Fic: Jensen's Choice (J2, NC-17)
Chapter Six
“Please, please, please!” Jensen begged, pulling desperately at the restraints even though he knew that he was firmly tied down and wasn’t going anywhere.
His semi-hard cock was trapped in a stainless steel cock cage, with his purple balls pulled back and firmly held by a steel ring. Jared had been teasing him for over an hour; sucking and licking him, tormenting him with a prostate massager, running a fine paint brush in between the gaps in the cage and across the head of his dick until he was dripping pre-come like a leaky tap, his over-sensitized nerve endings screaming with pleasure/pain.
“Please. Need... Please.” Jensen couldn’t think about anything except his dick and his desperate need to come.
But he couldn’t come. Not with the way his dick was bound. The cage allowed his cock to swell just enough to make him feel as if he were going to burst out of the cage, but he could only get hard enough to torture and frustrate him, not enough to allow him to come.
“Fucking love you like this,” Jared said, pressing hard against Jensen’s prostate with the massager and gently tonguing at his tormented dick through the bars in the cage. “So needy. Completely at my mercy. You’d do anything for me right now, wouldn’t you?”
The bitch of it was Jared was absolutely right. Jensen would do anything. And what did that say about him?
Jared lifted his head and kissed Jensen gently on the lips. “We’re gonna have to make a list of likes and dislikes aren’t we? I’m not sure I can trust anything you agree to when you’re like this.”
Jared pulled the prostate massager out of Jensen’s ass slowly and Jensen arched his back and whined at the loss.
“Give me a color.”
Color? Huh? What? Dimly, Jensen remembered them agreeing to use the traffic light system and he panted out the word green.
Jared settled himself in between Jensen’s spread legs and nestled the head of his cock against Jensen’s hole.
“Please,” Jensen said, straining to get Jared inside of him.
Jared slid in deep in one slow relentless push and Jensen almost sobbed with relief.
Jared fucked him hard for hours, or maybe minutes, Jensen was out of his mind with need, so it was a little hard to tell.
“Got the test results back today,” Jared said-which is when Jensen realized that the biker was fucking him bare.
His self-preservation skills really needed work.
“We’re both clean,” Jared rolled his hips and nailed Jensen’s prostate. “Gonna come inside you,” Jensen’s eyes rolled back in his head as Jared nailed his prostate again.
“But first…” Jared reached down and snapped open the cock cage.
Jensen’s dick plumped fast as Jared pulled the cage off him and all it took was one more snap of Jared’s hips, one twist of his wrist, and Jensen came so hard that he whited out, his blood roaring in his ears.
When he came to again, he could feel Jared’s come leaking out of him, which was gross, and Jared was wiping him down with a warm, wet cloth.
Jensen groaned. “Think you broke me.”
Jared grinned. “Was good though, right?”
“Fucking awesome. Can you untie me now please?”
Jared freed him from the restraints and Jensen pulled himself upright and reached for his brand new pack of cigarettes. “So,” he said as he lit up. “We need to talk. What do you know about Amara Enterprises?”
Jared gaped at him. “Seriously? You want to talk business now?”
Jensen endeavoured to look as earnest and resolute as possible, quite difficult given how boneless and brain-numb he was feeling.
Jared climbed into bed and snuggled down beside him. “Amara Enterprises is the porn businesses. Why?”
Jensen told him about his conversations with Jim, Steve and Ruthie, emphasizing the salient points so that Jared would connect all the dots himself.
With hindsight, starting this conversation with Jared at two o’clock in the morning when Jensen was a little tipsy and a lot fucked out had probably been a mistake. For a long moment, Jared sat as still and as lethal as a lion waiting to pounce and then he sprang out of bed and yanked open the nightstand drawer.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” he said with quiet, intense fury as he picked up his gun and checked the magazine.
Jensen climbed out of bed and intercepted him before he could get to the bedroom door.
“Jared, stop.”
“Get the fuck out of my way, Jensen, or I swear to God…”
“Please just listen. I…”
Jared punched him and Jensen stumbled as his head snapped back. He recovered quickly and put himself in Jared’s path again.
“I can’t let you go out there like this. Dude, you’re not wearing any pants!”
Jared gaped at him and then his mouth twitched. He doubled over and howled with laughter, his eyes streaming with tears. Then the laughter stopped, but the tears didn’t and Jared slid to the floor beside the bed and wept.
Jensen gently prised the Glock from his unresisting fingers and put it away, before kneeling on the floor beside the biker and resting a hand on his shoulder.
“We’ll get him, Jay, I promise.”
Jared made a noise that was somewhere between a sob and a snort. “You know what really gets me Jensen?” he said. “I knew. I knew and I did nothing,” he frowned. “I mean I didn’t know, but I knew, you know?”
“I…think so.”
“They always fought, JD and Pellegrino. Pellegrino said that was good. That it kept him honest. That JD was like the cricket on his shoulder,” Jared smiled fondly. “One day, after Chapel, JD and HeyDay stayed behind to talk something over with Pellegrino. The rest of us were out in the common area drinking, playing pool, when the yelling got so loud you could hear it over the music. And then the door banged open-just smashed back against the wall-and JD fucking strode out, yelling: ‘Over my dead body, Mark. Over my dead fucking body.’” Jared shook his head. “I don’t know what they were talking about, but three weeks later JD was killed. And I kept thinking about that day and what JD had yelled out. But then, Pellegrino was so fucking nice to me. And I was a wreck. I spent a week drunk, fucked my way through too many guys to count, totalled my bike. And Pellegrino picked me up, put me back together and said, even though I was young, even though I was the lowest ranked member, he wanted me to be his VP. To take my dad’s place. To be the cricket on his shoulder like JD used to be,” Jared turned to Jensen with tears streaming down his cheeks. “And I let myself believe. Because it was easier.”
“It’s okay,” Jensen said. “You were what? Twenty? You trusted Pellegrino. You should’ve been able to trust him. So, you know, don’t beat yourself up over it.”
Jared snorted and rubbed a hand across his cheeks. “Fuck. Crying like a fuckin’ pussy. Gonna lose my man card.”
Jensen rolled his eyes. “You’re allowed to have emotions, Dude.”
Jared looked pretty dubious about that and Jensen knew exactly where he was coming from, thanks to the many lengthy discussions he’d had with Dr Ferris about learning to express negative emotions in healthy ways. According to Ferris, Jensen flew into a rage whenever he was angry, sad or scared and apparently, that was because anger felt more powerful than sadness or fear. Jensen had thought she was full of shit, but having watched Jared’s responses to being scared or unhappy, he was starting to think she might’ve been onto something.
“We still need hard evidence,” Jared said. “Everything you said makes perfect sense, but it’s circumstantial. If I want to get the Club’s backing on taking The Beast down for this, I need proof.”
Jensen nodded. “We’ll get it,” he said. “Whatever it takes.”
--
The next few days were quiet. Jared worked. Jensen played pool down at Happy Gok’s and did a little hustling at some less than salubrious establishments.
The first time Jensen came home with five hundred dollars of hard-hustled money, Jared decided to spend the evening introducing him to his suede flogger. It turned out to be less of a punishment than Jared might’ve intended, because Jensen really fucking liked the sting and the way the flogger managed to be both harsh and sensual. He was so hard by the time they got to the actual fucking that he came the moment Jared slid in deep.
Still, the next time he went out hustling he took Chad with him to watch his back.
Jared bought him art supplies. Sketch pads and Derwents. Several canvasses. A good range of Winsor and Newton oil paints and oil brushes.
Jensen sketched Jared lying on the sofa with a beer in one hand and Jared was seriously impressed.
“You’re good,” he said. “That actually looks like me. Like, for real.”
Jensen rolled his eyes and lit a cigarette.
“You ever done a custom paint job on a car or a bike?” Jared asked.
Jensen shook his head.
“You should give it a try,” Jared urged. “I’ll find you an old clunker to practice on.”
Jensen conceded that it could be fun and when Jared told him how much money he could make on high end custom design paint jobs, he knew that he’d have to seriously look into it.
On Friday night, Jensen played in Happy Gok’s pool tournament and won again. The whole crew turned up to watch him and even though they weren’t even in soft colors, it was obvious that most people knew who they were. And those who didn’t know who they were still knew what they were and that they were best avoided.
“Gang’s all here, I see,” Steve murmured.
“They’re not a gang,” Jensen said flippantly. “They’re a bunch of motor cycle enthusiasts.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He leaned in close. “You ought to go to Church, confess your sins. Monday, midday, at The Church of the Good Shepherd on North Bedford Drive. The angels will keep an eye out for you.”
Jensen raised an eyebrow. “Hallelujah?”
--
Jensen set off early, because he wanted to make sure he wasn’t followed.
He pretended that he was heading out on a shopping trip and meandered up and down Rodeo Drive and its surrounding streets using the windows of the various shops he peered into to surreptitiously check for somebody tailing him.
And yes, there he was; a big, leather-clad, tattooed biker, trying to look inconspicuous outside of Bally Shoes. Jensen snorted and tried to imagine the guy wearing $500 pebbled calf-skin loafers. Jensen pursed his lips thoughtfully. He thought he recognized the guy as a club hang-around, hoping to become a prospect. His name was… Jensen bit at his bottom lip… Randy? Or Rowdy? Something like that. He was such a poor choice for inconspicuous that Jensen knew there had to be another tail as well.
Jensen headed into Gucci for a bit because they had some nice bomber jackets in the window and just because he wasn’t actually here to shop, didn’t mean that he couldn’t buy something cool if he just happened to see it. Right?
By the time he came out Randy (or Rowdy) was in an animated discussion with Bally’s store security, so Jensen took advantage of the situation to sprint over to Hugo Boss.
He had to browse Armani (they had a fitted leather jacket that was going to look amazing on Jared) and Ralph Lauren too, before he finally flushed the other tail-a weasel-y looking, balding man in dark glasses, grey pants and a blue-and-white striped tee-shirt. The guy was as tenacious as a weasel too. Jensen had to meander through Brooks Brothers and Saint Laurent, and then double back and hit Saks Fifth Avenue before he finally managed to lose him.
By the time he made it to the meet-up at Church of the Good Shepherd he was fifteen minutes late. He made the sign of the cross and the moved down the center aisle to the front pew and sat down, head bowed as if in prayer.
Jensen was conscious of someone sitting down beside him and he turned and found himself face-to-face with intense blue eyes, messy dark hair and a finely chiselled jaw.
“Hello, Jensen. You’re late.” Deep and gravelly, the man’s voice sent a shiver up Jensen’s spine.
“I had to shake a tail.”
The man broke into a smile. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “You’re a big fan of dime novel detective stories?”
Jensen rolled his eyes. “So are you one of the ‘angels’ Steve mentioned?”
“I’m Misha,” the man stood up. “Come on. We can talk through here.”
He led them around through a side door and into the priest’s office at the back where a dark haired woman was waiting for them.
“This is Erica,” Misha said.
Erica folded her arms and gave him a withering look.
Misha grimaced. “Okay, I supposed if you want to be all official, this is Special Agent Erica Carroll and I’m Special Agent Misha Collins. We’re with the FBI.”
“Okay,” Jensen said, taking a seat at the desk, opposite Erica.
“And you’re Jensen Ackles,” Misha added.
Jensen stared at him. “Yes. I know that,” he said, as scathingly as he could manage.
Erica smiled.
“Okay then,” Misha clapped his hands. “On to business. Steve Williams says you’re willing to work with us to get Mark Pelligrino, AKA The Beast, put behind bars.”
Jensen nodded. “I won’t tell you anything that could get Jared in trouble, but yeah.”
“Should Jared be in trouble?” Erica asked softly.
Jensen inclined his head. “Of course not. He’s a prince among men. Never did a bad thing in his life, your honor.”
“And Jared’s your….?” She left a space for him to fill in the gap and when Jensen said nothing she said, “boyfriend?”
“It’s complicated,” Jensen said. “And not really the point.”
Erica conceded the fact with a tilt of her head.
“Tell me about JD,” Jensen said.
Misha looked at him for a moment, cool and assessing, and then began to recite.
“Jeffrey Dean Morgan, AKA JD, AKA John-Boy. Born 22nd April, 1966, died 12th June, 2012, aged 46. Pre-deceased by his old lady and wife, Mary, who died of cancer. No children. JD did, however, informally adopt Jared Padalecki, born July 19, 1992, when the boy was fourteen, and God above knows what systemic fuck up allowed that to happen.”
“Hey!” Jensen straightened up and scowled at Misha. “JD was the only--”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Misha interrupted. “He did right by the kid when no one else did. Doesn’t mean the system didn’t fail.”
“Yeah,” Jensen agreed. “It failed Jared big time.”
“And JD wanted to right some wrongs, which is sort of how all this came about,” Misha fixed his big blue eyes on Jensen. “JD was investigating a man by the name of Kurt Fuller, a lawyer who also produces porn with Emily Swallow, the former porn actress, and Fuller’s mistress. The company is called Fuller Swallow Inc and they produce mostly rough stuff, gang bangs and so on, with barely legal actors. Fuller and his wife Julia were Jared’s foster parents for a short while. JD believed Fuller may have…” Misha hesitated, “... behaved, uh, inappropriately with Jared.”
Jensen got his cigarettes out, but before he could do more than slide one out of the packet, there was an outraged squawk from Erica.
“You can’t smoke in here!”
Jensen stuck the cigarette in his mouth. “You gonna arrest me for smoking?” he asked.
Erica glared at him. “This is Father Thomas’s office. You’ll upset him if you smoke in here. Please don’t.”
Jensen sighed and put the cigarette back in the pack. “So JD was after Fuller, and then Pellegrino decided to get into bed with Fuller’s porn company and JD lost his shit.”
Erica nodded. “We then contacted JD and asked him to pretend to be on board with HellSpawn buying into the porn business, because while we have suspected for a long while that Fuller was producing child pornography, we’ve never been able to prove it. We thought that if JD had access to inner-circle knowledge, he could pass it on to us.”
Jensen nodded. “It wasn’t the first time he’d helped the FBI, was it? Pellegrino thought the Dead Reapers were ratting him out seven years ago. But it was JD, wasn’t it?”
Erica and Misha exchanged a look.
“Underage hookers,” Misha said finally. “Pellegrino was turning a blind eye, so JD told us who was running them. We never could tie it back to HellSpawn. We had nothing but the pimp’s word and he got shived in prison, so the whole case died too.”
Maybe Pellegrino hadn’t known that it was JD who sicced the FBI on HellSpawn seven years ago, but there was a good chance he’d had some suspicions. Jensen figured that JD’s sudden turnaround on the whole kiddie porn issue would’ve solidified those suspicions and been the final nail in JD’s coffin.
“The information that Pellegrino channels the Fuller Swallow money through a company called Amara Enterprises was very helpful, Jensen. We’ve got a team of forensic accountants trying to unravel the money trail. But what we need you to do now, is find out where they’re producing the child pornography.”
“Oh, is that all?” Jensen said sarcastically.
“I appreciate that what we’re asking of you is difficult,” Misha said.
“Epic understatement,” Jensen muttered.
“But we believe you can do it. You’re a resourceful man. A con artist. And,” Misha tilted his head. “Rather attractive.”
Jensen rolled his eyes. “Also, I already know Kurt and Emily.”
Misha’s eyebrows shot up. “You do?” He glared at Erica. “Why didn’t we know that?”
Erica frowned. “I, uh, um,”
“It was a long time ago,” Jensen offered. “Kurt used to hang out at this bar where I worked bussing tables when I was eighteen. He kept giving me his card and trying to talk me into filming for him. I kept telling him no.”
“Why?” Misha asked. “As I understand it, you…” he trailed off and looked sheepish.
“Fuck around a lot? Well, yeah. But that’s different.” Jensen frowned. “Once something’s on film it’s there forever. I didn’t want footage of me getting gang banged in Smoky and the Ass Bandit, Part 6 to be my enduring legacy.”
“This is great news!” said Erica.
Jensen turned to stare at her and she colored slightly.
“Not the gang bang part,” she clarified, “the fact that you already know Fuller; that he wanted you to work for him. It gives you an in.”
Jensen bit at his bottom lip. “Speaking of fucking around, I may have fucked around with Kurt and Emily a few times. Kurt’s bi, and I’m not really into women, but Emily was fucking mesmerizing. She had a real thing for me too. So yeah, I think I’ll be able to get them to at least talk to me again.”
Misha patted him on the knee. “You go with whichever angle works. Just remember, the sooner we can find out where they’re filming the child pornography, the sooner we can shut it down.”
“Roger, that,” Jensen flicked Misha a salute and then stood, gathered his shopping bags and left. He lit a cigarette on the sidewalk in front of the church and then walked back toward Rodeo Drive, planning his next move.
--
Jensen learned from Crossroads that Kurt Fuller still liked to hang out at The Snakepit, so he had Squint do some recon and then went around there at six o’clock on Thursday night, because the research suggested that Fuller was likely to be there then.
Jensen got himself a beer and ordered a burger and then found an unoccupied small, round bar table and sat facing the front door. The girl who brought out his burger was a pretty blonde who introduced herself as Michelle, with a Mississippi accent. Jensen gave her a big smile and when she smiled back at him, he told her that he used to work here, ten years ago. That he’d been in the neighborhood and figured he’d drop in, for old times’ sake.
“Omigod,” she said. “That’s so cool. What do you do now?”
“I’m a struggling artist.”
Michelle raised an eyebrow. “You can’t be struggling too much. I know how much those shoes cost.”
“Ah,” Jensen smiled ruefully. “Well sometimes I have friends who buy me nice things. And what about you? I’m guessing you didn’t come to Hollywood to wait tables?”
Michelle sighed and struck a pose. “Nope, I came out here to be an actress,” she tossed her hair. “No luck so far. Anyway, gotta go. Enjoy your burger.”
Jensen finished his burger and his beer and then got his cigarettes out. There were signs all around that read ‘No smoking pursuant to Labor Code section 6404.5’ and Jensen fidgeted for a while and then got up and headed outside to smoke.
He opened the front door to find Kurt Fuller on the other side and forced his face into an expression of surprised delight.
“Kurt! Still drinking here, eh?”
“Dean Winchester,” Kurt clapped him on the upper arm. “I’d heard you were back in town. Or should I say, Jensen?”
Jensen grinned. “Oh you should definitely say Jensen.”
A couple excused themselves to Jensen and he moved to the side so that they could get past him.
“I’m just heading out for a smoke,” he told Kurt. “But it was good bumping into you.”
Jensen stepped outside and walked a little way down from the front door and then lit up. The trick with Kurt was not to appear eager. He needed Kurt to think that he was the one doing the chasing. Jensen lit a second smoke off the butt of the first and smoked it quickly, before heading back inside.
Kurt was up at the bar ordering himself a whiskey-Jameson Irish Whiskey, aged 18 years.
“Ooh. That sounds good,” Jensen said as he sidled up beside him. “I’ll have one of those too.”
Kurt smiled his usual smarmy smile. “Make that two,” he said to the bartender. “Both on me.”
“Where are you sitting, De-Jensen?” Kurt asked when they both had a drink in hand.
The table where Jensen had eaten his burger was now taken. “Well, I was sitting there. I guess that’s what happens when you go outside to smoke. You lose your table.”
Together they found one of the tall bar tables that you had to stand at and as Kurt put his table number down, he huffed that he was going to have to eat his meatloaf standing up.
It was Michelle who brought Kurt his food. She gave him an insincere smile and then looked at Jensen with wide eyes, shaking her head slightly and nodding toward Kurt.
“Have you given any more thought to my offer?” Kurt asked her.
“Nope,” she said. “I’m still not interested in making porno movies for you, Mr Fuller.”
“Pity,” Fuller said, ogling her lecherously.
Michelle rolled her eyes and turned to Jensen. “Has he given you his card yet?”
“Back when I was working here, he gave me about a hundred. But I was smart like you and told him no.”
Kurt scowled at him and then turned to Michelle. “Don’t let Jensen fool you, Michelle. Just because he’s pretty, it doesn’t mean he’s a nice guy. He’s part of a criminal motorcycle gang and he’s done a lot of bad things in his time.”
Jensen snorted and tossed back the rest of his whiskey. “He ain’t exactly wrong,” he looked up at Michelle. “Don’t worry about me, Sweetheart, I don’t need to be saved from ol’ Kurt here.”
Michelle looked at him with narrowed eyes and when she spoke, her tone was scathing. “Right. Because sometimes you make friends with people who buy you nice things.”
She turned around and walked away and Jensen found himself feeling almost hurt that she was so disappointed in him.
“Great,” he said to Kurt. “Now she thinks I’m a hooker.”
Kurt threw his head back and laughed.
“Don’t you laugh,” Jensen said. “She thinks you’re my Sugar Daddy.”
“Ah, Jensen,” Kurt wiped at his eyes. “Once upon a time I would’ve been glad to be. Now, you’re a little too old for me and besides, Moose would have my balls cut off if I touched you.”
Jensen swallowed back bile at the casual way Kurt referred to Jared and conceded the point with a tilt of his head. “He would. Unless it was business, of course,” he added.
Kurt frowned. “What do you mean?”
Jensen leaned in close. “You would’ve heard about what happened back in the day, right? Me skipping town with a briefcase I shouldn’t’ve had?”
Fuller nodded.
“So now I’m back and Jared bought out my debt to the club. Which means he now owes the club. Which means I’m still on the hook, because we’re together.”
“What are you trying to say, Jensen?”
Jensen stared down at a water ring on the table top. He was disgusted by what he was about to say and really hoped that it wouldn’t show on his face.
“You make movies. Which I don’t want to be in. Let me be clear on that. I don’t want my ass and my face plastered all over the internet. But. If you had something a little more niche. Something with a more limited viewership. Something where I might have to perform wearing a mask. Or my face might be pixelated. That, I might be interested in.”
Fuller’s face was stripped of all emotion. “Might you now?” he said.
Jensen nodded. “I hear the money’s good and I need a lot of money right now.”
“I bet you do,” Fuller murmured. “And what about Jared? What does he have to say about this?”
Jensen shrugged. “I haven’t talked to him yet, obviously, but Jared is pretty pragmatic about this kind of thing”
Jensen looked up to see what Fuller made of that, just in time to catch him with an exultant, gloating expression on his face, and in the moment he knew, without a shadow of doubt, that JD’s suspicions had been correct.
Kurt went and bought them both more whiskey and Jensen snuck outside for another cigarette, which he smoked with trembling hands. God he hoped that he’d get a chance to rip Kurt’s lungs out and stick them up his ass.
Back inside Jensen found both a whiskey and a beer waiting for him. He tossed the whiskey back fast and then sipped at the beer.
“So,” Kurt asked him. “How old were you, your first time?”
The first time someone had stuck their dick up his ass, Jensen had been eighteen. But he’d been exchanging hand jobs and blow jobs with other boys since the age of fourteen. And he figured the lower age would be more popular with Kurt, so that’s what he said.
Fuller looked supremely pleased. “Any boy old enough to know what his dick is for wants to be having sex,” he said.
Jensen threw up in his mouth a little and had to wash it down with a slug of beer.
“Exactly right,” he said. He was pretty sure that when he voiced his agreement, somewhere, an angel died.
“You know what,” Fuller clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna think about it. Give me your number and maybe I’ll give you a call in a few days.”
Jensen told him that he appreciated it and then made himself stay for another few drinks and some idle reminiscing about the old days before he headed home.
When Jensen got back to the apartment he found Jared wearing the leather jacket he’d brought for him. Jensen lit up at the sight.
“So does this mean I’m forgiven?” he asked.
Jared nodded. “You should’ve asked before spending that much money on me, but yeah, it’s a cool jacket.”
Jensen shrugged. “You’re worth it. Don’t worry,” he added when Jared seemed as if he would protest. “You sent a pretty clear message with the flogger. I won’t spend a grand on a jacket for you again without running it past you first.”
Jared drew him in close and squeezed his butt cheeks. “You enjoy the flogger far too much for it to be a punishment.”
Jensen hummed. “Maybe. If I’m forgiven, does that mean you’re going to take the cage off tonight?”
Jared rolled his eyes. “Also not really a punishment, given how much you love it when I lock up your cock. But yes, I’m going to let you come tonight.”
Jensen took hold of Jared’s hand and began to drag him to the bedroom.
“Need you, Jay,” he said. “I’m feeling gross and slimy after spending so much time with that asswipe Fuller. I need you to fuck me hard. Make me feel every inch of your fat cock.”
Jared scooped Jensen up and threw him over his shoulder and the rest of the evening dissolved in a symphony of ecstasy and pain, as Jensen tried his hardest to forget about Kurt Fuller, the kids he was fucking up for life, and the way Michelle had looked at him like he was a piece of lowlife scum.
--
Jensen was in the back yard when he got the phone call, trying his hand at painting a custom design onto the un-roadworthy old clunker that Jared had brought home for him. He was starting simple; life-like orange flames on a black background, and so far he was happy with the result.
When his cell phone rang, he thought it would be Jared, calling to make sure that he’d shut the dogs in the house before he started. He switched off the airbrush and peeled off his mask, before pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.
It was Fuller.
Fuller gave him an address and told him to be there in half an hour.
Oh fuck. Jensen shook out a cigarette and lit up.
Would there be kids there? Would they look at him like he was a monster? Would the cavalry arrive before he had to at least fake doing something?
Jensen thought he was going to be sick.
He finished his smoke fast and then went and raided Jared’s bag of burners. He called Misha and gave him the address and the time of the meet. He then texted Jared from his own phone and let him know the details.
He and Jared had angsted long and hard about how to deal with this aspect of their con. They’d ended up deciding that if they wanted to maintain the illusion that Jensen was on the up and up, Jared’s involvement had to be transparent. So Jensen typed, with shaking fingers: Meeting with Kurt in half an hour at 1036 West Florence Avenue. Wish me luck.
Just to be extra cautious he broke up the sim card of the burner phone that he’d used to call Misha and then he put it in a plastic bag, picked up all of the dog poop in the yard and put that in the same bag, and then dumped it into the trash can.
And then he switched on his cell phone’s GPS tracking, put the tracking device that Misha had given him inside his shoe, and called a cab.
The address Jensen had been given was in a fairly sketchy area of Inglewood and the cab driver checked a few times that Jensen really wanted to be let out here.
As soon as Jensen walked into the dark, dusty warehouse, his spidey sense began to tingle.
“Jensen Ackles?” said a voice.
“Yeah?” Jensen turned, trying to see who had spoken.
Something smashed into the back of his head and Jensen went down, dark spots dancing in his eyes. He was hauled upright by two strong people and dragged toward a white van. Jensen understood dully that he’d walked right into a trap. That they were going to move him and that by the time Misha and the FBI arrived he would no longer be here.
“He ain’t out yet,” said another voice and there was another smack to the back of his head.
Jensen’s last thought as he lost his grip on consciousness was that at least he had the GPS in his phone and the tracker in his shoe. He wasn’t in too much trouble. The FBI would still be able to find him.
--
Jensen’s head ached like a bitch. His neck ached too. He was cold. And his mouth was dry and furry. Jensen opened his eyes and saw his naked thighs. He lifted his head and saw empty space and a cement wall. He tried to stand up, but couldn’t because he was tied to a chair. Jensen’s feet were tied to the front legs of the chair with cord and his hands were tied behind his back. Jensen began to pick, surreptitiously at the knots.
Okay. So. This was not good. Not good at all. Firstly, he was naked, which meant no cell phone, no shoe tracker. And he’d been moved from the original meeting place. Presumably his cell phone and tracker hadn’t been moved from the original meeting place. That meant that Jared and the FBI had no idea where he was and no way of tracking him.
Also, did Jensen mention that he was naked?
In a warehouse that belonged to a noted pornographer.
Jensen swallowed. Fuck. He hoped he wasn’t about to star in a gang bang without his consent.
Jensen had goosebumps. And he was shivering because he was cold. That was the only reason. He wasn’t scared. He thought about that for a moment. He actually…kind of wasn’t scared. Instead, he felt his senses sharpen. He could hear the hum of traffic that told him he was near a major road, and the hum and whir of distant power tools. He could smell plaster dust and old paint and he could hear a creak off to his left as a side door was opened and Kurt Fuller, Emily Swallow and a couple of gun-toting goons he didn’t recognize walked in.
Jensen smiled. “Emily. You look as stunning as always.”
Emily returned his smile and then her face became tragic. “I can’t believe you were planning to hurt me,” she said.
“Oh no, Sweetheart,” Jensen said. “Not you. Never you.”
He meant it too. Whatever bad things Emily might have done in the last decade, before that she’d been Kurt’s victim-probably still was in a lot of ways-and Jensen would salvage her from the wreckage if he could.
Kurt harrumphed. “Turning us in to the FBI would hurt Emily pretty badly, don’t you think?”
Jensen widened his eyes. “What the fuck, Kurt? What are you implying?”
Fuller chuckled. “I’m not implying anything. I’m outright accusing you of being a rat.”
Jensen glared. “You can’t be serious!”
“Deadly serious. You had a tracker in your shoe.”
Okay, that looked bad. But Jensen was sure he could spin it. If he could keep Fuller talking, it would buy him some time and right now any time he could buy was a bonus.
“Jared insisted on the tracker,” Jensen told Fuller. “He kind of thinks he owns me and he doesn’t want me running out on him. I have to tell him everywhere I’m going and if the tracker says something different, he comes looking for me. And then I’m in big trouble. Let me reassure you,” Jensen said. “That I have never had any intentions at all of turning you over to the FBI, the ATF, the cops, or anyone else.”
Kurt was right beside him now and he reached out and took hold of Jensen’s chin.
“I wish I could believe you,” he said. “But you always were such a pretty little liar.”
“I ain’t lying,” Jensen lied.
Kurt squatted in front of the chair. He put his hands on Jensen’s knees and then ran them, in a slow, sickening caress, up and down his inner thighs.
“It seems like such a waste to kill you,” Kurt mused. “But Pellegrino wants you dead. He doesn’t think you can be trusted. He thinks you’ve got poor Padalecki wrapped around your little finger.”
Jensen snorted. “You’re kidding? Jared’s definitely on top in our relationship,” he cocked his head. “So if you don’t want to kill me, what do you recommend doing with me?”
As if it wasn’t obvious from the obscene caress.
Kurt licked at his lips. “I’d make you my sex slave. Keep you locked away and use you whenever, however, I wanted.”
Behind Kurt, Emily made a little abortive movement and Jensen met her eyes. They were full of sympathy and despair.
Jensen could hear the approaching sound of a Harley Davidson; possibly two. He wrinkled his nose at Fuller. “You know, as much fun as being your beck-and-call boy sounds, I think I’m gonna have to pass. I remember how tiny your dick is.”
It wasn’t small, not really. Kurt was decently average. “Well,” Jensen added, “it’s tiny in comparison to the Padacock, anyway. Once you’ve had that, you can never go back. You’re ruined for anything less. And you’re definitely less, Kurt. Much less.”
Making fun of a man’s dick when he had you naked, bound, and held at gunpoint was always a solid move.
Kurt stood up abruptly and then backhanded Jensen hard.
Fuck that hurt.
Jensen grinned and spat out blood. The outer roller doors clattered up and open and Pellegrino and Heyerdahl roared into the warehouse on their Harleys.
Jensen waited until they’d switched off their engines and then said, “Well hello there, Mr President, Sir. Seems we’ve got a problem. Your man, Kurt here, kidnapped me.”
“On my orders,” Pellegrino said.
“What?” Jensen pouted. “Why?”
Pellegrino folded his arms and tilted his head. “Well. Because you were planning on ratting us all out to the FBI.”
Jensen manufactured a look of indignant surprise. “I was not! That’s outrageous!”
Pellegrino laughed and shook his head. “So you’re telling me that you honestly wanted to make kiddie porn?”
Jensen sniffed. “Hell no,” he said. “I wanted to lure Kurt somewhere private and kill him. I was going to put his heart in a box and give it to Jared for his birthday.”
Jensen felt every eye in the place settle on him in shock. He grinned. “Jared may have let slip a few things about Kurt. It seemed an appropriate gift. Like, I’d give him my heart metaphorically, by giving him Kurt’s heart literally.”
Fuller squawked something indignant and Pellegrino threw back his head and laughed. HeyDay’s smile was unsettling.
“Oh man,” Pellegrino said. “I’d forgotten what a little psycho you are.”
Pellegrino looked at Jensen thoughtfully and then the side door opened and Misha and Erica walked in with their hands in the air, two goons with guns behind them.
“Look what we found lurking boss. Special Agents Collins and Carroll.”
“Not a rat, eh?” sneered Fuller.
“I’ve never seen them before in my life,” Jensen said. “Maybe they followed Pellegrino here?”
“We’ve had several of Fuller’s men under surveillance,” Misha said helpfully. “We saw them assault Mr Ackles, who we know from our surveillance of Jared Padalecki, and then bundle him into a van. We followed. SWAT is on its way.”
“What a shame you won’t live to see them arrive,” HeyDay said and pointed his Sig Sauer right at Misha’s head.
There was a bang and Jensen’s heart dropped. He waited for Misha to fall, but he didn’t. He patted himself, looking perplexed and then Heyerdahl slumped to the floor.
“What the…?” Pellegrino drew his own weapon and spun around just as Jared and Crossroads walked in, guns trained on Fuller and Pellegrino.
Jared was dressed from head to toe in black leather and he walked into the warehouse as if he owned it. Jensen was incredibly turned on. He had to have some stern words with his cock, because, hello? Naked.
“You okay, Sweetheart?” Jared said, looking across at Jensen.
“Peachy,” Jensen grumbled.
Jared turned his gaze on Fuller. “In case you’re wondering all the guys you had stationed outside are unconscious and tied up,” he turned to Pellegrino. “And in case you’re wondering, Joey and Pitbull have been tied up and shoved in the spare parts cupboard.”
Jared turned back to Jensen. “He had my workmates spying on me. When he got the call from Fuller that they’d got you, he promised Joey and Pitbull they could become prospects if they stopped me from leaving to follow him. And they did try. By the time I got them dealt with, Pellegrino and HeyDay were long gone. So I called Crossroads and Squint. Chad’s minding the shop, in case you were worried,” this last was addressed to Pellegrino.
“So how did you find me?” Jensen asked.
“Oh,” Jared grinned. “I put a tracker on The Beast’s bike when Ruthie told you he was already suspicious of us.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jensen saw Fuller pull a knife; he’d taken advantage of the focus on Padalecki to arm himself.
This was Jensen’s opportunity. He’d already managed to untie his wrists; he’d just been waiting for the right moment to reveal the fact. Now seemed appropriate.
Jensen threw himself at Fuller as he drew the knife back to throw it at Erica. Jensen landed on top of Fuller and knocked him to the ground. Without a flicker of remorse, Jensen snapped his neck. And then he rolled sideways and pulled off the cords that were binding his ankles to the legs of the chair.
“Holy shit,” Jared said as Jensen stood up. “I’m so turned on right now.” He turned to the goons who were standing with their mouths open, their guns still vaguely pointed at Misha and Erica. “Guns down,” he said to the goons. “Hands on your heads. SWAT’ll be here in a minute and you don’t want to get shot.”
The goons complied and Misha and Erica handcuffed them.
“You should take your own advice,” Misha told Jared.
Jared gave his gun to Misha and when Misha pointed it at Pellegrino, Crossroads handed his to Erica.
“Don’t worry,” Jared told Jensen. “It’s a completely clean gun,” and then he frowned. “You’re naked.”
Jensen scowled. “You just noticed? Man, I must be losing my looks.”
“No, baby,” Jared said earnestly. “I noticed. I just had to stop noticing. Pointing guns, trump naked Jensens when it comes to keeping my attention. But only just.”
Jensen pouted, but allowed Jared to pull him into an embrace.
While they were making out SWAT burst in. They consulted with Misha and Erica and then rounded up all the bad guys. Pellegrino was led away shouting that he wouldn’t be alone in his cage for long. That Jared would be sure to join him in there soon and then, Pellegrino would make him his bunk buddy and spoon him all night long.
Jared rolled his eyes and then noticed several of the SWAT team ogling Jensen.
“Somebody get my boyfriend some clothes!” he barked.
Misha came across and gave Jensen his tan trenchcoat.
“Go easy on Emily,” Jensen said to Misha as he shrugged into the coat. “I know she regrets her part in destroying all those poor kid’s souls. And I bet that if you asked her, she’d tell you where they keep the kids. In a lot of ways she’s a victim too.”
He turned to Jared. “So I’m your boyfriend, huh?”
The Acting President of HellSpawn looked at him intently. “Actually, you’re so much more than that.”
Jared kissed him again, gentle but insistent, and Jensen felt high on life. Oh yeah. He could definitely get used to this.
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“Please, please, please!” Jensen begged, pulling desperately at the restraints even though he knew that he was firmly tied down and wasn’t going anywhere.
His semi-hard cock was trapped in a stainless steel cock cage, with his purple balls pulled back and firmly held by a steel ring. Jared had been teasing him for over an hour; sucking and licking him, tormenting him with a prostate massager, running a fine paint brush in between the gaps in the cage and across the head of his dick until he was dripping pre-come like a leaky tap, his over-sensitized nerve endings screaming with pleasure/pain.
“Please. Need... Please.” Jensen couldn’t think about anything except his dick and his desperate need to come.
But he couldn’t come. Not with the way his dick was bound. The cage allowed his cock to swell just enough to make him feel as if he were going to burst out of the cage, but he could only get hard enough to torture and frustrate him, not enough to allow him to come.
“Fucking love you like this,” Jared said, pressing hard against Jensen’s prostate with the massager and gently tonguing at his tormented dick through the bars in the cage. “So needy. Completely at my mercy. You’d do anything for me right now, wouldn’t you?”
The bitch of it was Jared was absolutely right. Jensen would do anything. And what did that say about him?
Jared lifted his head and kissed Jensen gently on the lips. “We’re gonna have to make a list of likes and dislikes aren’t we? I’m not sure I can trust anything you agree to when you’re like this.”
Jared pulled the prostate massager out of Jensen’s ass slowly and Jensen arched his back and whined at the loss.
“Give me a color.”
Color? Huh? What? Dimly, Jensen remembered them agreeing to use the traffic light system and he panted out the word green.
Jared settled himself in between Jensen’s spread legs and nestled the head of his cock against Jensen’s hole.
“Please,” Jensen said, straining to get Jared inside of him.
Jared slid in deep in one slow relentless push and Jensen almost sobbed with relief.
Jared fucked him hard for hours, or maybe minutes, Jensen was out of his mind with need, so it was a little hard to tell.
“Got the test results back today,” Jared said-which is when Jensen realized that the biker was fucking him bare.
His self-preservation skills really needed work.
“We’re both clean,” Jared rolled his hips and nailed Jensen’s prostate. “Gonna come inside you,” Jensen’s eyes rolled back in his head as Jared nailed his prostate again.
“But first…” Jared reached down and snapped open the cock cage.
Jensen’s dick plumped fast as Jared pulled the cage off him and all it took was one more snap of Jared’s hips, one twist of his wrist, and Jensen came so hard that he whited out, his blood roaring in his ears.
When he came to again, he could feel Jared’s come leaking out of him, which was gross, and Jared was wiping him down with a warm, wet cloth.
Jensen groaned. “Think you broke me.”
Jared grinned. “Was good though, right?”
“Fucking awesome. Can you untie me now please?”
Jared freed him from the restraints and Jensen pulled himself upright and reached for his brand new pack of cigarettes. “So,” he said as he lit up. “We need to talk. What do you know about Amara Enterprises?”
Jared gaped at him. “Seriously? You want to talk business now?”
Jensen endeavoured to look as earnest and resolute as possible, quite difficult given how boneless and brain-numb he was feeling.
Jared climbed into bed and snuggled down beside him. “Amara Enterprises is the porn businesses. Why?”
Jensen told him about his conversations with Jim, Steve and Ruthie, emphasizing the salient points so that Jared would connect all the dots himself.
With hindsight, starting this conversation with Jared at two o’clock in the morning when Jensen was a little tipsy and a lot fucked out had probably been a mistake. For a long moment, Jared sat as still and as lethal as a lion waiting to pounce and then he sprang out of bed and yanked open the nightstand drawer.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” he said with quiet, intense fury as he picked up his gun and checked the magazine.
Jensen climbed out of bed and intercepted him before he could get to the bedroom door.
“Jared, stop.”
“Get the fuck out of my way, Jensen, or I swear to God…”
“Please just listen. I…”
Jared punched him and Jensen stumbled as his head snapped back. He recovered quickly and put himself in Jared’s path again.
“I can’t let you go out there like this. Dude, you’re not wearing any pants!”
Jared gaped at him and then his mouth twitched. He doubled over and howled with laughter, his eyes streaming with tears. Then the laughter stopped, but the tears didn’t and Jared slid to the floor beside the bed and wept.
Jensen gently prised the Glock from his unresisting fingers and put it away, before kneeling on the floor beside the biker and resting a hand on his shoulder.
“We’ll get him, Jay, I promise.”
Jared made a noise that was somewhere between a sob and a snort. “You know what really gets me Jensen?” he said. “I knew. I knew and I did nothing,” he frowned. “I mean I didn’t know, but I knew, you know?”
“I…think so.”
“They always fought, JD and Pellegrino. Pellegrino said that was good. That it kept him honest. That JD was like the cricket on his shoulder,” Jared smiled fondly. “One day, after Chapel, JD and HeyDay stayed behind to talk something over with Pellegrino. The rest of us were out in the common area drinking, playing pool, when the yelling got so loud you could hear it over the music. And then the door banged open-just smashed back against the wall-and JD fucking strode out, yelling: ‘Over my dead body, Mark. Over my dead fucking body.’” Jared shook his head. “I don’t know what they were talking about, but three weeks later JD was killed. And I kept thinking about that day and what JD had yelled out. But then, Pellegrino was so fucking nice to me. And I was a wreck. I spent a week drunk, fucked my way through too many guys to count, totalled my bike. And Pellegrino picked me up, put me back together and said, even though I was young, even though I was the lowest ranked member, he wanted me to be his VP. To take my dad’s place. To be the cricket on his shoulder like JD used to be,” Jared turned to Jensen with tears streaming down his cheeks. “And I let myself believe. Because it was easier.”
“It’s okay,” Jensen said. “You were what? Twenty? You trusted Pellegrino. You should’ve been able to trust him. So, you know, don’t beat yourself up over it.”
Jared snorted and rubbed a hand across his cheeks. “Fuck. Crying like a fuckin’ pussy. Gonna lose my man card.”
Jensen rolled his eyes. “You’re allowed to have emotions, Dude.”
Jared looked pretty dubious about that and Jensen knew exactly where he was coming from, thanks to the many lengthy discussions he’d had with Dr Ferris about learning to express negative emotions in healthy ways. According to Ferris, Jensen flew into a rage whenever he was angry, sad or scared and apparently, that was because anger felt more powerful than sadness or fear. Jensen had thought she was full of shit, but having watched Jared’s responses to being scared or unhappy, he was starting to think she might’ve been onto something.
“We still need hard evidence,” Jared said. “Everything you said makes perfect sense, but it’s circumstantial. If I want to get the Club’s backing on taking The Beast down for this, I need proof.”
Jensen nodded. “We’ll get it,” he said. “Whatever it takes.”
--
The next few days were quiet. Jared worked. Jensen played pool down at Happy Gok’s and did a little hustling at some less than salubrious establishments.
The first time Jensen came home with five hundred dollars of hard-hustled money, Jared decided to spend the evening introducing him to his suede flogger. It turned out to be less of a punishment than Jared might’ve intended, because Jensen really fucking liked the sting and the way the flogger managed to be both harsh and sensual. He was so hard by the time they got to the actual fucking that he came the moment Jared slid in deep.
Still, the next time he went out hustling he took Chad with him to watch his back.
Jared bought him art supplies. Sketch pads and Derwents. Several canvasses. A good range of Winsor and Newton oil paints and oil brushes.
Jensen sketched Jared lying on the sofa with a beer in one hand and Jared was seriously impressed.
“You’re good,” he said. “That actually looks like me. Like, for real.”
Jensen rolled his eyes and lit a cigarette.
“You ever done a custom paint job on a car or a bike?” Jared asked.
Jensen shook his head.
“You should give it a try,” Jared urged. “I’ll find you an old clunker to practice on.”
Jensen conceded that it could be fun and when Jared told him how much money he could make on high end custom design paint jobs, he knew that he’d have to seriously look into it.
On Friday night, Jensen played in Happy Gok’s pool tournament and won again. The whole crew turned up to watch him and even though they weren’t even in soft colors, it was obvious that most people knew who they were. And those who didn’t know who they were still knew what they were and that they were best avoided.
“Gang’s all here, I see,” Steve murmured.
“They’re not a gang,” Jensen said flippantly. “They’re a bunch of motor cycle enthusiasts.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He leaned in close. “You ought to go to Church, confess your sins. Monday, midday, at The Church of the Good Shepherd on North Bedford Drive. The angels will keep an eye out for you.”
Jensen raised an eyebrow. “Hallelujah?”
--
Jensen set off early, because he wanted to make sure he wasn’t followed.
He pretended that he was heading out on a shopping trip and meandered up and down Rodeo Drive and its surrounding streets using the windows of the various shops he peered into to surreptitiously check for somebody tailing him.
And yes, there he was; a big, leather-clad, tattooed biker, trying to look inconspicuous outside of Bally Shoes. Jensen snorted and tried to imagine the guy wearing $500 pebbled calf-skin loafers. Jensen pursed his lips thoughtfully. He thought he recognized the guy as a club hang-around, hoping to become a prospect. His name was… Jensen bit at his bottom lip… Randy? Or Rowdy? Something like that. He was such a poor choice for inconspicuous that Jensen knew there had to be another tail as well.
Jensen headed into Gucci for a bit because they had some nice bomber jackets in the window and just because he wasn’t actually here to shop, didn’t mean that he couldn’t buy something cool if he just happened to see it. Right?
By the time he came out Randy (or Rowdy) was in an animated discussion with Bally’s store security, so Jensen took advantage of the situation to sprint over to Hugo Boss.
He had to browse Armani (they had a fitted leather jacket that was going to look amazing on Jared) and Ralph Lauren too, before he finally flushed the other tail-a weasel-y looking, balding man in dark glasses, grey pants and a blue-and-white striped tee-shirt. The guy was as tenacious as a weasel too. Jensen had to meander through Brooks Brothers and Saint Laurent, and then double back and hit Saks Fifth Avenue before he finally managed to lose him.
By the time he made it to the meet-up at Church of the Good Shepherd he was fifteen minutes late. He made the sign of the cross and the moved down the center aisle to the front pew and sat down, head bowed as if in prayer.
Jensen was conscious of someone sitting down beside him and he turned and found himself face-to-face with intense blue eyes, messy dark hair and a finely chiselled jaw.
“Hello, Jensen. You’re late.” Deep and gravelly, the man’s voice sent a shiver up Jensen’s spine.
“I had to shake a tail.”
The man broke into a smile. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “You’re a big fan of dime novel detective stories?”
Jensen rolled his eyes. “So are you one of the ‘angels’ Steve mentioned?”
“I’m Misha,” the man stood up. “Come on. We can talk through here.”
He led them around through a side door and into the priest’s office at the back where a dark haired woman was waiting for them.
“This is Erica,” Misha said.
Erica folded her arms and gave him a withering look.
Misha grimaced. “Okay, I supposed if you want to be all official, this is Special Agent Erica Carroll and I’m Special Agent Misha Collins. We’re with the FBI.”
“Okay,” Jensen said, taking a seat at the desk, opposite Erica.
“And you’re Jensen Ackles,” Misha added.
Jensen stared at him. “Yes. I know that,” he said, as scathingly as he could manage.
Erica smiled.
“Okay then,” Misha clapped his hands. “On to business. Steve Williams says you’re willing to work with us to get Mark Pelligrino, AKA The Beast, put behind bars.”
Jensen nodded. “I won’t tell you anything that could get Jared in trouble, but yeah.”
“Should Jared be in trouble?” Erica asked softly.
Jensen inclined his head. “Of course not. He’s a prince among men. Never did a bad thing in his life, your honor.”
“And Jared’s your….?” She left a space for him to fill in the gap and when Jensen said nothing she said, “boyfriend?”
“It’s complicated,” Jensen said. “And not really the point.”
Erica conceded the fact with a tilt of her head.
“Tell me about JD,” Jensen said.
Misha looked at him for a moment, cool and assessing, and then began to recite.
“Jeffrey Dean Morgan, AKA JD, AKA John-Boy. Born 22nd April, 1966, died 12th June, 2012, aged 46. Pre-deceased by his old lady and wife, Mary, who died of cancer. No children. JD did, however, informally adopt Jared Padalecki, born July 19, 1992, when the boy was fourteen, and God above knows what systemic fuck up allowed that to happen.”
“Hey!” Jensen straightened up and scowled at Misha. “JD was the only--”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Misha interrupted. “He did right by the kid when no one else did. Doesn’t mean the system didn’t fail.”
“Yeah,” Jensen agreed. “It failed Jared big time.”
“And JD wanted to right some wrongs, which is sort of how all this came about,” Misha fixed his big blue eyes on Jensen. “JD was investigating a man by the name of Kurt Fuller, a lawyer who also produces porn with Emily Swallow, the former porn actress, and Fuller’s mistress. The company is called Fuller Swallow Inc and they produce mostly rough stuff, gang bangs and so on, with barely legal actors. Fuller and his wife Julia were Jared’s foster parents for a short while. JD believed Fuller may have…” Misha hesitated, “... behaved, uh, inappropriately with Jared.”
Jensen got his cigarettes out, but before he could do more than slide one out of the packet, there was an outraged squawk from Erica.
“You can’t smoke in here!”
Jensen stuck the cigarette in his mouth. “You gonna arrest me for smoking?” he asked.
Erica glared at him. “This is Father Thomas’s office. You’ll upset him if you smoke in here. Please don’t.”
Jensen sighed and put the cigarette back in the pack. “So JD was after Fuller, and then Pellegrino decided to get into bed with Fuller’s porn company and JD lost his shit.”
Erica nodded. “We then contacted JD and asked him to pretend to be on board with HellSpawn buying into the porn business, because while we have suspected for a long while that Fuller was producing child pornography, we’ve never been able to prove it. We thought that if JD had access to inner-circle knowledge, he could pass it on to us.”
Jensen nodded. “It wasn’t the first time he’d helped the FBI, was it? Pellegrino thought the Dead Reapers were ratting him out seven years ago. But it was JD, wasn’t it?”
Erica and Misha exchanged a look.
“Underage hookers,” Misha said finally. “Pellegrino was turning a blind eye, so JD told us who was running them. We never could tie it back to HellSpawn. We had nothing but the pimp’s word and he got shived in prison, so the whole case died too.”
Maybe Pellegrino hadn’t known that it was JD who sicced the FBI on HellSpawn seven years ago, but there was a good chance he’d had some suspicions. Jensen figured that JD’s sudden turnaround on the whole kiddie porn issue would’ve solidified those suspicions and been the final nail in JD’s coffin.
“The information that Pellegrino channels the Fuller Swallow money through a company called Amara Enterprises was very helpful, Jensen. We’ve got a team of forensic accountants trying to unravel the money trail. But what we need you to do now, is find out where they’re producing the child pornography.”
“Oh, is that all?” Jensen said sarcastically.
“I appreciate that what we’re asking of you is difficult,” Misha said.
“Epic understatement,” Jensen muttered.
“But we believe you can do it. You’re a resourceful man. A con artist. And,” Misha tilted his head. “Rather attractive.”
Jensen rolled his eyes. “Also, I already know Kurt and Emily.”
Misha’s eyebrows shot up. “You do?” He glared at Erica. “Why didn’t we know that?”
Erica frowned. “I, uh, um,”
“It was a long time ago,” Jensen offered. “Kurt used to hang out at this bar where I worked bussing tables when I was eighteen. He kept giving me his card and trying to talk me into filming for him. I kept telling him no.”
“Why?” Misha asked. “As I understand it, you…” he trailed off and looked sheepish.
“Fuck around a lot? Well, yeah. But that’s different.” Jensen frowned. “Once something’s on film it’s there forever. I didn’t want footage of me getting gang banged in Smoky and the Ass Bandit, Part 6 to be my enduring legacy.”
“This is great news!” said Erica.
Jensen turned to stare at her and she colored slightly.
“Not the gang bang part,” she clarified, “the fact that you already know Fuller; that he wanted you to work for him. It gives you an in.”
Jensen bit at his bottom lip. “Speaking of fucking around, I may have fucked around with Kurt and Emily a few times. Kurt’s bi, and I’m not really into women, but Emily was fucking mesmerizing. She had a real thing for me too. So yeah, I think I’ll be able to get them to at least talk to me again.”
Misha patted him on the knee. “You go with whichever angle works. Just remember, the sooner we can find out where they’re filming the child pornography, the sooner we can shut it down.”
“Roger, that,” Jensen flicked Misha a salute and then stood, gathered his shopping bags and left. He lit a cigarette on the sidewalk in front of the church and then walked back toward Rodeo Drive, planning his next move.
--
Jensen learned from Crossroads that Kurt Fuller still liked to hang out at The Snakepit, so he had Squint do some recon and then went around there at six o’clock on Thursday night, because the research suggested that Fuller was likely to be there then.
Jensen got himself a beer and ordered a burger and then found an unoccupied small, round bar table and sat facing the front door. The girl who brought out his burger was a pretty blonde who introduced herself as Michelle, with a Mississippi accent. Jensen gave her a big smile and when she smiled back at him, he told her that he used to work here, ten years ago. That he’d been in the neighborhood and figured he’d drop in, for old times’ sake.
“Omigod,” she said. “That’s so cool. What do you do now?”
“I’m a struggling artist.”
Michelle raised an eyebrow. “You can’t be struggling too much. I know how much those shoes cost.”
“Ah,” Jensen smiled ruefully. “Well sometimes I have friends who buy me nice things. And what about you? I’m guessing you didn’t come to Hollywood to wait tables?”
Michelle sighed and struck a pose. “Nope, I came out here to be an actress,” she tossed her hair. “No luck so far. Anyway, gotta go. Enjoy your burger.”
Jensen finished his burger and his beer and then got his cigarettes out. There were signs all around that read ‘No smoking pursuant to Labor Code section 6404.5’ and Jensen fidgeted for a while and then got up and headed outside to smoke.
He opened the front door to find Kurt Fuller on the other side and forced his face into an expression of surprised delight.
“Kurt! Still drinking here, eh?”
“Dean Winchester,” Kurt clapped him on the upper arm. “I’d heard you were back in town. Or should I say, Jensen?”
Jensen grinned. “Oh you should definitely say Jensen.”
A couple excused themselves to Jensen and he moved to the side so that they could get past him.
“I’m just heading out for a smoke,” he told Kurt. “But it was good bumping into you.”
Jensen stepped outside and walked a little way down from the front door and then lit up. The trick with Kurt was not to appear eager. He needed Kurt to think that he was the one doing the chasing. Jensen lit a second smoke off the butt of the first and smoked it quickly, before heading back inside.
Kurt was up at the bar ordering himself a whiskey-Jameson Irish Whiskey, aged 18 years.
“Ooh. That sounds good,” Jensen said as he sidled up beside him. “I’ll have one of those too.”
Kurt smiled his usual smarmy smile. “Make that two,” he said to the bartender. “Both on me.”
“Where are you sitting, De-Jensen?” Kurt asked when they both had a drink in hand.
The table where Jensen had eaten his burger was now taken. “Well, I was sitting there. I guess that’s what happens when you go outside to smoke. You lose your table.”
Together they found one of the tall bar tables that you had to stand at and as Kurt put his table number down, he huffed that he was going to have to eat his meatloaf standing up.
It was Michelle who brought Kurt his food. She gave him an insincere smile and then looked at Jensen with wide eyes, shaking her head slightly and nodding toward Kurt.
“Have you given any more thought to my offer?” Kurt asked her.
“Nope,” she said. “I’m still not interested in making porno movies for you, Mr Fuller.”
“Pity,” Fuller said, ogling her lecherously.
Michelle rolled her eyes and turned to Jensen. “Has he given you his card yet?”
“Back when I was working here, he gave me about a hundred. But I was smart like you and told him no.”
Kurt scowled at him and then turned to Michelle. “Don’t let Jensen fool you, Michelle. Just because he’s pretty, it doesn’t mean he’s a nice guy. He’s part of a criminal motorcycle gang and he’s done a lot of bad things in his time.”
Jensen snorted and tossed back the rest of his whiskey. “He ain’t exactly wrong,” he looked up at Michelle. “Don’t worry about me, Sweetheart, I don’t need to be saved from ol’ Kurt here.”
Michelle looked at him with narrowed eyes and when she spoke, her tone was scathing. “Right. Because sometimes you make friends with people who buy you nice things.”
She turned around and walked away and Jensen found himself feeling almost hurt that she was so disappointed in him.
“Great,” he said to Kurt. “Now she thinks I’m a hooker.”
Kurt threw his head back and laughed.
“Don’t you laugh,” Jensen said. “She thinks you’re my Sugar Daddy.”
“Ah, Jensen,” Kurt wiped at his eyes. “Once upon a time I would’ve been glad to be. Now, you’re a little too old for me and besides, Moose would have my balls cut off if I touched you.”
Jensen swallowed back bile at the casual way Kurt referred to Jared and conceded the point with a tilt of his head. “He would. Unless it was business, of course,” he added.
Kurt frowned. “What do you mean?”
Jensen leaned in close. “You would’ve heard about what happened back in the day, right? Me skipping town with a briefcase I shouldn’t’ve had?”
Fuller nodded.
“So now I’m back and Jared bought out my debt to the club. Which means he now owes the club. Which means I’m still on the hook, because we’re together.”
“What are you trying to say, Jensen?”
Jensen stared down at a water ring on the table top. He was disgusted by what he was about to say and really hoped that it wouldn’t show on his face.
“You make movies. Which I don’t want to be in. Let me be clear on that. I don’t want my ass and my face plastered all over the internet. But. If you had something a little more niche. Something with a more limited viewership. Something where I might have to perform wearing a mask. Or my face might be pixelated. That, I might be interested in.”
Fuller’s face was stripped of all emotion. “Might you now?” he said.
Jensen nodded. “I hear the money’s good and I need a lot of money right now.”
“I bet you do,” Fuller murmured. “And what about Jared? What does he have to say about this?”
Jensen shrugged. “I haven’t talked to him yet, obviously, but Jared is pretty pragmatic about this kind of thing”
Jensen looked up to see what Fuller made of that, just in time to catch him with an exultant, gloating expression on his face, and in the moment he knew, without a shadow of doubt, that JD’s suspicions had been correct.
Kurt went and bought them both more whiskey and Jensen snuck outside for another cigarette, which he smoked with trembling hands. God he hoped that he’d get a chance to rip Kurt’s lungs out and stick them up his ass.
Back inside Jensen found both a whiskey and a beer waiting for him. He tossed the whiskey back fast and then sipped at the beer.
“So,” Kurt asked him. “How old were you, your first time?”
The first time someone had stuck their dick up his ass, Jensen had been eighteen. But he’d been exchanging hand jobs and blow jobs with other boys since the age of fourteen. And he figured the lower age would be more popular with Kurt, so that’s what he said.
Fuller looked supremely pleased. “Any boy old enough to know what his dick is for wants to be having sex,” he said.
Jensen threw up in his mouth a little and had to wash it down with a slug of beer.
“Exactly right,” he said. He was pretty sure that when he voiced his agreement, somewhere, an angel died.
“You know what,” Fuller clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna think about it. Give me your number and maybe I’ll give you a call in a few days.”
Jensen told him that he appreciated it and then made himself stay for another few drinks and some idle reminiscing about the old days before he headed home.
When Jensen got back to the apartment he found Jared wearing the leather jacket he’d brought for him. Jensen lit up at the sight.
“So does this mean I’m forgiven?” he asked.
Jared nodded. “You should’ve asked before spending that much money on me, but yeah, it’s a cool jacket.”
Jensen shrugged. “You’re worth it. Don’t worry,” he added when Jared seemed as if he would protest. “You sent a pretty clear message with the flogger. I won’t spend a grand on a jacket for you again without running it past you first.”
Jared drew him in close and squeezed his butt cheeks. “You enjoy the flogger far too much for it to be a punishment.”
Jensen hummed. “Maybe. If I’m forgiven, does that mean you’re going to take the cage off tonight?”
Jared rolled his eyes. “Also not really a punishment, given how much you love it when I lock up your cock. But yes, I’m going to let you come tonight.”
Jensen took hold of Jared’s hand and began to drag him to the bedroom.
“Need you, Jay,” he said. “I’m feeling gross and slimy after spending so much time with that asswipe Fuller. I need you to fuck me hard. Make me feel every inch of your fat cock.”
Jared scooped Jensen up and threw him over his shoulder and the rest of the evening dissolved in a symphony of ecstasy and pain, as Jensen tried his hardest to forget about Kurt Fuller, the kids he was fucking up for life, and the way Michelle had looked at him like he was a piece of lowlife scum.
--
Jensen was in the back yard when he got the phone call, trying his hand at painting a custom design onto the un-roadworthy old clunker that Jared had brought home for him. He was starting simple; life-like orange flames on a black background, and so far he was happy with the result.
When his cell phone rang, he thought it would be Jared, calling to make sure that he’d shut the dogs in the house before he started. He switched off the airbrush and peeled off his mask, before pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.
It was Fuller.
Fuller gave him an address and told him to be there in half an hour.
Oh fuck. Jensen shook out a cigarette and lit up.
Would there be kids there? Would they look at him like he was a monster? Would the cavalry arrive before he had to at least fake doing something?
Jensen thought he was going to be sick.
He finished his smoke fast and then went and raided Jared’s bag of burners. He called Misha and gave him the address and the time of the meet. He then texted Jared from his own phone and let him know the details.
He and Jared had angsted long and hard about how to deal with this aspect of their con. They’d ended up deciding that if they wanted to maintain the illusion that Jensen was on the up and up, Jared’s involvement had to be transparent. So Jensen typed, with shaking fingers: Meeting with Kurt in half an hour at 1036 West Florence Avenue. Wish me luck.
Just to be extra cautious he broke up the sim card of the burner phone that he’d used to call Misha and then he put it in a plastic bag, picked up all of the dog poop in the yard and put that in the same bag, and then dumped it into the trash can.
And then he switched on his cell phone’s GPS tracking, put the tracking device that Misha had given him inside his shoe, and called a cab.
The address Jensen had been given was in a fairly sketchy area of Inglewood and the cab driver checked a few times that Jensen really wanted to be let out here.
As soon as Jensen walked into the dark, dusty warehouse, his spidey sense began to tingle.
“Jensen Ackles?” said a voice.
“Yeah?” Jensen turned, trying to see who had spoken.
Something smashed into the back of his head and Jensen went down, dark spots dancing in his eyes. He was hauled upright by two strong people and dragged toward a white van. Jensen understood dully that he’d walked right into a trap. That they were going to move him and that by the time Misha and the FBI arrived he would no longer be here.
“He ain’t out yet,” said another voice and there was another smack to the back of his head.
Jensen’s last thought as he lost his grip on consciousness was that at least he had the GPS in his phone and the tracker in his shoe. He wasn’t in too much trouble. The FBI would still be able to find him.
--
Jensen’s head ached like a bitch. His neck ached too. He was cold. And his mouth was dry and furry. Jensen opened his eyes and saw his naked thighs. He lifted his head and saw empty space and a cement wall. He tried to stand up, but couldn’t because he was tied to a chair. Jensen’s feet were tied to the front legs of the chair with cord and his hands were tied behind his back. Jensen began to pick, surreptitiously at the knots.
Okay. So. This was not good. Not good at all. Firstly, he was naked, which meant no cell phone, no shoe tracker. And he’d been moved from the original meeting place. Presumably his cell phone and tracker hadn’t been moved from the original meeting place. That meant that Jared and the FBI had no idea where he was and no way of tracking him.
Also, did Jensen mention that he was naked?
In a warehouse that belonged to a noted pornographer.
Jensen swallowed. Fuck. He hoped he wasn’t about to star in a gang bang without his consent.
Jensen had goosebumps. And he was shivering because he was cold. That was the only reason. He wasn’t scared. He thought about that for a moment. He actually…kind of wasn’t scared. Instead, he felt his senses sharpen. He could hear the hum of traffic that told him he was near a major road, and the hum and whir of distant power tools. He could smell plaster dust and old paint and he could hear a creak off to his left as a side door was opened and Kurt Fuller, Emily Swallow and a couple of gun-toting goons he didn’t recognize walked in.
Jensen smiled. “Emily. You look as stunning as always.”
Emily returned his smile and then her face became tragic. “I can’t believe you were planning to hurt me,” she said.
“Oh no, Sweetheart,” Jensen said. “Not you. Never you.”
He meant it too. Whatever bad things Emily might have done in the last decade, before that she’d been Kurt’s victim-probably still was in a lot of ways-and Jensen would salvage her from the wreckage if he could.
Kurt harrumphed. “Turning us in to the FBI would hurt Emily pretty badly, don’t you think?”
Jensen widened his eyes. “What the fuck, Kurt? What are you implying?”
Fuller chuckled. “I’m not implying anything. I’m outright accusing you of being a rat.”
Jensen glared. “You can’t be serious!”
“Deadly serious. You had a tracker in your shoe.”
Okay, that looked bad. But Jensen was sure he could spin it. If he could keep Fuller talking, it would buy him some time and right now any time he could buy was a bonus.
“Jared insisted on the tracker,” Jensen told Fuller. “He kind of thinks he owns me and he doesn’t want me running out on him. I have to tell him everywhere I’m going and if the tracker says something different, he comes looking for me. And then I’m in big trouble. Let me reassure you,” Jensen said. “That I have never had any intentions at all of turning you over to the FBI, the ATF, the cops, or anyone else.”
Kurt was right beside him now and he reached out and took hold of Jensen’s chin.
“I wish I could believe you,” he said. “But you always were such a pretty little liar.”
“I ain’t lying,” Jensen lied.
Kurt squatted in front of the chair. He put his hands on Jensen’s knees and then ran them, in a slow, sickening caress, up and down his inner thighs.
“It seems like such a waste to kill you,” Kurt mused. “But Pellegrino wants you dead. He doesn’t think you can be trusted. He thinks you’ve got poor Padalecki wrapped around your little finger.”
Jensen snorted. “You’re kidding? Jared’s definitely on top in our relationship,” he cocked his head. “So if you don’t want to kill me, what do you recommend doing with me?”
As if it wasn’t obvious from the obscene caress.
Kurt licked at his lips. “I’d make you my sex slave. Keep you locked away and use you whenever, however, I wanted.”
Behind Kurt, Emily made a little abortive movement and Jensen met her eyes. They were full of sympathy and despair.
Jensen could hear the approaching sound of a Harley Davidson; possibly two. He wrinkled his nose at Fuller. “You know, as much fun as being your beck-and-call boy sounds, I think I’m gonna have to pass. I remember how tiny your dick is.”
It wasn’t small, not really. Kurt was decently average. “Well,” Jensen added, “it’s tiny in comparison to the Padacock, anyway. Once you’ve had that, you can never go back. You’re ruined for anything less. And you’re definitely less, Kurt. Much less.”
Making fun of a man’s dick when he had you naked, bound, and held at gunpoint was always a solid move.
Kurt stood up abruptly and then backhanded Jensen hard.
Fuck that hurt.
Jensen grinned and spat out blood. The outer roller doors clattered up and open and Pellegrino and Heyerdahl roared into the warehouse on their Harleys.
Jensen waited until they’d switched off their engines and then said, “Well hello there, Mr President, Sir. Seems we’ve got a problem. Your man, Kurt here, kidnapped me.”
“On my orders,” Pellegrino said.
“What?” Jensen pouted. “Why?”
Pellegrino folded his arms and tilted his head. “Well. Because you were planning on ratting us all out to the FBI.”
Jensen manufactured a look of indignant surprise. “I was not! That’s outrageous!”
Pellegrino laughed and shook his head. “So you’re telling me that you honestly wanted to make kiddie porn?”
Jensen sniffed. “Hell no,” he said. “I wanted to lure Kurt somewhere private and kill him. I was going to put his heart in a box and give it to Jared for his birthday.”
Jensen felt every eye in the place settle on him in shock. He grinned. “Jared may have let slip a few things about Kurt. It seemed an appropriate gift. Like, I’d give him my heart metaphorically, by giving him Kurt’s heart literally.”
Fuller squawked something indignant and Pellegrino threw back his head and laughed. HeyDay’s smile was unsettling.
“Oh man,” Pellegrino said. “I’d forgotten what a little psycho you are.”
Pellegrino looked at Jensen thoughtfully and then the side door opened and Misha and Erica walked in with their hands in the air, two goons with guns behind them.
“Look what we found lurking boss. Special Agents Collins and Carroll.”
“Not a rat, eh?” sneered Fuller.
“I’ve never seen them before in my life,” Jensen said. “Maybe they followed Pellegrino here?”
“We’ve had several of Fuller’s men under surveillance,” Misha said helpfully. “We saw them assault Mr Ackles, who we know from our surveillance of Jared Padalecki, and then bundle him into a van. We followed. SWAT is on its way.”
“What a shame you won’t live to see them arrive,” HeyDay said and pointed his Sig Sauer right at Misha’s head.
There was a bang and Jensen’s heart dropped. He waited for Misha to fall, but he didn’t. He patted himself, looking perplexed and then Heyerdahl slumped to the floor.
“What the…?” Pellegrino drew his own weapon and spun around just as Jared and Crossroads walked in, guns trained on Fuller and Pellegrino.
Jared was dressed from head to toe in black leather and he walked into the warehouse as if he owned it. Jensen was incredibly turned on. He had to have some stern words with his cock, because, hello? Naked.
“You okay, Sweetheart?” Jared said, looking across at Jensen.
“Peachy,” Jensen grumbled.
Jared turned his gaze on Fuller. “In case you’re wondering all the guys you had stationed outside are unconscious and tied up,” he turned to Pellegrino. “And in case you’re wondering, Joey and Pitbull have been tied up and shoved in the spare parts cupboard.”
Jared turned back to Jensen. “He had my workmates spying on me. When he got the call from Fuller that they’d got you, he promised Joey and Pitbull they could become prospects if they stopped me from leaving to follow him. And they did try. By the time I got them dealt with, Pellegrino and HeyDay were long gone. So I called Crossroads and Squint. Chad’s minding the shop, in case you were worried,” this last was addressed to Pellegrino.
“So how did you find me?” Jensen asked.
“Oh,” Jared grinned. “I put a tracker on The Beast’s bike when Ruthie told you he was already suspicious of us.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Jensen saw Fuller pull a knife; he’d taken advantage of the focus on Padalecki to arm himself.
This was Jensen’s opportunity. He’d already managed to untie his wrists; he’d just been waiting for the right moment to reveal the fact. Now seemed appropriate.
Jensen threw himself at Fuller as he drew the knife back to throw it at Erica. Jensen landed on top of Fuller and knocked him to the ground. Without a flicker of remorse, Jensen snapped his neck. And then he rolled sideways and pulled off the cords that were binding his ankles to the legs of the chair.
“Holy shit,” Jared said as Jensen stood up. “I’m so turned on right now.” He turned to the goons who were standing with their mouths open, their guns still vaguely pointed at Misha and Erica. “Guns down,” he said to the goons. “Hands on your heads. SWAT’ll be here in a minute and you don’t want to get shot.”
The goons complied and Misha and Erica handcuffed them.
“You should take your own advice,” Misha told Jared.
Jared gave his gun to Misha and when Misha pointed it at Pellegrino, Crossroads handed his to Erica.
“Don’t worry,” Jared told Jensen. “It’s a completely clean gun,” and then he frowned. “You’re naked.”
Jensen scowled. “You just noticed? Man, I must be losing my looks.”
“No, baby,” Jared said earnestly. “I noticed. I just had to stop noticing. Pointing guns, trump naked Jensens when it comes to keeping my attention. But only just.”
Jensen pouted, but allowed Jared to pull him into an embrace.
While they were making out SWAT burst in. They consulted with Misha and Erica and then rounded up all the bad guys. Pellegrino was led away shouting that he wouldn’t be alone in his cage for long. That Jared would be sure to join him in there soon and then, Pellegrino would make him his bunk buddy and spoon him all night long.
Jared rolled his eyes and then noticed several of the SWAT team ogling Jensen.
“Somebody get my boyfriend some clothes!” he barked.
Misha came across and gave Jensen his tan trenchcoat.
“Go easy on Emily,” Jensen said to Misha as he shrugged into the coat. “I know she regrets her part in destroying all those poor kid’s souls. And I bet that if you asked her, she’d tell you where they keep the kids. In a lot of ways she’s a victim too.”
He turned to Jared. “So I’m your boyfriend, huh?”
The Acting President of HellSpawn looked at him intently. “Actually, you’re so much more than that.”
Jared kissed him again, gentle but insistent, and Jensen felt high on life. Oh yeah. He could definitely get used to this.
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