fratboy 'verse: Part 6
Unbetaed as of yet. I'll clean it up some more before I crosspost...just wanted to get something out since I said I would. :D Also, you might wanna refresh your memory since the timeline's so screwy on this one...I've linked all the previous parts below for easy hunting access.
In conclusion, I listened to a lot of Snow Patrol while writing this. I'm not sure if that matters, but it's interesting, no?
---
Title: 'til you’re old enough to know things ain't as they appear [6/9]
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 | graphic m/m sex, real person fiction, spanking, rimming, delayed orgasm, and various other kinks.
Word Count: 4138 (this part)
Summary: Jensen dives into the seedy underbelly of Pledge Week at UT for a news article and gets more than he bargained for. Completely cliché and totally AU, but y’know, it could’ve happened. If the universe was, like, alternate.
Notes: This story’s going to be told in a non-linear fashion, therefore things will not unfold chronologically. So basically, pay attention to the timeframe at the beginning of each section, and you’ll be able to follow along just fine. You don’t need to know everything that’s going on just yet.
Also, this is all fiction. I've never been in a fraternity, obviously, so I apologize for any inconsistencies herein. *hugs*
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
fanart by mkitty3.
'til you’re old enough to know things ain't as they appear: Part 6.
By keepaofthecheez.
Previously:
Jensen’s never been a goddamn saint, but he’s always thought better of himself than this. A hot ass and cute dimples might turn his head, but don’t generally have him pressing against the wall with legs spread and filthy begging on his tongue. There’s a part of him ready and willing to blame Jared for it, for messing with his head, making him want to buy into his shit and believe it actually means something.
And now:
University of Texas.
Frat Row, ΔΣΠ House
Day 7.
Fig leaves.
“Fig leaves?” Jensen hears the whine in his voice and clenches his jaw tight against it. Tries to cross his legs standing up, cursing everyone in a fifteen mile radius. “This job is getting old, so fast.”
“It’s a very pretty fig leaf,” Mike says, but he won’t quite look Jensen in the eye. Just takes another swig from the flask in his hand and makes a face when three fratboys set up a beer bong under the ancient Sycamore serving as a landmark in the Delta Sig backyard.
Jensen’s balls are itching from the precariously placed plant, but goddamn if he’s gonna give in and scratch. He’s pretty sure his ass is sunburned, too, and he entertains a brief, vindictive fantasy of making Michael be the one to rub aloe vera on it when this bullshit is all said and done.
“I hate toga parties,” he says to no one in particular, swiping a cup of questionable content from the closest picnic bench. “What do you think, Mikey? Will it put me in the hospital and end this miserable existence?”
“Then you’d just be in a hospital wearing nothing but a fig leaf.” Mike finally spares him a quick glance, then swallows back something that sounds suspiciously like a snort. “Just be thankful, I hear this day used to be called Naked Waiter.”
Jensen goes stiff, a litany of filth burning the tip of his tongue, and then there’s a husky laugh. A heavy arm comes around his shoulders, and Jensen finds himself pulled up tight against muscle and bone.
“Not anymore, thank God.” Jared hiccups around a goofy grin. Crisp white sheets are gathered at his shoulder, sagging down to play peek-a-boo with a tight nipple as Jared sways to the side. Squeezes Jensen, drink spilling over. Jared doesn’t seem to notice, too busy gazing over Jensen’s ridiculous getup in more than a little admiration. “No one else gets to see what’s under that fig leaf, hmm, Jen?”
Ignoring the seductive drawl and Mike’s raised brow, Jensen takes in the pink stain spreading across Jared’s thigh, eyes flickering up to the sky. They’ve been there all of an hour, and Jared hasn’t wasted any time getting, well, wasted. What’s worse is that Jared Padalecki’s a very, very tactile drunk--Jensen’s got fingerprints smudged in places that would make him blush if they were visible, made worse by the fact that, well.
He’s only wearing a motherfucking fig leaf. Christ, he hates toga parties.
“So you’ve said,” Mike murmurs--unhelpfully--from behind his flask, and Jensen just scowls. Turns toward Jared with as much interest as he can feign on his features.
“So, why nix the naked waiter…ing?” And more importantly, who grew a fucking brain?
“Eh, before my time, but I guess the last Grand Polemarch didn’t like it. Too ‘uncouth’.” Jared emphasizes with his fingers, splashing himself pink again, and Jensen refuses to admit it’s kind of cute. He shakes himself upon realizing he’s all but staring at Jared with something scarily bordering fondness. Jared scratches his nose and adds offhandedly, “Chris was a pledge then, he probably knows all about it.”
There’s a moment of awkward silence as Jensen slants Mike a glare, and Mike clears his throat. Jared seems none the wiser, but Jensen’s cheeks are burning and his fingers clench against his naked thigh as Jared keeps on talking.
“But that’s old news, anyway.” His teeth gleam, and then Jensen feels big hands low on his back. Blinks, and Jared’s right there, nose-to-mouth, and, oh god. They’re in the middle of the fucking Delta Sig’s backyard barbecue and his boss isn’t five feet away. Jared licks his lips, gaze burning, voice soft and way too familiar. “Right now’s what’s important.”
Jensen opens his mouth to say…something, but the wires get crossed somewhere around the time Jared’s hand dips lower and cups a cheek. “Goddamn Beauty, love your ass,” he slurs quietly, and Jensen goes red, and hard. All over. Jared’s just watching him, savoring every shuddering breath Jensen’s trying to hide, fingering his crack now like Jensen’s still got that goddamn thong wedged up in it and, god, so bad. So good.
“Ah, Jensen?” Mike’s voice is clear and sharp above the fog in Jensen’s head, and he lists away from Jared and meets his friend’s gaze. Jared makes a frustrated sound behind him, crowds up close until he’s chest to Jensen’s back, and Jensen grinds his teeth.
“Get lost,” Jared directs toward Mike, suddenly aware of Michael’s presence again, and apparently recognizing him, as well. “I don’t give a damn how friendly you are with el presidente…my pledge, my time.”
Well. If Jensen had needed a reminder…
He looks up, blinks long, innocent lashes, and elbows Jared right in the gut. His big Brother sucks in a sharp breath, and Jensen’s smile edges toward malice. “Oops.”
“Fucking sumbitch!” Jared yells out, holding his side like he’s severely wounded, and Jensen starts to roll his eyes at the public display of overdramatic asshattery. Several nearby people glance their way, expressions ranging from drunken curiosity to irritation, and then Jensen catches sight of something that makes the smile curdle on his face.
Familiar blue eyes widen back at him, and Jensen staggers forward on a torn breath. “Tommy?”
Michael cusses somewhere behind him, Jared’s still bitching, but Jensen’s suddenly too numb to care about either. He hasn’t seen Tom in, Christ, has it been six months? Maybe more? They’d played at being friends for a while after the end, but the last time they’d been in the same room had been when Tom announced his pledge pickup from the Sigmas. It also marked the last occasion Jensen had been well and truly drunk off his so-called sweet ass.
The rest as they say, was history.
He’s halfway across the yard, chest tight and something like a smile twisting his lips--god, he looks good--and then he’s in front of Tom. Staring at the ridiculous toga and the fig leaf behind Tom’s ear, those pretty pink lips curved into surprise, and Jensen realizes he feels…nothing. Nothing outside of friendly pleasure and concern, and it’s more staggering than if he’d taken one look at Tom and fallen all over again.
“Hi,” Tom finally says, voice tight and uncertain, and his gaze flickers over Jensen’s shoulder for all of a second. Then it’s back, bigger and brighter than before. Pissed off. “So, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em?”
Jensen blinks at the harsh snap, then remembers where he is. What he’s after, and Tom’s no idiot. Not at all, and Christ Mike’s possibly going to kill him. “Uh, it’s not what--”
“Steve said something about you being, well.” Tom flushes a bit, scratches the back of his neck and waves a hand. His next words come out on a mumble that Jensen has to strain to hear. “Something about money, I guess.”
“What?” Jensen doesn’t even know whether to laugh or be insulted.
“Is that why you’re doing this?” It’s probably meant as an accusation, but then Tom’s a nicer guy than Jensen ever really gave him credit for, and it just sounds understanding. Accepting. “Because they can get you anything you need, you know that, right?”
All at once, everything clicks into place. Steve, his words back at the bar back when this entire misadventure had started. Jensen jumps onto the lie with only a smidgeon of a guilty conscience. “Yeah, well…yeah.”
There’s a beat of awkward silence, then Tom clears his throat. “You could’ve come to me, you know.”
Yeah, that would’ve been just peachy, Jensen’s sarcasm intones. Considering you could barely look at me. Much less loan me twenty-five grand I don’t even need. Fuck!
Out loud he just shrugs, says, “Yeah, well.”
Tom’s lips part to speak again, and then Jared’s there. Gaze bright green and flashing hot, and Jensen takes an instinctive step backward. “Jared,” he starts, glimpsing the jealousy burning practically into Jared’s bones, and refusing to acknowledge the small thrill that bubbles up in his belly.
Jared interrupts, voice a low and thready thrum that vibrates up Jensen’s spine and down to his toes. “Shut up. Don’t say a fucking word or I swear I’ll bend you over a goddamn bench and make you feel it for a week.”
Jensen’s words trail off and die, two bright flags of color in his cheeks. It’s the first time Jared’s outright ridiculed him, and he was quiet, but there’s no mistaking that at least one person overheard. Tom’s staring at him now with a look Jensen can’t identify, and Jensen feels naked, exposed, and it has nothing to do with any motherfucking fig leaf.
“Fuck you,” he finally gets out, shoving past Jared’s huffing, puffing form, and makes his way blindly toward the Delta House. Gets about ten feet before he’s pulled up short, spun around to find Jared glowering down at him and Jensen vaguely thinks that he should maybe be worried. Jared’s a giant, after all, and apparently possesses a temper far greater than Jensen ever credited to the overgrown manchild, but he’s too pissed off to care. Too fucking hurt, truth be told.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jared says, much calmer, sober, than before, but the damage has been done. They’re getting looks from all over now, and Jensen sees Chris and Mike standing together. Matching expressions color their faces and have him standing tall and thrusting a hand up and between him and Jared.
“Gotta piss.” Good a lie as anything, and Jared’s eyes narrow at the explanation. Jensen turns around, only to get a hand around the wrist again, Jared’s face a mess of mottled frustration. He’s off his game, and it gives Jensen enough of an edge to relax, let a challenging smile lift his lips.
“Need help controlling your pledge, Padalecki?” Chad calls from somewhere behind them, and Jared’s back snaps straight when a few people laugh. He remains silent, and Jensen presses closer…amped up on anger and heat and everything primal.
“Gonna hold it for me, too? I’ll just be a minute.” he drawls softly, voice pleasant enough, but he knows Jared hears the razor’s edge scoring his words. Just like he knows Jared doesn’t believe them for a second. Jensen’ll be out of there the second he turns his back, and Jared’s mouth twists with the knowledge. Jensen stares back at him, helpless frustration mixing with something heady and intoxicating when Jared pulls him up close.
Then Jared’s grinning big, and it’s a little like staring into a supernova. “Smile and play nice, baby,” Jared mutters through his teeth, and Jensen can’t quite swallow the moan when Jared’s fingers squeeze into his hip. Dragging blood to the surface, marking.
“Be right back,” Jared addresses to the group at large, steadily pulling Jensen backward toward the house. “Got a sudden hankering for fresh fruit.” His voice rings out chock full of casual cheer, and if Jensen hadn’t witnessed the scene himself, he’d have almost believed it.
Instead, his words make Jensen frown, and when Chad nearly chokes on his beer and Chris’s face goes pained, Jensen realizes he’s missed something. By then they’re in the house, and he jerks away from Jared the minute the door closes. Mouth open, curses at the ready.
He gets as far as “What the fuck are you--” before he’s shoved up against the door, Jared’s lips hot on his throat. He goes silent, swallowing against Jared’s tongue and flexing his fingers against the oak door. It’s not submission, exactly, but he’s sure as hell not trying to get away. His eyes go half-lidded and Jared purrs his approval.
When Jared finally pulls back, having sucked what Jensen fears will be a pretty fucking spectacular bruise against his neck, his expression clearly reads Do Not Fuck With Me Right Now. Jensen lets out a sharp breath when Jared smiles. Slow, dangerous.
“Phase two of today’s game,” Jared says, circling around Jensen like a vulture. “Cater to your Brother. And I feel like something sweet.”
He drawls it out, extending the vowels so it comes out sweeeeet, and Jensen’s hit with a Technicolor replay of being collared and spanked, jerked off with a thong wrapped around his ankles. An almost hysterical voice inside him wonders what next? It’s drowned out by the part of him ready and willing to do anything to get rid of this itch that’s taken residence inside him ever since he looked up and saw hazel eyes eating him alive.
Seeming to realize his capitulation, Jared’s expression softens and he nods toward the stairs. “Upstairs. And be there, okay?” The last is meant to be a warning, but it comes out almost desperate, pleading, and Jensen finds himself returning the nod and knowing he’ll keep his word.
He turns toward the staircase, tosses off a hesitant look over his shoulder. Jared’s simply standing there, watching him go. When Jensen’s eyes meet his, he thrusts his chin up like a dare, and Jensen grinds his jaw.
He hasn’t backed down from a thing since this all began. He’ll be damned if he does so now.
Jared makes him wait, all but sealing Jensen’s coming punishment and also giving Jensen time to overthink. Oddly enough, it isn’t the fact that he saw Tommy again, that Mike might have a head’s up, that lingers on his mind. It’s the look in Jared’s eyes, the possessive touch when there’s nothing that belongs.
Three times he gets up from Jared’s bed, gets as far as the dresser drawers before cussing and turning back around. Slumping against the wall and rubbing a hand down his face. Everything’s spiraling out of control, he can admit it now, and he’s no fucking clue how to fix any of it.
And he’s still not leaving.
As if that’s just the realization Jared’s been waiting for, his Brother’s figure darkens the doorway and Jensen snaps to attention. It’s a little difficult to have a Mexican standoff when he’s got a piece of foliage taped to his dick and Jared’s wrapped up in his bedsheets, but here they are.
Jared steps fully inside the room, closes the door with a soft snick. “Lay down,” he says, soft and persuasive, and Jensen moves to comply before he realizes the command.
He scrambles to shaky knees, eyes wide, and waits for Jared to acknowledge the slip in his composure. Curses himself for it, fingers digging into his palms and fire burning like brandy in his throat.
Instead of saying anything at all, Jared just walks over to the closet. Reaches up and unfastens the toga from his shoulder while rummaging around for a shirt. Jensen has all of a second’s warning, and then he’s staring at the full Padalecki moon and wondering when he turned into a blushing, virginal girl.
He shifts closer, intrigued by the smattering of beauty marks across Jared’s spine, dimpling his ass. His dick presses against his belly, and he swallows wryly. All right, maybe not all that virginal.
Jared tugs on a blue rugby, some sweatshorts that’ve seen better days, then looks back at Jensen. He lets out a little sigh, crossing his arms and sending Jensen a plea from under floppy bangs. “C’mon, now. It doesn’t have to be that bad.”
For whatever reason, it’s enough to light Jensen’s fuse. “You’ve got a lot of goddamn nerve,” he starts, laughing without humor and hearing the quake of anger in his own voice.
“Do I?” Jared sounds completely chill. “Because best I recall, it was you down there showin’ off, Beauty.”
“Don’t fucking call me that!” It’s too much, not enough, and he’s starting to unravel at the seams. “Jesus, this whole thing is just…what the hell was I thinking? You’re all crazy, I know that, and.” He stops, biting his lip and staring out the window in more than a little annoyance. “Goddamn!”
“What were you talkin’ about down there, with that guy?” Jared sneers it like Tom’s a damn hobo Jensen picked up off the street, and the little display of envy does little more than make him snort.
“What’re you gonna do to me?” he counters instead, standing up and staring Jared straight in the eye. “What is it this time, Jared…whips, chains, handcuffs?” He moves closer, voice rising with sarcasm. “Wax me down and tattoo your name on my private parts? What?”
“What did Tom mean?” Jared says again, but there’s a crack in his voice that Jensen doesn’t miss. “Why would you need money?”
“The fuck business is it of yours?” Jensen answers without even thinking. His financial problems aren’t even an issue, barely graze the tip of the iceberg when it comes down to it. He’s gotten himself in way deeper than anything a quick loan could get him out of, anyway.
Jared moves so fast, Jensen blinks and then he’s flat-out on the mattress. Jared’s face hovers over his, a tic in his jaw that Jensen wants to lick across. Hates himself for it. “You’re my business,” Jared says, growls, hot and heavy and everything Jensen wants but won’t dare ask for. “When are you gonna fucking realize that, pledge? From the minute you walked through those doors, you. Are. Mine.”
“Bullshit,” Jensen gets out, bringing his elbow up to blacken Jared’s eye. Jared just pulls back, laughing, licking his lips and staring down at Jensen with playful light in his gaze.
“Yeah, that’s it. Punish me, then. Swear I won’t even put up a strugg--”
Jensen’s fist catches his lip, and Jared’s head snaps back from the force. Blood’s dripping down his chin when Jensen gets a good look, and then Jensen pounces. Pins Jared to the bed, hands over his head and teeth bared in a snap.
Jared’s breathing heavy, watching him with a blur of pupil, tongue touching the corner of his mouth. He winces a little at the taste, then grins. “Feel good?” he breathes, and Jensen’s fingers tighten until he’s sure Jared’ll have rings around his wrists come morning.
“Shut the fuck up,” he says, mimicking and embellishing Jared’s words from earlier, and something flashes behind those green-brown eyes.
Then Jared’s saying, “Sorry, m’sorry” and whispering it against Jensen’s neck, and licking, and, Christ, Jensen gives in with a shudder and grinds his dick down against Jared’s thigh.
“Fucking asshole,” he grits out while Jared rips the stupid fig leaf away, drops his head and groans when Jared jacks him slow and steady. “Fucking…oh god, don’t. Don’t--”
“What, Jensen.” A whine, almost.
“…don’t stop!” Jensen breaks, lifts his jaw and finds Jared’s mouth. It’s a kiss, but nothing satisfying about it. The clash of teeth and tongue just serve to drive his pulse higher, the faint coppery flavor making his head spin in circles. He’s got Jared’s shorts down his hips before he realizes the sound Jared’s making is because Jensen’s hand is around his dick. Stroking, pulling, aching for that surrender that’ll somehow put them back on an even keel.
“Come on.” He watches Jared’s eyes, squeezes his cock and almost tastes salt-bitter victory, seconds before it splashes hot and branding against his forearm. Jared wraps a leg around his hip, throat bobbing and keening through his teeth as he humps Jensen’s fingers, wrung out and glazed over.
Jensen wipes his palm against the sheets, buries his face in the crook of Jared’s neck, smells sweat and come. A few shallow thrusts, and he’s coming with a short cry and Jared’s got a hand in his hair. Holding on tight, whispering words in Jensen’s ear that he can’t, or won’t, listen to.
When it’s over, when he can look again, Jared’s smiling up at him and it’s prettier than a California sunrise.
“I was just, uh, gonna have you feed me some grapes. You know?”
His voice is soft, a little shy, even, and Jensen covers his face with an arm and can’t believe it’s laughter threatening to choke him.
xxx
University of Texas.
Office: The Daily Texan
Day 5.
“Good practice today,” Allie calls out, patting Jensen on the shoulder as she passes by. “Not that I give a damn about baseball. Still…the uniforms are a plus. And there’s sweat. A lot of sweat. Boy sweat. Boys.”
Jensen glances up, grin lighting his features at the gleam in her eyes. “Aw, sugar, you came,” he teases, rocking back in his chair and lacing his fingers over his belly. “Mike, how much did you pay her?” He yells over his shoulder, getting smacked in the forehead with a paper clip for his efforts.
“Jerk.” She laughs, ducking the stapler Jensen tosses back. “Hey!”
“Hag,” he returns, pushing his glasses up his nose and turning back to the monitor in front of him. “Mike, make Allie grow up?” he wheedles, then abruptly realizes his friend-cum-boss isn’t answering his desperate calls for help. “Mike?”
“He’s in the back with an ‘important source’,” Allie quotes with an eyeroll. “Seriously, I think he’s taking the Clark Kent role a little too seriously. I mean, well, look at you, for example.”
“Bite me,” Jensen says, but without much heat. Much. “And I volunteered.”
“Because you’re insane. Gorgeous,” she sighs, woefully shaking her head. “But insane.”
“Not insane. Resourceful. Darlin’.”
The look she sends him is dangerously sweet and sends chills down Jensen’s spine. Never a good sign. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard about your plans for the evening, then,” she singsongs, and Jensen’s eyes narrow.
“I’ve already checked in with the Deltas.” Meaning, he’d avoided Jared until he could no longer and raced past the bulletin board at the Delta house to check for any pledge news. “They’ve got a fundraiser deal tonight, honoring some doctor who’s gonna pledge a shitload to ‘the cause’. Members only, so us lowly pledges are good to go. Or not go, as the case may be.”
Allie snorts into her hand, then cackles outright and turns back to her own computer. Jensen frowns, sitting up straighter.
“Allie.” Nothing but a shaking of shoulders, insane giggling, and Jensen’s really starting to sweat through his t-shirt. “Allie, girl you better tell me what you--”
“Jensen, glad you’re here,” Mike interrupts. Jensen glares at the back of Allie’s head and thinks dirty, evil thoughts he hopes she hears before turning toward Michael. “There’s been a change of plans. Check your messages when you get back to your place…you’re going on a date-run tonight, buddy.”
“A…date-run?” Jensen’s half-tempted to tack on a sir, and immediately wants to scowl. The fucking Deltas and their fucking system has him all tied up in knots and it’s only day five. For Christ’s sake.
Allie’s laughing louder now, and Jensen tosses her an irritated look while Mike continues, “Jared’ll explain, I’m sure. You just make sure you’re there, and you’re ready.”
Jensen tosses off a mock-salute, pouting a little as the idea of an evening alone with a pizza and his right hand goes up in a film of smoke. “Great.”
“Listen, Jensen…” Mike starts, and there’s something hesitant in his tone that immediately grabs Jensen’s attention. Right then and there, he knows that whatever his friend is about to reveal is going to be worse, oh so much more worse than a fucking date-run. “There’s something I’ve sort of not mentioned to you.”
“Sort of not mentioned,” Jensen echoes, nearly hearing the sound of thunder and lightning over his head. “Mike?”
“You’re not exactly the first to work this job,” Mike says, the gleam in his eye almost…apologetic? “As you know, we’ve had an inside source for some time now, but there’ve been some. Issues. That’ve made it necessary to bring you in.”
“What the hell are you goin’ on about?” Jensen finally cuts to the chase, and even Allie’s quiet and watching them with a curious, half-worried look in her eye. “You’re startin’ to sound a little Miami Vice, dude.”
Michael clears his throat, then gives the weakest smile Jensen’s ever been able to attribute to his wily friend, and moves out from the doorway of his office. “Meet your, um, partner? No, that’s not right. He’s just…well…” Mike bites off his own words, then just clears his throat again and looks away.
There’s a shadowy outline behind him that Jensen can’t quite make out, and then when he does, he wants to swallow his tongue and crawl under the desk. Possibly maim himself. Get up close and personal with a rope and a hook.
“Howdy there, pledge.” Christian Kane’s rumbly voice fills the small office, and Jensen stares at the Delta Sigma president with something akin to horror when Chris smiles, teeth bright and gleaming. “You gonna play on my turf, boy, you’re gonna play by my rules and stay outta my way. Got me?”
[continue]
In conclusion, I listened to a lot of Snow Patrol while writing this. I'm not sure if that matters, but it's interesting, no?
---
Title: 'til you’re old enough to know things ain't as they appear [6/9]
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating/Warnings: NC-17 | graphic m/m sex, real person fiction, spanking, rimming, delayed orgasm, and various other kinks.
Word Count: 4138 (this part)
Summary: Jensen dives into the seedy underbelly of Pledge Week at UT for a news article and gets more than he bargained for. Completely cliché and totally AU, but y’know, it could’ve happened. If the universe was, like, alternate.
Notes: This story’s going to be told in a non-linear fashion, therefore things will not unfold chronologically. So basically, pay attention to the timeframe at the beginning of each section, and you’ll be able to follow along just fine. You don’t need to know everything that’s going on just yet.
Also, this is all fiction. I've never been in a fraternity, obviously, so I apologize for any inconsistencies herein. *hugs*
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
fanart by mkitty3.
'til you’re old enough to know things ain't as they appear: Part 6.
By keepaofthecheez.
Previously:
Jensen’s never been a goddamn saint, but he’s always thought better of himself than this. A hot ass and cute dimples might turn his head, but don’t generally have him pressing against the wall with legs spread and filthy begging on his tongue. There’s a part of him ready and willing to blame Jared for it, for messing with his head, making him want to buy into his shit and believe it actually means something.
And now:
University of Texas.
Frat Row, ΔΣΠ House
Day 7.
Fig leaves.
“Fig leaves?” Jensen hears the whine in his voice and clenches his jaw tight against it. Tries to cross his legs standing up, cursing everyone in a fifteen mile radius. “This job is getting old, so fast.”
“It’s a very pretty fig leaf,” Mike says, but he won’t quite look Jensen in the eye. Just takes another swig from the flask in his hand and makes a face when three fratboys set up a beer bong under the ancient Sycamore serving as a landmark in the Delta Sig backyard.
Jensen’s balls are itching from the precariously placed plant, but goddamn if he’s gonna give in and scratch. He’s pretty sure his ass is sunburned, too, and he entertains a brief, vindictive fantasy of making Michael be the one to rub aloe vera on it when this bullshit is all said and done.
“I hate toga parties,” he says to no one in particular, swiping a cup of questionable content from the closest picnic bench. “What do you think, Mikey? Will it put me in the hospital and end this miserable existence?”
“Then you’d just be in a hospital wearing nothing but a fig leaf.” Mike finally spares him a quick glance, then swallows back something that sounds suspiciously like a snort. “Just be thankful, I hear this day used to be called Naked Waiter.”
Jensen goes stiff, a litany of filth burning the tip of his tongue, and then there’s a husky laugh. A heavy arm comes around his shoulders, and Jensen finds himself pulled up tight against muscle and bone.
“Not anymore, thank God.” Jared hiccups around a goofy grin. Crisp white sheets are gathered at his shoulder, sagging down to play peek-a-boo with a tight nipple as Jared sways to the side. Squeezes Jensen, drink spilling over. Jared doesn’t seem to notice, too busy gazing over Jensen’s ridiculous getup in more than a little admiration. “No one else gets to see what’s under that fig leaf, hmm, Jen?”
Ignoring the seductive drawl and Mike’s raised brow, Jensen takes in the pink stain spreading across Jared’s thigh, eyes flickering up to the sky. They’ve been there all of an hour, and Jared hasn’t wasted any time getting, well, wasted. What’s worse is that Jared Padalecki’s a very, very tactile drunk--Jensen’s got fingerprints smudged in places that would make him blush if they were visible, made worse by the fact that, well.
He’s only wearing a motherfucking fig leaf. Christ, he hates toga parties.
“So you’ve said,” Mike murmurs--unhelpfully--from behind his flask, and Jensen just scowls. Turns toward Jared with as much interest as he can feign on his features.
“So, why nix the naked waiter…ing?” And more importantly, who grew a fucking brain?
“Eh, before my time, but I guess the last Grand Polemarch didn’t like it. Too ‘uncouth’.” Jared emphasizes with his fingers, splashing himself pink again, and Jensen refuses to admit it’s kind of cute. He shakes himself upon realizing he’s all but staring at Jared with something scarily bordering fondness. Jared scratches his nose and adds offhandedly, “Chris was a pledge then, he probably knows all about it.”
There’s a moment of awkward silence as Jensen slants Mike a glare, and Mike clears his throat. Jared seems none the wiser, but Jensen’s cheeks are burning and his fingers clench against his naked thigh as Jared keeps on talking.
“But that’s old news, anyway.” His teeth gleam, and then Jensen feels big hands low on his back. Blinks, and Jared’s right there, nose-to-mouth, and, oh god. They’re in the middle of the fucking Delta Sig’s backyard barbecue and his boss isn’t five feet away. Jared licks his lips, gaze burning, voice soft and way too familiar. “Right now’s what’s important.”
Jensen opens his mouth to say…something, but the wires get crossed somewhere around the time Jared’s hand dips lower and cups a cheek. “Goddamn Beauty, love your ass,” he slurs quietly, and Jensen goes red, and hard. All over. Jared’s just watching him, savoring every shuddering breath Jensen’s trying to hide, fingering his crack now like Jensen’s still got that goddamn thong wedged up in it and, god, so bad. So good.
“Ah, Jensen?” Mike’s voice is clear and sharp above the fog in Jensen’s head, and he lists away from Jared and meets his friend’s gaze. Jared makes a frustrated sound behind him, crowds up close until he’s chest to Jensen’s back, and Jensen grinds his teeth.
“Get lost,” Jared directs toward Mike, suddenly aware of Michael’s presence again, and apparently recognizing him, as well. “I don’t give a damn how friendly you are with el presidente…my pledge, my time.”
Well. If Jensen had needed a reminder…
He looks up, blinks long, innocent lashes, and elbows Jared right in the gut. His big Brother sucks in a sharp breath, and Jensen’s smile edges toward malice. “Oops.”
“Fucking sumbitch!” Jared yells out, holding his side like he’s severely wounded, and Jensen starts to roll his eyes at the public display of overdramatic asshattery. Several nearby people glance their way, expressions ranging from drunken curiosity to irritation, and then Jensen catches sight of something that makes the smile curdle on his face.
Familiar blue eyes widen back at him, and Jensen staggers forward on a torn breath. “Tommy?”
Michael cusses somewhere behind him, Jared’s still bitching, but Jensen’s suddenly too numb to care about either. He hasn’t seen Tom in, Christ, has it been six months? Maybe more? They’d played at being friends for a while after the end, but the last time they’d been in the same room had been when Tom announced his pledge pickup from the Sigmas. It also marked the last occasion Jensen had been well and truly drunk off his so-called sweet ass.
The rest as they say, was history.
He’s halfway across the yard, chest tight and something like a smile twisting his lips--god, he looks good--and then he’s in front of Tom. Staring at the ridiculous toga and the fig leaf behind Tom’s ear, those pretty pink lips curved into surprise, and Jensen realizes he feels…nothing. Nothing outside of friendly pleasure and concern, and it’s more staggering than if he’d taken one look at Tom and fallen all over again.
“Hi,” Tom finally says, voice tight and uncertain, and his gaze flickers over Jensen’s shoulder for all of a second. Then it’s back, bigger and brighter than before. Pissed off. “So, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em?”
Jensen blinks at the harsh snap, then remembers where he is. What he’s after, and Tom’s no idiot. Not at all, and Christ Mike’s possibly going to kill him. “Uh, it’s not what--”
“Steve said something about you being, well.” Tom flushes a bit, scratches the back of his neck and waves a hand. His next words come out on a mumble that Jensen has to strain to hear. “Something about money, I guess.”
“What?” Jensen doesn’t even know whether to laugh or be insulted.
“Is that why you’re doing this?” It’s probably meant as an accusation, but then Tom’s a nicer guy than Jensen ever really gave him credit for, and it just sounds understanding. Accepting. “Because they can get you anything you need, you know that, right?”
All at once, everything clicks into place. Steve, his words back at the bar back when this entire misadventure had started. Jensen jumps onto the lie with only a smidgeon of a guilty conscience. “Yeah, well…yeah.”
There’s a beat of awkward silence, then Tom clears his throat. “You could’ve come to me, you know.”
Yeah, that would’ve been just peachy, Jensen’s sarcasm intones. Considering you could barely look at me. Much less loan me twenty-five grand I don’t even need. Fuck!
Out loud he just shrugs, says, “Yeah, well.”
Tom’s lips part to speak again, and then Jared’s there. Gaze bright green and flashing hot, and Jensen takes an instinctive step backward. “Jared,” he starts, glimpsing the jealousy burning practically into Jared’s bones, and refusing to acknowledge the small thrill that bubbles up in his belly.
Jared interrupts, voice a low and thready thrum that vibrates up Jensen’s spine and down to his toes. “Shut up. Don’t say a fucking word or I swear I’ll bend you over a goddamn bench and make you feel it for a week.”
Jensen’s words trail off and die, two bright flags of color in his cheeks. It’s the first time Jared’s outright ridiculed him, and he was quiet, but there’s no mistaking that at least one person overheard. Tom’s staring at him now with a look Jensen can’t identify, and Jensen feels naked, exposed, and it has nothing to do with any motherfucking fig leaf.
“Fuck you,” he finally gets out, shoving past Jared’s huffing, puffing form, and makes his way blindly toward the Delta House. Gets about ten feet before he’s pulled up short, spun around to find Jared glowering down at him and Jensen vaguely thinks that he should maybe be worried. Jared’s a giant, after all, and apparently possesses a temper far greater than Jensen ever credited to the overgrown manchild, but he’s too pissed off to care. Too fucking hurt, truth be told.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jared says, much calmer, sober, than before, but the damage has been done. They’re getting looks from all over now, and Jensen sees Chris and Mike standing together. Matching expressions color their faces and have him standing tall and thrusting a hand up and between him and Jared.
“Gotta piss.” Good a lie as anything, and Jared’s eyes narrow at the explanation. Jensen turns around, only to get a hand around the wrist again, Jared’s face a mess of mottled frustration. He’s off his game, and it gives Jensen enough of an edge to relax, let a challenging smile lift his lips.
“Need help controlling your pledge, Padalecki?” Chad calls from somewhere behind them, and Jared’s back snaps straight when a few people laugh. He remains silent, and Jensen presses closer…amped up on anger and heat and everything primal.
“Gonna hold it for me, too? I’ll just be a minute.” he drawls softly, voice pleasant enough, but he knows Jared hears the razor’s edge scoring his words. Just like he knows Jared doesn’t believe them for a second. Jensen’ll be out of there the second he turns his back, and Jared’s mouth twists with the knowledge. Jensen stares back at him, helpless frustration mixing with something heady and intoxicating when Jared pulls him up close.
Then Jared’s grinning big, and it’s a little like staring into a supernova. “Smile and play nice, baby,” Jared mutters through his teeth, and Jensen can’t quite swallow the moan when Jared’s fingers squeeze into his hip. Dragging blood to the surface, marking.
“Be right back,” Jared addresses to the group at large, steadily pulling Jensen backward toward the house. “Got a sudden hankering for fresh fruit.” His voice rings out chock full of casual cheer, and if Jensen hadn’t witnessed the scene himself, he’d have almost believed it.
Instead, his words make Jensen frown, and when Chad nearly chokes on his beer and Chris’s face goes pained, Jensen realizes he’s missed something. By then they’re in the house, and he jerks away from Jared the minute the door closes. Mouth open, curses at the ready.
He gets as far as “What the fuck are you--” before he’s shoved up against the door, Jared’s lips hot on his throat. He goes silent, swallowing against Jared’s tongue and flexing his fingers against the oak door. It’s not submission, exactly, but he’s sure as hell not trying to get away. His eyes go half-lidded and Jared purrs his approval.
When Jared finally pulls back, having sucked what Jensen fears will be a pretty fucking spectacular bruise against his neck, his expression clearly reads Do Not Fuck With Me Right Now. Jensen lets out a sharp breath when Jared smiles. Slow, dangerous.
“Phase two of today’s game,” Jared says, circling around Jensen like a vulture. “Cater to your Brother. And I feel like something sweet.”
He drawls it out, extending the vowels so it comes out sweeeeet, and Jensen’s hit with a Technicolor replay of being collared and spanked, jerked off with a thong wrapped around his ankles. An almost hysterical voice inside him wonders what next? It’s drowned out by the part of him ready and willing to do anything to get rid of this itch that’s taken residence inside him ever since he looked up and saw hazel eyes eating him alive.
Seeming to realize his capitulation, Jared’s expression softens and he nods toward the stairs. “Upstairs. And be there, okay?” The last is meant to be a warning, but it comes out almost desperate, pleading, and Jensen finds himself returning the nod and knowing he’ll keep his word.
He turns toward the staircase, tosses off a hesitant look over his shoulder. Jared’s simply standing there, watching him go. When Jensen’s eyes meet his, he thrusts his chin up like a dare, and Jensen grinds his jaw.
He hasn’t backed down from a thing since this all began. He’ll be damned if he does so now.
Jared makes him wait, all but sealing Jensen’s coming punishment and also giving Jensen time to overthink. Oddly enough, it isn’t the fact that he saw Tommy again, that Mike might have a head’s up, that lingers on his mind. It’s the look in Jared’s eyes, the possessive touch when there’s nothing that belongs.
Three times he gets up from Jared’s bed, gets as far as the dresser drawers before cussing and turning back around. Slumping against the wall and rubbing a hand down his face. Everything’s spiraling out of control, he can admit it now, and he’s no fucking clue how to fix any of it.
And he’s still not leaving.
As if that’s just the realization Jared’s been waiting for, his Brother’s figure darkens the doorway and Jensen snaps to attention. It’s a little difficult to have a Mexican standoff when he’s got a piece of foliage taped to his dick and Jared’s wrapped up in his bedsheets, but here they are.
Jared steps fully inside the room, closes the door with a soft snick. “Lay down,” he says, soft and persuasive, and Jensen moves to comply before he realizes the command.
He scrambles to shaky knees, eyes wide, and waits for Jared to acknowledge the slip in his composure. Curses himself for it, fingers digging into his palms and fire burning like brandy in his throat.
Instead of saying anything at all, Jared just walks over to the closet. Reaches up and unfastens the toga from his shoulder while rummaging around for a shirt. Jensen has all of a second’s warning, and then he’s staring at the full Padalecki moon and wondering when he turned into a blushing, virginal girl.
He shifts closer, intrigued by the smattering of beauty marks across Jared’s spine, dimpling his ass. His dick presses against his belly, and he swallows wryly. All right, maybe not all that virginal.
Jared tugs on a blue rugby, some sweatshorts that’ve seen better days, then looks back at Jensen. He lets out a little sigh, crossing his arms and sending Jensen a plea from under floppy bangs. “C’mon, now. It doesn’t have to be that bad.”
For whatever reason, it’s enough to light Jensen’s fuse. “You’ve got a lot of goddamn nerve,” he starts, laughing without humor and hearing the quake of anger in his own voice.
“Do I?” Jared sounds completely chill. “Because best I recall, it was you down there showin’ off, Beauty.”
“Don’t fucking call me that!” It’s too much, not enough, and he’s starting to unravel at the seams. “Jesus, this whole thing is just…what the hell was I thinking? You’re all crazy, I know that, and.” He stops, biting his lip and staring out the window in more than a little annoyance. “Goddamn!”
“What were you talkin’ about down there, with that guy?” Jared sneers it like Tom’s a damn hobo Jensen picked up off the street, and the little display of envy does little more than make him snort.
“What’re you gonna do to me?” he counters instead, standing up and staring Jared straight in the eye. “What is it this time, Jared…whips, chains, handcuffs?” He moves closer, voice rising with sarcasm. “Wax me down and tattoo your name on my private parts? What?”
“What did Tom mean?” Jared says again, but there’s a crack in his voice that Jensen doesn’t miss. “Why would you need money?”
“The fuck business is it of yours?” Jensen answers without even thinking. His financial problems aren’t even an issue, barely graze the tip of the iceberg when it comes down to it. He’s gotten himself in way deeper than anything a quick loan could get him out of, anyway.
Jared moves so fast, Jensen blinks and then he’s flat-out on the mattress. Jared’s face hovers over his, a tic in his jaw that Jensen wants to lick across. Hates himself for it. “You’re my business,” Jared says, growls, hot and heavy and everything Jensen wants but won’t dare ask for. “When are you gonna fucking realize that, pledge? From the minute you walked through those doors, you. Are. Mine.”
“Bullshit,” Jensen gets out, bringing his elbow up to blacken Jared’s eye. Jared just pulls back, laughing, licking his lips and staring down at Jensen with playful light in his gaze.
“Yeah, that’s it. Punish me, then. Swear I won’t even put up a strugg--”
Jensen’s fist catches his lip, and Jared’s head snaps back from the force. Blood’s dripping down his chin when Jensen gets a good look, and then Jensen pounces. Pins Jared to the bed, hands over his head and teeth bared in a snap.
Jared’s breathing heavy, watching him with a blur of pupil, tongue touching the corner of his mouth. He winces a little at the taste, then grins. “Feel good?” he breathes, and Jensen’s fingers tighten until he’s sure Jared’ll have rings around his wrists come morning.
“Shut the fuck up,” he says, mimicking and embellishing Jared’s words from earlier, and something flashes behind those green-brown eyes.
Then Jared’s saying, “Sorry, m’sorry” and whispering it against Jensen’s neck, and licking, and, Christ, Jensen gives in with a shudder and grinds his dick down against Jared’s thigh.
“Fucking asshole,” he grits out while Jared rips the stupid fig leaf away, drops his head and groans when Jared jacks him slow and steady. “Fucking…oh god, don’t. Don’t--”
“What, Jensen.” A whine, almost.
“…don’t stop!” Jensen breaks, lifts his jaw and finds Jared’s mouth. It’s a kiss, but nothing satisfying about it. The clash of teeth and tongue just serve to drive his pulse higher, the faint coppery flavor making his head spin in circles. He’s got Jared’s shorts down his hips before he realizes the sound Jared’s making is because Jensen’s hand is around his dick. Stroking, pulling, aching for that surrender that’ll somehow put them back on an even keel.
“Come on.” He watches Jared’s eyes, squeezes his cock and almost tastes salt-bitter victory, seconds before it splashes hot and branding against his forearm. Jared wraps a leg around his hip, throat bobbing and keening through his teeth as he humps Jensen’s fingers, wrung out and glazed over.
Jensen wipes his palm against the sheets, buries his face in the crook of Jared’s neck, smells sweat and come. A few shallow thrusts, and he’s coming with a short cry and Jared’s got a hand in his hair. Holding on tight, whispering words in Jensen’s ear that he can’t, or won’t, listen to.
When it’s over, when he can look again, Jared’s smiling up at him and it’s prettier than a California sunrise.
“I was just, uh, gonna have you feed me some grapes. You know?”
His voice is soft, a little shy, even, and Jensen covers his face with an arm and can’t believe it’s laughter threatening to choke him.
xxx
University of Texas.
Office: The Daily Texan
Day 5.
“Good practice today,” Allie calls out, patting Jensen on the shoulder as she passes by. “Not that I give a damn about baseball. Still…the uniforms are a plus. And there’s sweat. A lot of sweat. Boy sweat. Boys.”
Jensen glances up, grin lighting his features at the gleam in her eyes. “Aw, sugar, you came,” he teases, rocking back in his chair and lacing his fingers over his belly. “Mike, how much did you pay her?” He yells over his shoulder, getting smacked in the forehead with a paper clip for his efforts.
“Jerk.” She laughs, ducking the stapler Jensen tosses back. “Hey!”
“Hag,” he returns, pushing his glasses up his nose and turning back to the monitor in front of him. “Mike, make Allie grow up?” he wheedles, then abruptly realizes his friend-cum-boss isn’t answering his desperate calls for help. “Mike?”
“He’s in the back with an ‘important source’,” Allie quotes with an eyeroll. “Seriously, I think he’s taking the Clark Kent role a little too seriously. I mean, well, look at you, for example.”
“Bite me,” Jensen says, but without much heat. Much. “And I volunteered.”
“Because you’re insane. Gorgeous,” she sighs, woefully shaking her head. “But insane.”
“Not insane. Resourceful. Darlin’.”
The look she sends him is dangerously sweet and sends chills down Jensen’s spine. Never a good sign. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard about your plans for the evening, then,” she singsongs, and Jensen’s eyes narrow.
“I’ve already checked in with the Deltas.” Meaning, he’d avoided Jared until he could no longer and raced past the bulletin board at the Delta house to check for any pledge news. “They’ve got a fundraiser deal tonight, honoring some doctor who’s gonna pledge a shitload to ‘the cause’. Members only, so us lowly pledges are good to go. Or not go, as the case may be.”
Allie snorts into her hand, then cackles outright and turns back to her own computer. Jensen frowns, sitting up straighter.
“Allie.” Nothing but a shaking of shoulders, insane giggling, and Jensen’s really starting to sweat through his t-shirt. “Allie, girl you better tell me what you--”
“Jensen, glad you’re here,” Mike interrupts. Jensen glares at the back of Allie’s head and thinks dirty, evil thoughts he hopes she hears before turning toward Michael. “There’s been a change of plans. Check your messages when you get back to your place…you’re going on a date-run tonight, buddy.”
“A…date-run?” Jensen’s half-tempted to tack on a sir, and immediately wants to scowl. The fucking Deltas and their fucking system has him all tied up in knots and it’s only day five. For Christ’s sake.
Allie’s laughing louder now, and Jensen tosses her an irritated look while Mike continues, “Jared’ll explain, I’m sure. You just make sure you’re there, and you’re ready.”
Jensen tosses off a mock-salute, pouting a little as the idea of an evening alone with a pizza and his right hand goes up in a film of smoke. “Great.”
“Listen, Jensen…” Mike starts, and there’s something hesitant in his tone that immediately grabs Jensen’s attention. Right then and there, he knows that whatever his friend is about to reveal is going to be worse, oh so much more worse than a fucking date-run. “There’s something I’ve sort of not mentioned to you.”
“Sort of not mentioned,” Jensen echoes, nearly hearing the sound of thunder and lightning over his head. “Mike?”
“You’re not exactly the first to work this job,” Mike says, the gleam in his eye almost…apologetic? “As you know, we’ve had an inside source for some time now, but there’ve been some. Issues. That’ve made it necessary to bring you in.”
“What the hell are you goin’ on about?” Jensen finally cuts to the chase, and even Allie’s quiet and watching them with a curious, half-worried look in her eye. “You’re startin’ to sound a little Miami Vice, dude.”
Michael clears his throat, then gives the weakest smile Jensen’s ever been able to attribute to his wily friend, and moves out from the doorway of his office. “Meet your, um, partner? No, that’s not right. He’s just…well…” Mike bites off his own words, then just clears his throat again and looks away.
There’s a shadowy outline behind him that Jensen can’t quite make out, and then when he does, he wants to swallow his tongue and crawl under the desk. Possibly maim himself. Get up close and personal with a rope and a hook.
“Howdy there, pledge.” Christian Kane’s rumbly voice fills the small office, and Jensen stares at the Delta Sigma president with something akin to horror when Chris smiles, teeth bright and gleaming. “You gonna play on my turf, boy, you’re gonna play by my rules and stay outta my way. Got me?”
[continue]