fic: a picture is worth a thousand words (jared/jensen, minor omc/jensen) nc17 [1/?]
Title: a picture is worth a thousand words [1/?]
Pairing: Jared/Jensen, minor OMC/Jensen*
Rating/Warnings: NC17 | alternate universe wherein jensen has not dated Daneel, graphic m/m slash, real person fic, drama, angst, coercion between minor omc and Jensen, being mean to the boys, [*]minor omc character that causes the angst and mayhem and coercion
Word Count: 1,351
Summary: A picture is worth a thousand words and Jensen is learning that the hard way.
Notes: This started out as a sick/mean idea in my mind and after prodding by my friends, I decided to write it. It started out with the name paparazzi!verse, but I think I'll be calling this a picture is worth a thousand words.
a picture is worth a thousand words.
Staring down at the polaroids spread across his kitchen table, Jensen wonders when he got to be so careless. There used to be times when he didn't like to be seen in public with his significant other, being the private person that he was, and then, in a flash, he's willing to be in the spotlight; willing to be out in the open, albiet under false pretenses. The black and white candids staring back at him are telling him that wasn't a smart move. At all.
He swallows back the rising panic, telling himself they haven't hit the tabloids or magazines yet seeing as his PR assisstant wasn't calling him, in a fit of what the fuck? Jensen tells himself, tries to believe, that this is just a joke; a sick, eleborate joke. He knows it isn't, though. He knows because this is beyond anything anyone they knew would pull. He knows because there was no one waiting to laugh at the look on his face when they spilled out of the manilla envelope.
"Fuck..." The panic is rising again, and his hands are starting to itch and feel clammy. He leans against the table for support, pointedly looking away from the pictures that are mocking him as he struggles to stay calm. "Fuck."
Neither he nor Jared need this at this point in their lives, but there is it, laughing at him. Telling him he fucked up and that he should pack it in because after this? They were screwed. Once this leaked out, they weren't coming back from it. No making fake promises, no acting as though it never happened, no nothing.
Jensen takes a deep breath, hanging his head. This was something he couldn't even talk with his publicist about because hello! Bachelor who had been a part of teenage girls' wet dreams since he started out on Days. He was the poster-boy for parents who wanted their girls to grow up an marry a good, church-going boy.
He looks back at the pictures, trying to figure out where they were taken from. He tentatively pulls one closer to himself and looks down at it. The edges are blurred slightly from the angle of the image, but it's still obvious who was in the picture. Jensen feels sick. He recognizes the couch as the one Jared helped him pick out because his old leather one was too short for him to stretch out on. Leather's hard to keep up anyway, Jen. He closes his eyes and pushes it away, sending a few fluttering to the floor.
The hands on his face were gentle but firm, like the lips against his own. He groans softly, his eyes fluttering closed. The leg between his own is pressing up and up and---"Jesus fuck, Jay."
Jared chuckles low and soft--a dirty, perverse sound--his green eyes opening slowly. A mischievious grin spreads across his lips as he leans him and nips at Jensen's earlobe; he hums at the shiver that wracks his lover's body. "Told ya that we needed to christen your new couch, Jen," he breathes against his ear, his tongue running over the sensitive flesh.
His house. His privacy. His. Theirs. Anger overtakes the nausea for a moment before he's turning and crumpling to the floor. He's shaking and he feels exposed, naked. Jensen doesn't like that feeling. Hell, he hasn't had to deal with that feeling since he'd woken up at Jared's after a network party. He's been safe since then. Safe from the panic attacks and bouts of anxiety because he's had Jared there to crawl into. Now... now this will just drag both of them down.
Jensen starts a bit when his phone rings. Talking is the last thing he wants to do right now. Right now? Crawling into a hole sounded like a pretty damn good idea. Answering a phone? Not up there on the list. He looks over at his phone and bites his lip. He can only think of a few people who'd call, and really? They were just as likely to show up unannounced.
On the third ring, he picks up; his hands shaking so badly he nearly drops the damn thing. He opens his mouth and his throat works, but nothing comes out. It doesn't surprise him. He swallows and the next time gets as far as hello before the person on the other end starts talking. Jensen's blood runs cold.
"So I'm guessing you've found those lovely little candids by now, am I right?"
The voice is cool, amused, and Jensen hates it. He hates how confident the man sounds when he feels like the world is at odds with him. He sets his jaw a moment, breathing deeply. "Wouldn't call 'em lovely, but to each his own." Which is a lie because it gives him a completely different angle at which to see Jared, but that's besides the point. "I'd call 'em a. . . a crappy Photoshop edit. Nice try, th---"
"You and I both know they're real, Mr. Ackles, otherwise you wouldn't be sounding like a man who'd just been kicked where it counts," the man tells him, and Jensen can hear the smirk in his voice. "So lets forgo the it's bullshit routine. You have no idea how long I sat there waiting for something like that, which was more than I expected by the way, to get shots of. You two aren't exactly hiding it, but now there's printed proof."
Jensen looks at the few pictures scattered on the floor and feels bile rising in his throat. It burns and is bitter and it makes this more real than the unknown caller ever could. "No one's going to believe this garbage," he chokes out.
"That's funny when you, yourself, don't look like you believe those words, Jensen--may I call you Jensen? I feel it's more personal that way."
His eyes snap over to the window and shifts nervously on his feet before he heads out of the kitchen and down the hall, leaning heavily against the wall; there are no windows and he feels at least a little less exposed. "You can call a lawyer because when I find out who---"
"Don't go making threats, Jensen," he says, "it won't do you any good in the long run. I've got copies of those I could drop in the mail as soon as I end this call, and I don't think you want that, do you? I mean, if not for your own career, but for your lover boy's, at least."
Jensen closes his eyes tight, sliding down the wall. This wasn't happening. He was careful, he made sure they didn't look like what they were in public and he made sure they were alone when they were together in private. Damnit.
"You obviously weren't careful enough, and I don't think that even begins to cover what's been set in motion," he hears the voice say, not realizing he'd said anything aloud.
He pulls his knees up close to himself and presses a hand to his forehead, trying to soothe the headache building there. It doesn't help. "What do you want from me?" Jensen asks, giving up on the posturing. He could give into demands even if it meant emptying his bank account or talking to his parents about a loan; he wasn't above that, not by a long shot.
"Meet me at that little coffee shop you two stop at before work every morning," the man says, "Around one-ish? I know you have tomorrow off and probably would like some time to yourself."
Jensen's jaw works a moment. He's being stalked. Great. He wants to laugh just about as much as he wants to break down into tears. "One it is," he says and only pays enough attention to hear the caller say goodbye before he's hitting the end button and throwing the phone down the hall. The back and battery pop off, but Jensen doesn't care, doesn't move to fix it. He just sits there, wondering when his life took this sharp turn toward Hell.
Pairing: Jared/Jensen, minor OMC/Jensen*
Rating/Warnings: NC17 | alternate universe wherein jensen has not dated Daneel, graphic m/m slash, real person fic, drama, angst, coercion between minor omc and Jensen, being mean to the boys, [*]minor omc character that causes the angst and mayhem and coercion
Word Count: 1,351
Summary: A picture is worth a thousand words and Jensen is learning that the hard way.
Notes: This started out as a sick/mean idea in my mind and after prodding by my friends, I decided to write it. It started out with the name paparazzi!verse, but I think I'll be calling this a picture is worth a thousand words.
a picture is worth a thousand words.
Staring down at the polaroids spread across his kitchen table, Jensen wonders when he got to be so careless. There used to be times when he didn't like to be seen in public with his significant other, being the private person that he was, and then, in a flash, he's willing to be in the spotlight; willing to be out in the open, albiet under false pretenses. The black and white candids staring back at him are telling him that wasn't a smart move. At all.
He swallows back the rising panic, telling himself they haven't hit the tabloids or magazines yet seeing as his PR assisstant wasn't calling him, in a fit of what the fuck? Jensen tells himself, tries to believe, that this is just a joke; a sick, eleborate joke. He knows it isn't, though. He knows because this is beyond anything anyone they knew would pull. He knows because there was no one waiting to laugh at the look on his face when they spilled out of the manilla envelope.
"Fuck..." The panic is rising again, and his hands are starting to itch and feel clammy. He leans against the table for support, pointedly looking away from the pictures that are mocking him as he struggles to stay calm. "Fuck."
Neither he nor Jared need this at this point in their lives, but there is it, laughing at him. Telling him he fucked up and that he should pack it in because after this? They were screwed. Once this leaked out, they weren't coming back from it. No making fake promises, no acting as though it never happened, no nothing.
Jensen takes a deep breath, hanging his head. This was something he couldn't even talk with his publicist about because hello! Bachelor who had been a part of teenage girls' wet dreams since he started out on Days. He was the poster-boy for parents who wanted their girls to grow up an marry a good, church-going boy.
He looks back at the pictures, trying to figure out where they were taken from. He tentatively pulls one closer to himself and looks down at it. The edges are blurred slightly from the angle of the image, but it's still obvious who was in the picture. Jensen feels sick. He recognizes the couch as the one Jared helped him pick out because his old leather one was too short for him to stretch out on. Leather's hard to keep up anyway, Jen. He closes his eyes and pushes it away, sending a few fluttering to the floor.
The hands on his face were gentle but firm, like the lips against his own. He groans softly, his eyes fluttering closed. The leg between his own is pressing up and up and---"Jesus fuck, Jay."
Jared chuckles low and soft--a dirty, perverse sound--his green eyes opening slowly. A mischievious grin spreads across his lips as he leans him and nips at Jensen's earlobe; he hums at the shiver that wracks his lover's body. "Told ya that we needed to christen your new couch, Jen," he breathes against his ear, his tongue running over the sensitive flesh.
His house. His privacy. His. Theirs. Anger overtakes the nausea for a moment before he's turning and crumpling to the floor. He's shaking and he feels exposed, naked. Jensen doesn't like that feeling. Hell, he hasn't had to deal with that feeling since he'd woken up at Jared's after a network party. He's been safe since then. Safe from the panic attacks and bouts of anxiety because he's had Jared there to crawl into. Now... now this will just drag both of them down.
Jensen starts a bit when his phone rings. Talking is the last thing he wants to do right now. Right now? Crawling into a hole sounded like a pretty damn good idea. Answering a phone? Not up there on the list. He looks over at his phone and bites his lip. He can only think of a few people who'd call, and really? They were just as likely to show up unannounced.
On the third ring, he picks up; his hands shaking so badly he nearly drops the damn thing. He opens his mouth and his throat works, but nothing comes out. It doesn't surprise him. He swallows and the next time gets as far as hello before the person on the other end starts talking. Jensen's blood runs cold.
"So I'm guessing you've found those lovely little candids by now, am I right?"
The voice is cool, amused, and Jensen hates it. He hates how confident the man sounds when he feels like the world is at odds with him. He sets his jaw a moment, breathing deeply. "Wouldn't call 'em lovely, but to each his own." Which is a lie because it gives him a completely different angle at which to see Jared, but that's besides the point. "I'd call 'em a. . . a crappy Photoshop edit. Nice try, th---"
"You and I both know they're real, Mr. Ackles, otherwise you wouldn't be sounding like a man who'd just been kicked where it counts," the man tells him, and Jensen can hear the smirk in his voice. "So lets forgo the it's bullshit routine. You have no idea how long I sat there waiting for something like that, which was more than I expected by the way, to get shots of. You two aren't exactly hiding it, but now there's printed proof."
Jensen looks at the few pictures scattered on the floor and feels bile rising in his throat. It burns and is bitter and it makes this more real than the unknown caller ever could. "No one's going to believe this garbage," he chokes out.
"That's funny when you, yourself, don't look like you believe those words, Jensen--may I call you Jensen? I feel it's more personal that way."
His eyes snap over to the window and shifts nervously on his feet before he heads out of the kitchen and down the hall, leaning heavily against the wall; there are no windows and he feels at least a little less exposed. "You can call a lawyer because when I find out who---"
"Don't go making threats, Jensen," he says, "it won't do you any good in the long run. I've got copies of those I could drop in the mail as soon as I end this call, and I don't think you want that, do you? I mean, if not for your own career, but for your lover boy's, at least."
Jensen closes his eyes tight, sliding down the wall. This wasn't happening. He was careful, he made sure they didn't look like what they were in public and he made sure they were alone when they were together in private. Damnit.
"You obviously weren't careful enough, and I don't think that even begins to cover what's been set in motion," he hears the voice say, not realizing he'd said anything aloud.
He pulls his knees up close to himself and presses a hand to his forehead, trying to soothe the headache building there. It doesn't help. "What do you want from me?" Jensen asks, giving up on the posturing. He could give into demands even if it meant emptying his bank account or talking to his parents about a loan; he wasn't above that, not by a long shot.
"Meet me at that little coffee shop you two stop at before work every morning," the man says, "Around one-ish? I know you have tomorrow off and probably would like some time to yourself."
Jensen's jaw works a moment. He's being stalked. Great. He wants to laugh just about as much as he wants to break down into tears. "One it is," he says and only pays enough attention to hear the caller say goodbye before he's hitting the end button and throwing the phone down the hall. The back and battery pop off, but Jensen doesn't care, doesn't move to fix it. He just sits there, wondering when his life took this sharp turn toward Hell.