fic: One More Miracle
Organizational kink still going strong. Another spnspringfling fic, written for tipsy_kitty:
Title: One More Miracle
Genre: Jared/Jensen AU
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,400 or so
Summary: The king's taken back the throne.
Jared peeks around the edge of the arched stone entranceway to the balcony. The city spreads out before him, the false dawn just starting to lighten the sky beyond the eastern wall. Already, a crowd has gathered in the plaza several stories below, and more people weave through the maze of streets like multi-colored snakes, all heading toward him, in the direction of the tower. Looking down makes Jared’s stomach lurch. He’s never had a head for heights, neither physical nor metaphoric, has always preferred to keep both feet planted firmly on solid ground.
“I never wanted any of this,” Jared whispers to himself.
“And that’s exactly why you should be the one to have it.”
Jared startles and turns toward the smooth sound of Jensen’s voice. Jensen still dresses as if he’s about to go to battle; his breastplate cinched tightly around his chest, the leather scarred and stained, Jared’s insignia burned into the center, right over his heart.
The only concession he’s made for his new station as first advisor to the king is the dagger tucked into the top of his boot, the handle of it glinting gold and set with a ruby twice the size of Jared’s thumbnail, its color a red that’s deeper than blood. His trousers are still worn, however, his boots are still spattered with mud, and his long brown cloak is tattered and torn along the hem.
“I hate it when you do that,” Jared says, and Jensen’s mouth twists in a wry smirk, pegging it for the lie that it is. It’s a useful trick, one that has saved Jared’s hide more than a dozen times. That there can never be a secret between them is a fair trade for Jensen’s ability to hear Jared. They could be miles apart, or a twisted, chaotic battlefield could separate them, and Jensen can pick up on Jared’s voice as if Jared is whispering directly into his ear. “I suppose it’s the only way that you can hear me over this racket,” Jared grumbles.
Bells from every steeple throughout the city had begun to toll at the first hint of light on the horizon, forming an arrhythmic, discordant clatter that vibrates at the base of Jared’s skull.
“I could make it stop, if you’d like,” Jensen offers.
Jared knows that it would be a simple thing for him. He’s seen Jensen clap his hands and make city walls topple, has seen him coax a gentle breeze into a gale that sent an entire invading armada a hundred miles off course, has watched Jensen mend broken bones and cracked skulls with a snap of his fingers.
And they say that Jared is the one with the old blood, that Jared is the one who should be king.
“Let them have their celebrations, for as long as they last,” Jared says.
“Quite magnanimous of you, Your Majesty.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Jensen shrugs. “You’ll have to get used to it eventually.”
“Just like you’ll have to get used to wearing something other than your armor.”
“Not while you’re in danger,” Jensen says, his teasing tone evaporating in an instant.
“I’m hardly in danger,” Jared protests. “The full force of the city watch is patrolling the streets. The palace guard has turned over every stone of this place at least four times.” He gestures toward his bed, an enormous ornamental affair large enough to sleep an army. “No fewer than three members of the guard checked under and around my bed last night before I could get into it. Three, Jensen. The only ones who will get within fifty feet of me today-aside from you-are members of the aristocracy, and they wouldn’t know how to use a weapon if you strapped it to their hands and pointed it in the right direction.”
“No,” Jensen starts, his contempt clear. “I know that you can handle yourself in a fair fight, or even an unfair one. But those people you mention are the people you have to be even more careful of. They’ll cut you, and you won’t even know it’s happened, not until a month later and you’ve already bled out.”
He approaches Jared and comes to a stop less than a foot away. The air around him crackles with energy, makes the fine hair on the back of Jared’s neck stand up straight and his chest tighten. This close, Jared can see the crooked angles of Jensen’s fingers from past breaks, the scars on his knuckles, and the old, healed-over gash that mars the thin skin along his temple. Jensen has the ability to do amazing, improbable things, but he can’t heal himself, and instead carries the scars for both of them. It’s a crucial flaw in Jensen’s design and Jared hates it.
Jensen places a hand over Jared’s heart, his fingertips brushing the hollow of Jared’s throat. “My job is to keep you alive, and I intend to do exactly that. Above all else.”
“And I suppose you want me to make that easy on you?” Jared teases, trying to loosen the tension pouring off Jensen in waves.
It works, somehow. Jensen’s shoulders relax and his expression softens. He finally breaks into a smile, a small thing that erases the last decade of war and rebellion, wear and tear from his features and makes him that much more beautiful, and for an instant they’re young again, carefree, the whole wide world at their fingertips.
“I’ve begged for more than my fair share of miracles,” Jensen tells him, skidding his fingers upward along Jared’s neck. “Any more might be pressing my luck.”
He tightens his fist in Jared’s hair and pulls him in, walking them backward out of the doorway and into the shadows of Jared’s bedroom. Jared bites off a gasp when Jensen crashes fully into him, open mouth hot and demanding, his tongue pushing past Jared’s lip sand sliding along his own.
He wonders, not for the first time, how he got here, how he led an army clear across two continents to earn back what was once his by right of birth, when something as simple as the press of Jensen’s body against his can take him down so quickly. A shiver zips its way up his spine as Jensen’s fingers sneak under Jared’s thin linen shirt, palms splayed on the small of his back, his mouth wandering from Jared's lips to his jaw then down along his neck. Jensen shoves a thigh between Jared's legs and rocks into him, tiny thrusts of his hips exactly enough to leave Jared breathless and wanting more. Jared relaxes, allows Jensen to hold him tight, certain that Jensen can bear the brunt of his weight and more, and lets himself sink into the feel of it, a need pooling low in his stomach.
Jensen laughs low, breath tickling Jared's ear, and pulls another trick out of his bag. Sparks of heat radiate outward from his hands, something akin to tickling sparks that light up all over Jared's skin, like standing too close to a lightning strike. The sensation populates Jared's veins, makes him moan and shudder and jab his hips against Jensen, his cock suddenly aching and instantly hard.
With a small push to Jensen's chest, Jared says, "That's not fair."
"Never said that it was," Jensen counters.
Jared yanks at the shoulder strap of Jensen's armor, starts to loosen the buckle and says, "Get this off."
"Is that an order, my liege?" Jensen says with a crooked grin. A flush is riding high on his cheeks, and his mouth is swollen and wet, and Jared wants nothing more than to get him spread out, use up every square inch of that enormous bed behind them.
"Yes, in fact it is, and I demand that you swear fealty," Jared says, the effect somewhat lessened by the matching grin on his face.
It's another miracle, albeit a small one, when Jensen drops to his knees before him, palms fitted to the jut of Jared's hipbones and fingers curled into the waist of Jared's pants. The look he directs at Jared is dark and dead serious.
"I do. I swear. Everyday, until the end."
--fin
Thanks for reading.
Title: One More Miracle
Genre: Jared/Jensen AU
Rating: R
Word Count: 1,400 or so
Summary: The king's taken back the throne.
Jared peeks around the edge of the arched stone entranceway to the balcony. The city spreads out before him, the false dawn just starting to lighten the sky beyond the eastern wall. Already, a crowd has gathered in the plaza several stories below, and more people weave through the maze of streets like multi-colored snakes, all heading toward him, in the direction of the tower. Looking down makes Jared’s stomach lurch. He’s never had a head for heights, neither physical nor metaphoric, has always preferred to keep both feet planted firmly on solid ground.
“I never wanted any of this,” Jared whispers to himself.
“And that’s exactly why you should be the one to have it.”
Jared startles and turns toward the smooth sound of Jensen’s voice. Jensen still dresses as if he’s about to go to battle; his breastplate cinched tightly around his chest, the leather scarred and stained, Jared’s insignia burned into the center, right over his heart.
The only concession he’s made for his new station as first advisor to the king is the dagger tucked into the top of his boot, the handle of it glinting gold and set with a ruby twice the size of Jared’s thumbnail, its color a red that’s deeper than blood. His trousers are still worn, however, his boots are still spattered with mud, and his long brown cloak is tattered and torn along the hem.
“I hate it when you do that,” Jared says, and Jensen’s mouth twists in a wry smirk, pegging it for the lie that it is. It’s a useful trick, one that has saved Jared’s hide more than a dozen times. That there can never be a secret between them is a fair trade for Jensen’s ability to hear Jared. They could be miles apart, or a twisted, chaotic battlefield could separate them, and Jensen can pick up on Jared’s voice as if Jared is whispering directly into his ear. “I suppose it’s the only way that you can hear me over this racket,” Jared grumbles.
Bells from every steeple throughout the city had begun to toll at the first hint of light on the horizon, forming an arrhythmic, discordant clatter that vibrates at the base of Jared’s skull.
“I could make it stop, if you’d like,” Jensen offers.
Jared knows that it would be a simple thing for him. He’s seen Jensen clap his hands and make city walls topple, has seen him coax a gentle breeze into a gale that sent an entire invading armada a hundred miles off course, has watched Jensen mend broken bones and cracked skulls with a snap of his fingers.
And they say that Jared is the one with the old blood, that Jared is the one who should be king.
“Let them have their celebrations, for as long as they last,” Jared says.
“Quite magnanimous of you, Your Majesty.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Jensen shrugs. “You’ll have to get used to it eventually.”
“Just like you’ll have to get used to wearing something other than your armor.”
“Not while you’re in danger,” Jensen says, his teasing tone evaporating in an instant.
“I’m hardly in danger,” Jared protests. “The full force of the city watch is patrolling the streets. The palace guard has turned over every stone of this place at least four times.” He gestures toward his bed, an enormous ornamental affair large enough to sleep an army. “No fewer than three members of the guard checked under and around my bed last night before I could get into it. Three, Jensen. The only ones who will get within fifty feet of me today-aside from you-are members of the aristocracy, and they wouldn’t know how to use a weapon if you strapped it to their hands and pointed it in the right direction.”
“No,” Jensen starts, his contempt clear. “I know that you can handle yourself in a fair fight, or even an unfair one. But those people you mention are the people you have to be even more careful of. They’ll cut you, and you won’t even know it’s happened, not until a month later and you’ve already bled out.”
He approaches Jared and comes to a stop less than a foot away. The air around him crackles with energy, makes the fine hair on the back of Jared’s neck stand up straight and his chest tighten. This close, Jared can see the crooked angles of Jensen’s fingers from past breaks, the scars on his knuckles, and the old, healed-over gash that mars the thin skin along his temple. Jensen has the ability to do amazing, improbable things, but he can’t heal himself, and instead carries the scars for both of them. It’s a crucial flaw in Jensen’s design and Jared hates it.
Jensen places a hand over Jared’s heart, his fingertips brushing the hollow of Jared’s throat. “My job is to keep you alive, and I intend to do exactly that. Above all else.”
“And I suppose you want me to make that easy on you?” Jared teases, trying to loosen the tension pouring off Jensen in waves.
It works, somehow. Jensen’s shoulders relax and his expression softens. He finally breaks into a smile, a small thing that erases the last decade of war and rebellion, wear and tear from his features and makes him that much more beautiful, and for an instant they’re young again, carefree, the whole wide world at their fingertips.
“I’ve begged for more than my fair share of miracles,” Jensen tells him, skidding his fingers upward along Jared’s neck. “Any more might be pressing my luck.”
He tightens his fist in Jared’s hair and pulls him in, walking them backward out of the doorway and into the shadows of Jared’s bedroom. Jared bites off a gasp when Jensen crashes fully into him, open mouth hot and demanding, his tongue pushing past Jared’s lip sand sliding along his own.
He wonders, not for the first time, how he got here, how he led an army clear across two continents to earn back what was once his by right of birth, when something as simple as the press of Jensen’s body against his can take him down so quickly. A shiver zips its way up his spine as Jensen’s fingers sneak under Jared’s thin linen shirt, palms splayed on the small of his back, his mouth wandering from Jared's lips to his jaw then down along his neck. Jensen shoves a thigh between Jared's legs and rocks into him, tiny thrusts of his hips exactly enough to leave Jared breathless and wanting more. Jared relaxes, allows Jensen to hold him tight, certain that Jensen can bear the brunt of his weight and more, and lets himself sink into the feel of it, a need pooling low in his stomach.
Jensen laughs low, breath tickling Jared's ear, and pulls another trick out of his bag. Sparks of heat radiate outward from his hands, something akin to tickling sparks that light up all over Jared's skin, like standing too close to a lightning strike. The sensation populates Jared's veins, makes him moan and shudder and jab his hips against Jensen, his cock suddenly aching and instantly hard.
With a small push to Jensen's chest, Jared says, "That's not fair."
"Never said that it was," Jensen counters.
Jared yanks at the shoulder strap of Jensen's armor, starts to loosen the buckle and says, "Get this off."
"Is that an order, my liege?" Jensen says with a crooked grin. A flush is riding high on his cheeks, and his mouth is swollen and wet, and Jared wants nothing more than to get him spread out, use up every square inch of that enormous bed behind them.
"Yes, in fact it is, and I demand that you swear fealty," Jared says, the effect somewhat lessened by the matching grin on his face.
It's another miracle, albeit a small one, when Jensen drops to his knees before him, palms fitted to the jut of Jared's hipbones and fingers curled into the waist of Jared's pants. The look he directs at Jared is dark and dead serious.
"I do. I swear. Everyday, until the end."
--fin
Thanks for reading.