fic: a picture is worth a thousand words (jared/jensen, minor omc/jensen) nc17 [2/?]
Title: a picture is worth a thousand words
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: 1,382
Summary: A picture is worth a thousand words and Jensen is learning that the hard way.
Notes: I'm going to try to get a chapter out a week [all to be posted on Sunday night or Monday afternoon] with the exception of last week.
a picture is worth a thousand words.
Jensen's not sure nervous can cover how he feels, but he's sure it's something akin to that. He can't even drink the coffee in front of him, which is depressing. Caffeine would definitely help today. He sighs heavily and watched the door, waiting.
The waiting is the worst, the not knowing. One is drawing closer and Jensen's stomach is roiling. He's not sure this is a good idea, but it's better than the alternative. Much better. He has to keep telling himself that, keep reassuring himself.
He looks down at the coffee and frowns. It had sounded good before but now, it just looks wrong, unappetizing. He downs the rest anyway. If anything, the burn is satisfying and something to hang-on to. Jensen hisses softly through his teeth, sinking back in his seat.
"That can't be good for your voice." His head snaps up and he sees a smiling face. "No Jared? Huh. I figured he'd be here. Oh well." The man sits down across from him, still smiling. "It's better that it's just us."
The man across from him looks younger than himself, but Jensen can't be sure short of asking him. He doesn't care anyway. His eyes are dark with a glint of something bordering on sadistic; Jensen feels a shiver race up his spine. He's got blonde hair that's spiked up in careful disarray, and Jensen thinks he hates him a little more than he had before; if that was at all possible.
"No need to worry him with something that can be taken care of easily," Jensen tells him, leaning forward and folding his hands on the table. Slipping into business-mode had become easier over the years; showing that you meant business and not getting flustered was key to any negotiation.
The blonde man chuckles softly and waves a waitress over; he orders a Chai tea and looks over at Jensen, offering to pay for a refill. He declines politely and smiles at the young girl before she goes to get his own personal demon his tea. "It's funny that you assume this is simply going to go away after a conversation... I guess most rags are right about the pretty ones not being too bright."
Jensen's eyes narrow as the girl comes back with his tea; she tucks a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear, asking if Jensen was sure he didn't want anything. He shakes his head, saying no thank you just as politely has before. When she leaves, he looks back at the man saying, "I wouldn't invest too much belief in what you read... A lot of it's crap." He had hit a nerve. Jensen knows what a lot of the tabloids say about actors and actresses who have looks--they're a bunch of air heads who can't do anything without a director shouting orders. It's a load of a bullshit.
"Yes, I suppose," he says, sipping his tea. "But what we're dealing with is not crap, now is it?" He sets his cup down on the table and leans forward, which causes Jensen to move back. He smiles. "I don't bite." Jensen only glares, so he continues to talk, "You let your guard down and now you have to pay to make sure none of this leaks out... And I know you don't want this leaking out, Jensen."
"How much?" Jensen asks, waiting for a big number that will make his heart stop for a few beats. The man only laughs--not chuckles, actually laughs--and a few heads turn.
He quiets and in a hushed voice says, "I'm not looking for money considering the cash I could rake in with those pictures." He chuckles softly and sips his tea, his composure regained. "Why do they always assume people like me want money? "
"Because that's usually what you're after," Jensen hisses, "and don't fucking deny it; you know it's true."
"That's usually what most of us are after, yes," he says, "but not me. I know better."
"Than what do you want?" Jensen asks. And what the hell do I call you?
The dark-eyed man smiles. "I don't think this is the place to talk about that," he says before he finishes his tea. He pulls out his wallet and Jensen gets a glimpse of the cash that's inside; the man definitely doesn't seem to need money. So what, is this some kind of sick hobby? "Let's take a walk, shall we?"
"Can you tell me what to call you?" Jensen asks, staying seated as the mystery man stands. "Because I don't think pal, friend, or man is gonna work for me."
"Oh, I'm hurt by that, Jensen," he says, pouting like a child; his eyes show no hurt at all. "I consider you a friend... But maybe in time you'll consider me one. I can wait. Until then, you can call me Julian," he tells him before his eyes go hard, "and just Julian. No little nicknames."
"Wouldn't dream of giving you a little nickname," Jensen says, pushing back in his chair. "Wouldn't want to wound you anymore than I already have." He sees a flicker in Julian's eyes that makes his skin crawl and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It makes him feel vulnerable. "Lead the way."
xxx
They walk for a little while, the silence driving Jensen mad. There's noise around them, sure, but there's no talking between them, just silence. He doesn't like it. And he doesn't like that he doesn't know where they're going. He won't be lost if the guy--Julian--just decides to ditch him on some street corner, but he'll be pissed as all get out because he dragged him halfway across town.
Julian turns a corner and Jensen frowns because he knows the area; it's not a friendly one. He follows, though, because what else can he do? He can't screw this up. "I thought you were going to talk about what I owed you to keep this under wraps," Jensen finally says, his hands buried deep in his pockets. "Not gimme a tour of the town."
"Have you got somewhere more important to be?" Julian asks looking back at him. He looks curious but so sure of himself at the same time. Jensen wants to hit him.
"No," he answers tersely, "but I've seen most of the sights and they're not as fun the second time 'round." He knows he's playing with fire, but he's pissed and anxious and scared and it's the only thing he can do instead of freak out.
Julian simply continues walking, turning his attention back to the street ahead of him. "Almost there," he tells him, and Jensen follows like a lost dog, ignoring the eyes that follow the two of them. He turns another street corner and smiles to a guy next to a nondescript door before heading inside. Jensen considers taking off, but weighs the pros and cons of that idea before following after him.
The smoke makes his head spin, but not as much as being spun around and slammed against the wall. His breath leaves him and he coughs, pushing back to no avail. "See, I collect my payment in ways to assure the other person will keep their mouths shut," Julian hisses in Jensen's ear and he laughs.
"I think this'll leave curious marks that can't be explained away," he tells him, but the rough shove makes him cough again.
"Don't flatter yourself," Julian says and Jensen can all but hear the roll of his eyes. "And besides, I'm not stupid."
Firm, rough hands spin him back around and Jensen glares at the man, who he now notices is only a little bit shorter than he is. He bites back a few choice remarks that run along the lines of don't be so sure of that and oh really?
"What I have in mind won't leave marks on you, but so help me if you think of leaving any marks of your own," Julian warns.
When Jensen's knees hit the dusty floor, he feels his stomach somersault and bile rise up in his throat, but he tells himself it's to protect Jared and closes his eyes as the snick of Julian's zipper echoes in his ears.
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: 1,382
Summary: A picture is worth a thousand words and Jensen is learning that the hard way.
Notes: I'm going to try to get a chapter out a week [all to be posted on Sunday night or Monday afternoon] with the exception of last week.
a picture is worth a thousand words.
Jensen's not sure nervous can cover how he feels, but he's sure it's something akin to that. He can't even drink the coffee in front of him, which is depressing. Caffeine would definitely help today. He sighs heavily and watched the door, waiting.
The waiting is the worst, the not knowing. One is drawing closer and Jensen's stomach is roiling. He's not sure this is a good idea, but it's better than the alternative. Much better. He has to keep telling himself that, keep reassuring himself.
He looks down at the coffee and frowns. It had sounded good before but now, it just looks wrong, unappetizing. He downs the rest anyway. If anything, the burn is satisfying and something to hang-on to. Jensen hisses softly through his teeth, sinking back in his seat.
"That can't be good for your voice." His head snaps up and he sees a smiling face. "No Jared? Huh. I figured he'd be here. Oh well." The man sits down across from him, still smiling. "It's better that it's just us."
The man across from him looks younger than himself, but Jensen can't be sure short of asking him. He doesn't care anyway. His eyes are dark with a glint of something bordering on sadistic; Jensen feels a shiver race up his spine. He's got blonde hair that's spiked up in careful disarray, and Jensen thinks he hates him a little more than he had before; if that was at all possible.
"No need to worry him with something that can be taken care of easily," Jensen tells him, leaning forward and folding his hands on the table. Slipping into business-mode had become easier over the years; showing that you meant business and not getting flustered was key to any negotiation.
The blonde man chuckles softly and waves a waitress over; he orders a Chai tea and looks over at Jensen, offering to pay for a refill. He declines politely and smiles at the young girl before she goes to get his own personal demon his tea. "It's funny that you assume this is simply going to go away after a conversation... I guess most rags are right about the pretty ones not being too bright."
Jensen's eyes narrow as the girl comes back with his tea; she tucks a stray lock of auburn hair behind her ear, asking if Jensen was sure he didn't want anything. He shakes his head, saying no thank you just as politely has before. When she leaves, he looks back at the man saying, "I wouldn't invest too much belief in what you read... A lot of it's crap." He had hit a nerve. Jensen knows what a lot of the tabloids say about actors and actresses who have looks--they're a bunch of air heads who can't do anything without a director shouting orders. It's a load of a bullshit.
"Yes, I suppose," he says, sipping his tea. "But what we're dealing with is not crap, now is it?" He sets his cup down on the table and leans forward, which causes Jensen to move back. He smiles. "I don't bite." Jensen only glares, so he continues to talk, "You let your guard down and now you have to pay to make sure none of this leaks out... And I know you don't want this leaking out, Jensen."
"How much?" Jensen asks, waiting for a big number that will make his heart stop for a few beats. The man only laughs--not chuckles, actually laughs--and a few heads turn.
He quiets and in a hushed voice says, "I'm not looking for money considering the cash I could rake in with those pictures." He chuckles softly and sips his tea, his composure regained. "Why do they always assume people like me want money? "
"Because that's usually what you're after," Jensen hisses, "and don't fucking deny it; you know it's true."
"That's usually what most of us are after, yes," he says, "but not me. I know better."
"Than what do you want?" Jensen asks. And what the hell do I call you?
The dark-eyed man smiles. "I don't think this is the place to talk about that," he says before he finishes his tea. He pulls out his wallet and Jensen gets a glimpse of the cash that's inside; the man definitely doesn't seem to need money. So what, is this some kind of sick hobby? "Let's take a walk, shall we?"
"Can you tell me what to call you?" Jensen asks, staying seated as the mystery man stands. "Because I don't think pal, friend, or man is gonna work for me."
"Oh, I'm hurt by that, Jensen," he says, pouting like a child; his eyes show no hurt at all. "I consider you a friend... But maybe in time you'll consider me one. I can wait. Until then, you can call me Julian," he tells him before his eyes go hard, "and just Julian. No little nicknames."
"Wouldn't dream of giving you a little nickname," Jensen says, pushing back in his chair. "Wouldn't want to wound you anymore than I already have." He sees a flicker in Julian's eyes that makes his skin crawl and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It makes him feel vulnerable. "Lead the way."
xxx
They walk for a little while, the silence driving Jensen mad. There's noise around them, sure, but there's no talking between them, just silence. He doesn't like it. And he doesn't like that he doesn't know where they're going. He won't be lost if the guy--Julian--just decides to ditch him on some street corner, but he'll be pissed as all get out because he dragged him halfway across town.
Julian turns a corner and Jensen frowns because he knows the area; it's not a friendly one. He follows, though, because what else can he do? He can't screw this up. "I thought you were going to talk about what I owed you to keep this under wraps," Jensen finally says, his hands buried deep in his pockets. "Not gimme a tour of the town."
"Have you got somewhere more important to be?" Julian asks looking back at him. He looks curious but so sure of himself at the same time. Jensen wants to hit him.
"No," he answers tersely, "but I've seen most of the sights and they're not as fun the second time 'round." He knows he's playing with fire, but he's pissed and anxious and scared and it's the only thing he can do instead of freak out.
Julian simply continues walking, turning his attention back to the street ahead of him. "Almost there," he tells him, and Jensen follows like a lost dog, ignoring the eyes that follow the two of them. He turns another street corner and smiles to a guy next to a nondescript door before heading inside. Jensen considers taking off, but weighs the pros and cons of that idea before following after him.
The smoke makes his head spin, but not as much as being spun around and slammed against the wall. His breath leaves him and he coughs, pushing back to no avail. "See, I collect my payment in ways to assure the other person will keep their mouths shut," Julian hisses in Jensen's ear and he laughs.
"I think this'll leave curious marks that can't be explained away," he tells him, but the rough shove makes him cough again.
"Don't flatter yourself," Julian says and Jensen can all but hear the roll of his eyes. "And besides, I'm not stupid."
Firm, rough hands spin him back around and Jensen glares at the man, who he now notices is only a little bit shorter than he is. He bites back a few choice remarks that run along the lines of don't be so sure of that and oh really?
"What I have in mind won't leave marks on you, but so help me if you think of leaving any marks of your own," Julian warns.
When Jensen's knees hit the dusty floor, he feels his stomach somersault and bile rise up in his throat, but he tells himself it's to protect Jared and closes his eyes as the snick of Julian's zipper echoes in his ears.