusts his tongue into Jared's slack mouth and grinds his erection against his hip and Jared lets him, for a long, slow moment while he catches his breath. Jensen's going to ruin that beautiful suit if he keeps that up, though, and Jared has too high a regard for tailoring to let that happen. Even apart from the fact that he really wants to know if Jensen's cock is actually as pretty as every other part of him.
When he fumbles it out of Jensen's fly - no underwear, shit - he has to admit that it actually is, all flushed up red and leaking from the slit. Saliva pulses under his tongue just at the sight of it, the scent of sex and sweat in the air, and Jensen moans when he gets a hand around it; turns his face to bite at the curve of Jared's throat like that'll muffle the sound at all.
It doesn't, really, but Jared's past the point of caring as he works his hand over Jensen's cock, fingers now open, now tight closed, thumb swiping over the drooling head until Jensen's shivering, leaning hard against him. He was close already just from sucking Jared off, Jared can tell, and the knowledge is hot enough; the way Jensen's fucking into his fist is hotter still, all barely-restrained whimpers and hot silk over iron.
"C'mon," Jared mutters; runs his fingers into Jensen's hair and tugs a little, just enough to hurt. "C'mon, I got you, Jensen, c'mon," and his hand moves faster, slippery-slick and blurring while Jensen's muscles go tight all over, tensing up as he bites his lip on a cry and comes, hot and wet all over Jared's fist.
He's still breathing raggedly when they hear the bathroom door swing open, the click of suit-shoes as someone crosses the room, the sound of water hitting the bowl of the urinal. Jared bites his lip on a manic urge to giggle and presses his face against the top of Jensen's head. Jensen, still leaning hard against him, doesn't seem to mind - holds equally still until the guy shakes off, zips up, crosses the room again to leave.
They both exhale at once, staggering apart, and Jensen's grinning too when he looks up at Jared, reaching down to tuck himself back into his pants.
"Shit," Jared says, shaking his head, "that was close."
"That's the joy," Jensen tells him, with a grin, shrugging. "Don't you know anything, Padalecki?"
"Enough," Jared counters, protesting. His hand's still sticky and smeared with Jensen's come, and he reaches for the toilet tissue to wipe it off; tosses the residue into the toilet. "It's not rocket science."
"No," Jensen agrees, mouth quirking up as he unlocks the door, steps out. "For one thing, this is fun." He smirks again, and it shouldn't be so fucking sexy with his mouth all blurred like that from kissing, but holy Jesus Christ, it is. Jared's so damn screwed. "See you in court, huh?"
"Yeah," Jared says, a little dazedly. "Guess so."
Jensen pulls him in for a last, hard kiss, fingers tucked into the pocket of his jacket for support. Just a long press, a brief fuck of tongue, and he's gone, leaving Jared's head ringing with orgasm and bemusement. Jesus Christ, but Jensen Ackles is something.
It's not until Jared's almost back to the office that he finds the card in his pocket, Jensen's office phone and personal cell. Call me.
The afternoon is long, but Jared spends it smiling.