Fic: All The Right Answers To All The Wrong Questions (Jensen/Jared)
I'm baaaaaaack! Possibly I should post something about my fabulous trip to Paris, but then I'd have to work up something coherent to say and you'd all have to pretend to be interested, so in lieu of that - here's some of what my brain did while the jetlag refused to let me sleep. PORN!
Fandom:J2
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17 (I am so not kidding) -- Wordcount: 8,500
Warnings: D/s, some schmoop, some angst, cranky!needy!sub!Jared, TLC, mild predicament bondage, sounding (if you don't know what this is, I recommend looking it up before reading or this fic might bad-touch you) - in other words, heaping helpings of kink.
Notes: Third in what I am creatively calling the Escort!AU, following Halfway To In Love - there will be at least one more installment. This, my dear flistites, is why you do not pet the kink bunnies, because then they mutate and become bunnyzillas and I flood your life with this. I sincerely apologize. Also, I just want to take a moment to thank those of you out there who are actually in the scene who have commented, it's been very informative for me and I've enjoyed it very much - hoping not to disappoint you.
Summary - Jared's had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week as a Dom and now it's his turn to be taken care of - in the kinkiest possible way.
Jared’s door slamming echoes dully down the hall; single sound equivalent of the last six days of Jensen’s life. Jensen breathes out steadily and avoids thinking phrases like ‘bitch-queen diva’. It’s not Jared’s fault that he’s acting like this; Jensen understands, Jensen knows. He’s lived through Jared in hard-core Dom mode before and he’s even had the dubious honor of seeing him on a Kripke week once. And, no, Jensen does not growl Jared’s client’s name, not even in the privacy of his own mind - he may be capable of being a possessive bastard, but he’s not going to be now, because he has no claim on Jared, so there.
Kripke’s easily Jared’s most valuable client; one of those multi-costal TV assholes who’s always here or there, smchoozing somebody or other and cutting deals. What that means is that the man is only in town for more than a day at a time on very rare occasions and what that means is that on those occasions, he likes to have his favorite plaything on retainer. Yes, retainer - Jared’s been paid 24 hours a day for the last six days to be ready to jump whenever Kripke calls him in. All of which equals Jared living in his Dom headspace for almost a week, which is essentially the most miserable living arrangement Jensen’s ever had to put up with.
He gives Jared credit for putting in the effort; he hasn’t tried to bend Jensen over or make him his bitch or anything else that he can tell by the looks Jared’s been shooting him this week his roommate really wants to do - not that Jensen would mind that kind of treatment, per se, but that’s adding a whole other level to their already unnecessarily complex relationship. Instead, Jared’s acting like a fourteen year old girl with PMS - petulant, moody, contrary just for the sake of being so. Jensen’s done his best to ignore it when he can and not retaliate the times he can’t but it hasn’t been easy by any stretch of the imagination.
In fact, it’s probably worse now because of their arrangement, because there’s a very large, inappropriately proprietary part of him that wants to march in there after Jared and show him who’s boss. Worse still because Jared’s only been taking care of himself in the loosest possible terms - he’s refused to eat anything that didn’t come pre-packaged, even when Jensen cooked, has gone through two cases of beer and five packs of Red Bull, and Jensen strongly suspects that the liner around his eyes is performing a secondary service to cover the dark circles that would inevitably be there, because if Jared’s sleeping, he’s doing a damn fine job of hiding it.
It’s not that Jensen doesn’t sympathize - being in that Dom mindset can be draining, even for the short periods of time he usually puts it on with Jared; living there for days on end, he can’t even imagine. Still, it’s over now, effectively dealt with with Kripke well on his way to wherever the hell - Jensen’s doesn’t even begin to care. Jared’s his priority now, and after almost a week to think about it, he has a fairly clear idea of what his sub needs.
***
Jared wakes with a thin sheen of sweat on his skin and a shard of afternoon sunlight creeping through the curtains to stab his retinas. Cactus needles, appear to have spontaneously grown on the insides of his eyelids sometime after he collapsed into bed around four this morning - fucking makeup, he knows better than to go to sleep with it on, but he was so tired when he got in he only barely managed to strip before passing out.
He can smell his own skin, which is both a token of how desperately in need of a shower he is and of the stress migraine he can feel trying to take hold behind his eyebrows. Fucking perfect. He fucking hates Eric Kripke.
An untold number of minutes pass while Jared debates the merits of spending the rest of possibly forever laying in exactly this position and the inevitable needs to eat and pee that are rapidly asserting themselves. Ultimately he hauls his aching body - he’s a strong guy, but you can really only manhandle a full-grown man like a ragdoll for so long before your arms and back start to rebel - off of the sheets and gets himself standing.
Cloth underfoot isn’t exactly surprising considering that he’d basically let his clothes land wherever gravity happened to take them last night as he’d shucked out of them like a physical layer of tension, so that’s probably why he doesn’t notice what’s laying on the floor beside his bed until after he’s gone to the bathroom, scrubbed the death-warmed-over taste off of his teeth and washed the smudgy, caked liner from around his eyes.
A neatly folded pair of simple, grey boxer-briefs and a collar. His collar. Oh fuck.
Jared’s acted out before, sure, and been punished accordingly, but this isn’t some stupid shit he’d pulled to get Jensen’s attention; this isn’t even some casual fuck-up that Jensen can use to toy with him. This is a serious, continued pattern of disrespect over the course of days that, even if Jensen wasn’t his Dom, would be totally inexcusable behavior. It’s not something he’s ever encountered with Jensen before and he can’t begin to guess what kind of hell is going to be meted out on him in retribution. The hot sea of anxiety churning in his gut comes very close to quelling the shocky surge of need that slams through him.
Fingers clumsy, Jared manages to fumble into the plain, cotton underwear and, with a bit more trouble, the collar. It’s been a while since he put one on himself - Jensen usually likes to handle that personally and Jared can’t for the life of him puzzle out what it means that Jensen left it for him to do this time. Dimly he notes that the crap that had been building up around the room all week is gone; the chip bags and energy drink cans, clothes worn or tried on and discarded, the plates from the microwave taquitos he’s been largely subsisting on all week. He wonders if Jensen cleaned it up before he got home last night or if he’d been out so cold this morning that his roommate had played maid without him ever waking up.
He lingers for a moment over changing jewelry. All Jensen had laid out for him were these two items, a tacit command to wear this and only this, but Jared had intentionally been wearing the studs in his nipples instead of the rings this week because the rings are all about him and Jensen and what they do together and he hadn’t wanted that getting mixed in with his being Dom-on-call for fucking Kripke. He doesn’t really want part of his job spilling over into his and Jensen’s private world either. Jensen will understand, he tells himself, willing his hands steady as he switches out the piercings.
Opening the door is a couple hundred times harder than it ought to be; bone-deep need warring with uncertainty of what he’s walking into. It’s a bright, razor-sharp thrill, the fear and the want all muddled together and it’s his cock that finally makes the decision for him, rising to divining-rod point toward the rest of the house where Jensen’s almost certainly waiting on him. One more heavy breath that does next to nothing to calm him and he makes his move, doorknob slipping slightly through the moisture on his palm.
Jensen’s on the couch when Jared rounds the corner, book in hand, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose like a professor straight out of Jared’s schoolboy fantasies. The lounge-pants and white Henley kind of mess with the illusion, but fuck it, that’s Jensen right there waiting to punish him, so Jared doesn’t need a goddamn illusion.
Green eyes dart up from what they were reading, sunlight through the bay windows catching and burnishing them emerald-gold. Jared’s too hot on the inside - stomach roiling hard enough to get another couple of internal organs in on the act - and too cool on the inside - nervous perspiration on his skin amplifying the air conditioned chill. It’s like a fever burning through him, making him sick with the compulsion to atone and all his instincts can tell him is that it would all be ok if he could just get Jensen’s hands on him.
His roommate cocks his head to the side a little, considering, then smiles softly. Not with anything like intent, not slow and promising, nor dark and malicious; just a smile, like this is any other day, like Jared’s not standing in front of him next to naked, collared and hard as the concrete in the outfit Jensen picked for him to wear. The silence jangles along Jared’s nerves, zipping up and down his veins on a permanent loop that builds in intensity as he searches for and fails to understand what he’s supposed to do.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, sir,” seems like a safe step to take, gaze caught on the floor between Jensen’s feet because he just might spontaneously explode if he keeps meeting Jensen’s unwavering gaze like that.
“Don’t be,” Jensen assures him easily, “You needed the rest.”
It’s not in the least the response he was expecting, nor the tone, and it throws Jared off enough that he can’t come up with one single thing to say afterward. Fortunately, Jensen rescues him after a moment of confusion with a, “Go sit,” waved casually at the kitchen table.
Jared hesitates halfway there, brain finally catching up with what his body’s doing enough to question why. There’s one place setting laid out - placemat, napkin, the whole shebang - which Jared can only assume is meant for him since all of the other kitchen chairs are mysteriously missing. The strangeness of it all puts him even more on edge, just when he thought he was already balanced on the point of a knife. Jensen slides a bookmark into the page he’s on - never, ever dogear the page of one of Jensen’s books; Jared had learned that the hard way - seemingly oblivious to Jared’s moment of uncertainty, but Jared he double-times it to the table anyway. He wets his dry lips with his tongue and watches as Jensen blithely circles into the kitchen and dishes up something out of a large pot on the stove.
Jared hadn’t noticed before, too caught up in his own predicament to pay much attention, but the house smells heavenly; warm and savory, like salt and herbs and something else he knows but can’t quite put his finger on until Jensen sets the bowl down in front of him. Chicken and dumplings, Jared’s all time favorite food.
Jensen also provides him with a small salad - not his all time favorite food, but also the first green food he’s seen in over a week - a glass of iced tea, and the quandary of whether he’s actually still asleep right now or if he somehow crossed into an alternate dimension in the middle of the night. What the serious fuck is going on?
“You can feed yourself,” Jensen says, not some backhanded joke, but like it’s actual permission for Jared to eat without aid. It does downright bizarre things to his ability to regulate his own heart rate and he can’t decide whether the reaction is good or bad. His dick, however, knows exactly how it feels about the situation and seems to have hatched a plan to escape its grey cotton confines by soaking them into submission with precome.
“Ok,” Jared chokes out after several seconds too long, during which he mostly just stares at Jensen for some sign that he’s been replaced by a pod-person. The quirk of a dark-blonde eyebrow is barely perceptible but still enough to snap Jared back to himself. “I mean, yes. Thank you,” he tacks on to the end. Jensen gives him an approving tilt of his lips and goes back to the couch and his book.
Jared spends a minute or so trying to remember through his stunned, sleep-deprived haze how to work a spoon and attempting to convince himself that even if Jensen were to have such an extreme reaction to the past week that he’d actually poison Jared, he probably wouldn’t go to all the trouble to mess up the kitchen for it.
It’s just… it’s weird is all. Jensen a good cook - because there’s not much Jensen sets his mind on that he doesn’t do to his own exacting standards - but he doesn’t actually do it all that often; with their schedules, it’s just isn’t generally feasible. For him to take the time to make Jared favorite meal from scratch - and it has to be from scratch because Jensen would never deign to cut corners - a favorite meal that Jared’s sure he’s mentioned before but would never have expected Jensen to actually remember… well, he really hasn’t got a clue what that’s supposed to mean. Add that to the fucking list. Jared’s stomach grumbles, reminding him that the last time it had anything at all in it, let alone something home cooked, was close to a dozen hours ago so it really doesn’t care what the food means as long as it’s edible.
And God is it edible. It’s fan-fucking-tastic, at least as good as his momma’s and that’s really not a direction he wants his thoughts heading with his massive boner doing its best to leave a permanent mark on the underside of the table so he shoves that line of thinking aside in favor of watching Jensen get up and give him one warning ‘stay’ gesture before he disappears down the hall. Jared couldn’t figure out which way is up at this point if he had a GPS; but on the other hand, food.
He manages to power through the entire bowl and most of the salad - which is actually pretty good, for rabbit food - by the time Jensen comes back. His roommate stands off to the side as Jared finishes and then immediately whisks the empty dishes away to set them in the sink. Jared would really kind of like a second helping, not to mention a third, but that option doesn’t appear to be on the table. At least it looks like there will be plenty for leftovers.
After that, he’s got other things to occupy his mind because Jensen’s there next to him, one hand on Jared’s shoulder keeping him seated while the other wraps tenderly around his head to pull him up against the slow rise and fall of Jensen’s chest. The kisses pressed to the top of his head are more pressure than real sensation through the unruly mat of his hair, but Jared feels them all the way through him, right along with the scratch of Jensen’s nails at the nape of Jared’s neck. The warm fullness in his belly seems to bloom out slowly and consume everything else, leaving him with this sultry, doped-up looseness that doesn’t fight at all when Jensen urges him up from the chair and starts leading him by the hand, fingers laced together.
They’re in Jensen’s bedroom before Jared zones back in on anything enough to realize that they’re in Jensen’s fucking bedroom. They’ve done this plenty in Jared’s room, a couple of times in the living room, that once by the pool, but Jensen’s bedroom has always been off limits. Not that Jensen’s ever actually said that, it’s just, like, a vibe that Jared gets - hell, he barely even comes in here when they’re not scening; Jensen’s really possessive of his space.
He only has a moment to bask in being allowed into this most private of all things Jensen before he’s being hustled out of it again and into the warm, mildly humid air of Jensen’s bathroom. It smells like a fucking spa, all clean earthy scents, and considering the number of bath products Jensen owns, he guesses that makes sense; it’s the whole reason Jensen got the good bathroom in the first place. Jared’s always been a shower-until-you’re-clean kind of guy, but Jensen takes it all seriously; long soaks with bath oils and salts and, like, bubbles or whatever the hell else bath-people have. Jen will never admit it, but he’s totally a sensualist.
Which is maybe why the giant, aqua-orgy sized bathtub of Jensen’s is filled all the way to the overflow valve with scented water, hot enough that Jared can see little wisps of steam curling off of it.
Jensen wastes no time in stripping Jared of the meager bits of clothing he’s got on, the head of his cock catching on his elastic waistband, fast-rough friction hard enough to make him gasp. He loses the collar too, missing it the instant it’s gone like the floor plummeted out from underneath him, but Jensen’s got a hand on him, thumb stroking at Jared’s neck until he manages to pull it back together. Jensen’s not done with him, he repeats like a mantra in his head and resolves to get a waterproof collar as soon as physically possible.
Jensen indicates for him to get into the tub, expression calm but not about to be argued with. Jared’s beginning to worry he’s been dosed or something because there is just no fucking way his dick should still be this goddamn stiff, thin sheen of precome around the stud at the tip, a couple of strokes away from coming, when not a damn thing Jensen’s done is even remotely sexual.
This isn’t how he scenes, not ever, not even with the couple of Doms he’s had that he was actually in a relationship with. The lines have always been clear - wicked and dirty sliding steadily into filthy with just the right side of pain when they’re playing, relaxed and loving and just a touch clingy when they’re not. Jared likes the lines, they make sense to him, and whatever the hell this is, it doesn’t. It’s too much like something else, too much like things Jared means and Jensen doesn’t; like loving and caring and belonging. It would be freaking him the fuck out except that Jensen’s not giving him a chance to get that far with it.
Jensen’s strong arms gently guide him into the almost-too-hot water and his deft fingers drifting silkily over Jared’s skin, distracting him and kicking rational thought to the curb. He’s being bathed like a little fucking kid and God help him but he’s getting off on it in the weirdest possible way. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised; it was Jensen’s casual, everyday bossiness that had Jared coming all over his own fist for months before they started this - maybe Jensen just figured it out sooner than Jared did.
He’s an attention whore, always has been, always will be. It’s a big portion of what makes him good at his job and, honestly, a big portion of what makes him who he is. He doesn’t need undivided, unquestioning adulation, but he can’t deny that he likes it, thrives on it, has a fucking hard-on for being worshipped and pleased like it’s his own personal aphrodisiac. This is just a flip side of that coin, one he’s used to having played on in aftercare, maybe a little bit through the rough and raw need he can see in a Dom’s eyes sometimes, but not like this. This is just Jensen touching him; stroking and soothing and feeling him up all over with his sleeves rolled up to his powerful biceps and his arms elbow-deep in water. Meticulous, claiming touches like it would never occur to him that he doesn’t have this right, like the fact that he owns Jared isn’t even in question. The thought sends an icicle shiver down Jared’s spine at odds with the cocoon of heat enveloping him.
It’s still not exactly what he needs, not quite unknotting the dark, venomous disarray buried way down inside, but it’s good, sure as hell good enough, so he goes with it when Jensen moves to tip his head back into the water, lets powerful fingers work shampoo through his hair in a massage that makes Jared’s eyes flutter closed. Liquid heat trickles over his forehead as Jensen carefully cups water in his hand to rinse Jared’s hair, making sure none of it gets anywhere close to his eyes. He’d actually forgotten about the threatening vestiges of a migraine he’d started the day with, how much his eyes had ached. Jensen’s fucking made of magic. And Sex. Sex magic. Yeah, that makes sense.
Soft fingertips trace the line of Jared’s neck where his collar should be, this close to being ticklish as the other hand skates lower to where Jared’s balls are throbbing in time to his pulse. He’d almost forgotten about it, actually, the dull pain of unfullfillment muted by the smooth, sparking trails Jensen’s touch has left webbing his skin.
Tipping his face up for the kiss his mouth is watering for gets him a light press of lips to his cheek instead, butterfly-soft caresses of them over his eyelids, his nose, the ridge of his brow. Jensen just mutters a laugh when Jared mewls his discontent and tries to chase his Dom’s lips with his own. Jared would call him a cocktease, but about that time, his capacity for intelligent speech is shattered by Jensen firmly gripping around his aching dick and giving it a steady, mind-melting stroke.
“Jensen,” he gasps, balls already drawing close and tight. It’s seriously fucking embarrassing how hard all of this has nailed him but he’ll worry about that later when there’s not a white-hot coil of pleasure buzzing that the base of his spine, and the sharp-laced panic over breaking the rules because he’s not going to be able to hang on, hadn’t gotten himself anywhere close to steeled for holding back.
Jensen lays one more soft kiss to Jared’s forehead and rumbles, “Come whenever you’re ready.” It’s all the permission he needs.
Orgasm hits him out of nowhere, mugger in a blind alley, stealing air and thought and sound. All he’s got left is Jensen’s hand on him and Jensen’s breath on his face and the thick pulses of come spurting out of him to mix with the water stroking his oversensitized body like a sating glove.
In the blissed out fog, sometimes, he worries that one day Jensen’s going to throw the word ‘come’ into a sentence and Jared’s just going to go off right then and there, zero to sixty, too damn conditioned to fucking help himself. Sometimes he sort of prays that’s exactly the way it goes.
***
The gold-orange light of sunset is pouring in the window and Jensen’s doing his best not to fall asleep again because so far it’s only worsened the persistent hard-on that crops up every time he thinks about what he had planned on doing with Jared this afternoon. It’s good that all the caretaking worked and Jared didn’t need to be pushed any farther. It’s good, and that little pang in Jensen’s chest whenever he imagines about the aborted phase two of the plan is definitely not disappointment.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out from early on that giving up control gives Jared control, helps him cope, but Jensen still struggles sometimes to find the right degrees of it, especially when Jared seems inclined to hand himself over on a silver platter for whatever Jensen sees fit to give him. He’d been hoping - really, he had - that a little TLC would do the job and he wouldn’t have to go any further, but he’ gone ahead and prepped just in case. Always better to be prepared. Though, in retrospect, he wishes he hadn’t been quite so prepared; his dick is still sore from all the practice.
Jared makes a quiet sound that Jensen is mildly disturbed to discover he recognizes as Jared’s ‘waking up’ noise. They really don’t share a bed all that often, do they?
It always surprises him how big Jared’s hand seems palming Jensen’s chest, a hot, bare drag of skin on skin because Jensen’s shirt had been soaked through by the time he actually managed to get Jared out of the tub and something vaguely approximating dry.
His roommate sighs, muggy draft across skin as Jared turns his mouth to Jensen’s flesh and nibbles a little at the hours-old bruise he’d sucked to Jensen’s shoulder earlier. Jared can pretend all he wants that the marks are just something that happens when he’s hazy and out of it, Jensen’s not naïve enough to have not noticed how Jared dotes on each one until it fades, how the one low on Jensen’s hip, just above the line of neatly trimmed hair, keeps getting refreshed whenever it starts to yellow. It’s probably going to bust a capillary there one of these times and then he’s going to be well and truly hacked off. Reasonably he should put a stop to the whole damn marking thing, but they passed reasonable a while back when Jensen wasn’t paying attention and it’s too late to turn around now.
“Hey,” is what he says instead, quiet enough that it’s not quite a reprimand. Jared mumbles something that gets lost against Jensen’s muscle and makes another one of those sounds that makes cashmere heat sweep all through Jensen’s body for no discernable reason. “You can keep sleeping if you want, but those of us in the diurnal crowd have to get up.”
That at least gets a reaction, although said reaction is only for Jared to groan, sling a leg over Jensen’s hips and tighten his hold. It’s not helpful in any meaningful way because now Jared is essentially straddling him and while most of him understands the difference between the appropriate and inappropriate times to look at his roommate as a sexual being, Jensen’s cock is still struggling with the details. Jared’s sleep-chubby dick rubbing against it is not aiding matters.
“Jay, come on, I’m starving to death,” he complains because it’s going to become readily apparent in a second that food is not the unsatisfied hunger that Jensen has to deal with and he needs Jared to be somewhere other than on top of him when that happens.
Jared whines - actually whines, like a lost puppy; Jensen didn’t even know people could make that sound - and nuzzles the hinge of Jensen’s jaw - which, once more, utterly fails with the helping - and begrudgingly rolls off to the side.
Jensen does what he can to make his sigh of relief sound like anything but a sigh of relief and heaves himself off of the bed to find a shirt. A nice, long, crotch-covering shirt. He very deliberately does not touch his erection, even though it’s whining just as pitifully as his roommate in its own special way, because giving in will only encourage it.
He’s contemplating whether the black t-shirt in his top drawer is actually his or got mixed in from Jared’s laundry when Jared sleepily asks, “Wha’s zat?”
Glancing over his shoulder makes Jensen’s heart skip a beat as he sees Jared pointing at a strip of black nylon cord looped around the leg at the foot of the bed. The covers are rucked up just enough for it to show and it’s not even particularly obvious, but, naturally, Jared would have to notice the one thing Jensen didn’t want him to. He’d really prefer to keep his wild miscalculations of Jared’s needs to himself - plus, no point in giving Jared ideas.
“Nothing,” Jensen covers lamely, hoping that the bleariness in the hazel eyes looking up at him from the bed will dissuade any further questions. But who’s he kidding, this is Jared.
His roommate lumbers down to the end of the bed on all fours, still naked, oblivious to the effect the position might or might not be having on Jensen’s dick, which is actually still pretty obvious since he never got around to putting on a shirt. Holding the maybe-his-and-maybe-Jared’s shirt balled up in his hand fixes one problem but not the other as Jared is now pulling on the cord until he finds the ends attached to the D-rings of his leather cuffs. It would be difficult to avoid noticing the effect the sight has on Jared, what with the naked and all, but Jensen still does his best not to stare as Jared’s cock rapidly fills and rises between his thighs.
“It was just…” Jensen begins, but it sounds wrong so he switches to, “I just wanted to be prepared, depending on how far you needed to go. You know, boy scout and all that.” The smile feels weak on his lips but it doesn’t matter much because Jared’s still staring at the cuff in his hand like if he looks at it hard enough the secrets of the universe will reveal themselves.
“What did you have planned?” he mutters, eyes flicking up to search Jensen’s for a moment before falling back to his handful.
Jensen huffs a laugh that comes out nothing but air and shrugs. “Nothing really, just, like I said… just wanted to be ready.”
“Bullshit,” Jared fires back, too heated, eyes flashing that desperate, manic light Jensen’s seen there on occasion when Jared really wants something, “You always have a fucking plan.”
Alright, well, he’s got Jensen there, but still, that’s not the point. The point is… The point is Jensen really doesn’t want to be having this conversation, especially not with a naked, hard, intense-faced Jared.
“It wasn’t anything special, I swear.” It’s a thin lie and Jared is absolutely going to push it, but maybe if Jensen can just get out of this room he can at least keep Jared from discovering anything else unfortunate under the bed, so he turns and makes for the door as fast as he can without running - it seems like so many of his conversations with Jared end this way - only to have the room spin on point around him until he finds himself dragged off balance and flat on the bed, Jared looming over him.
“You don’t get to say that, Jen,” Jared’s voice is something deep and foreboding, not even a growl; black-tar resolve that makes Jensen’s hackles rise and does surprisingly little to persuade his cock into realizing that this is not a good thing. “You don’t get to tell me you were going to fucking tie me up and then make like it’s no big deal. It’s a big fucking deal to me. Fucking dying for it for weeks, man.” Jared straddling him again, hands and knees bracketing Jensen. He could get out if he wanted to, probably, depending on how motivated Jared really is to keep him here. He intends to move, is going to move, except it just keeps not happening and instead he’s laying here underneath Jared, one pair of workout pants away from being naked together and he couldn’t look away from the focus of Jared’s eyes if his life depended on it. “Now tell me what the fuck you were going to do.”
“The sounds,” Jensen croaks, ironically almost soundless, all of the oxygen in the room seeming to feed into Jared’s enormous presence.
He can actually see the way Jared’s muscles shiver, reverbing all the way up into a hitched breath and a starved, abused expression that Jensen can’t even begin to understand.
“Why not?” Jared’s voice is too high, thready like he’s on the verge of frantic. His fingers are white-knuckled around the bunch of the sheets and Jensen doesn’t for the life of him know what just went wrong or why, but obviously it was something important and now he’s going to have to deal with it.
“You didn’t need-“ is as far as he gets with what he was planning to make a gentle explanation about taking things too far before Jared jumps in with, “I need. Oh, fuck, I really need, Jen. This is me, needing. C’mon, you gotta. You really, really gotta.”
There’s a tiny voice at the back of Jensen’s head whispering about what’s the point in fighting it if it’s what they both want, but he tells it to shut up, because this isn’t about what Jensen wants, it’s about Jared. His roommate’s not so much trembling as he is vibrating, wire-taut from head to toe, with a mutated version of that puppy-whine coming out of his throat and that, at least, Jensen understands.
“Collar,” he commands, tossing a glance toward the bathroom where he’d left it earlier. Jared’s off of him like he’s in the Olympic 10K and the starter pistol just fired, nearly tripping over himself in his hurry to fetch the thin strip of leather and put it back in Jensen’s hands. He ends up kneeling at the side of the bed, looking entirely too eager for a guy who just asked to have a steel rod jammed into his dick. The sense memory makes Jensen’s balls try to draw up and hide.
Snapping that buckle closed around Jared’s neck never fails to make a reluctant swell of anticipation claw at Jensen’s nerves, even as he reminds himself again - always again, over and over again, every single time - that this isn’t supposed to be about him. Something indiscernible loosens in Jared as soon as he’s collared, something in the sense of him rather than anything Jensen can actually see. He follows easily when Jensen guides him to sit on the end of the bed and the only flinch he makes as Jensen fastens the thick leather cuffs around his ankles is to move them farther apart to give Jensen better access. Well, that and to moan like it’s the best thing he ever felt.
Jensen makes a couple of fine adjustments to the straps before doing up the cuffs on Jared’s wrists, checking the slack along the bindings looped around the bedpost, connecting wrist to ankle. It allows just enough range of motion if Jared keeps his legs splayed that his arm muscles won’t be constantly tensed, but offering enough restriction that if he tries to close his legs or move his arms much, he’ll be fighting against the pull of his own body - as Jensen had discovered last night, it’s even harder than you’d imagine to sit still with a piece of metal pushing into your cock, and the last thing he needs is Jared accidentally hurting himself.
When he looks up from double- and triple-checking everything, it’s to find Jared relaxed as Jensen’s ever seen him. Calm, serene, almost euphoric and Jensen’s not sure if it’s stranger that being tied down soothes Jared or that he’d never guessed that it would garner that reaction before now. Jared’s cock is dark red, steadily leaking from the tip like a slow-running faucet. It jumps in his grip when he takes it in hand to remove the stud from the tip, fingers fumbling for a moment to get it open with all of the slick coating smooth metal but finally manages, wiping it off before tucking it into his pocket for safe keeping.
The case with the sounds in it is still tucked safely under the bed, but he gets gummed up by his own thoughts with the box in his hand, already partway to standing. The thing is, he’s never sucked Jared before, never actually done more than touch him, and while it’s not something that’s usually his first choice off the menu now that he’s right here, staring it in the face, he sort of wants a taste.
Jared loses a yelp when Jensen flicks his tongue out over the crown, the velvety flesh there looking strangely naked and vulnerable without the harsh gleam of steel. Jared doesn’t taste exceptional, not particularly better than any of the handful of guys Jensen’s done this with, but not bad either; sort of nice, in a way. His next touch is a little more serious, letting the rigid flesh part his lips, sliding slippery through the mess of precome that’s blurting out in earnest now. He has to wonder if Jared’s this wet with everyone or if it’s something about subbing that gets him going like this. All that does is lead to strobe-flashes of Jared with other guys, though, and for reasons he’s resolutely not thinking about, it’s suddenly a lot harder for Jensen to stay composed and level-headed.
The tip of his tongue finds the slit, digs in on reflex and then an alarm goes off in his head about what he’s going to be doing to that forgiving little opening in a minute and he completely abandons the idea of not grabbing his own cock because there’s simply no way not to.
He drags himself off of Jared dick, only realizing when it’s out of his mouth that he doesn’t really want it to be. That’s also when he realizes that Jared writhing like he’s about to die; pulling at his restraints, head tossing on the axis of his shoulders, hips undulating against empty air as if it’s going to do something for him, as if he can’t stop himself from doing it. "Gonna, gonna, gonna" keeps falling from his lips, a fucked-raw drag of pitiful sound. Jensen kisses Jared’s cheek lightly - only just remembering not to really kiss him, not to make it personal - shushing him and petting his hair until he stills again.
“No you’re not,” he comforts, smoothing his knuckles up and down the length of Jared’s sternum, “You’re going to hold on until I tell you otherwise, just like you’re supposed to.” Shakily Jared nods, glassy eyes full of dedication and on a whim, Jensen decides, fuck it, and plants his lips feather-light against Jared’s. A live wire shudder shoots through his roommate, leaving him moaning and straining for it when Jensen almost instantly pulls back.
It doesn’t help; he can still feel the softness of Jared’s mouth against his as a phantom tingle, burrowing under his skin to nest like an infection, itch he just knows he’s going to want to scratch again. Damnit.
Mentally berating himself for his own impulsiveness, Jensen climbs around on the bed behind Jared, kneeling so that his legs are on the outside of Jared’s and his chest is snug against his roommate’s broad back - a little extra insurance that Jared will stay put.
Flipping open the case, Jensen pulls out the little bottle of gel sanitizer and thoroughly coats his hands, waiting for it to dry before plucking the - freshly sterilized - second slimmest sound out of its home. Between the piercing and the fact that he found this case at the top of the cluttered pile of toys in Jared’s drawer, he figures Jared's used to this enough that he doesn’t have to start out quite as small as he did with himself.
He coats the cool steel with the tiny tube of lube from the case - though, it doesn’t look like Jared will need any extra; he's nearly dripping as it is - and peers over Jared’s shoulder to watch what he’s doing. A juddery buzz of excitement-laced anxiety keep him from getting right to it, swirling the blunt tip around the head instead as Jared hisses in a breath and holds it, waiting.
The tips catches on the slit, slips in just a sliver where Jared’s already a little open from the stud, goes deeper easily, like it belongs there. Jared’s breath hiccups, a bitten off chop of noise and only Jensen’s hand around the base of Jared’s cock keeps the slim rod from being forced in any further.
Every bit of slack in the bindings is caught up in Jared’s fiercely gripping fingers, pulling his legs open as wide as they’ll go with Jensen’s trapping them from the outside. His jaw is clenched tight enough that the tendons in his neck are straining, flushed violently scarlet from hairline to navel and Jensen is honest to God milliseconds from calling the whole thing off as a mistake because he vividly remembers how that felt yesterday and he’s not about to put Jared through that if it’s not doing something for him. Then his roommate lets out this ecstatic, gut-wrenching keen and Jensen’s heart stops trying to spit out the front of his chest, too busy being awestruck.
Jared’s into this. Like, seriously into it. And yeah, he’d said he would be, all but begged for it, but still, Jensen’s brain couldn’t quite compute it before, especially after his own lackluster experience. Jared likes this and Jensen is suddenly, painfully aware of the practically untouched length of his own hard-on brushing the valley of Jared’s spine. It wouldn’t take much of anything to press in a little closer and rub himself up against it, but there’s just no way that he has the presence of mind to do that and finish what he’s started with Jared, and choosing between the two, well, it’s no choice at all.
Slowly he drags the circle of his fingers up and down the length of Jared’s - still marble-hard; Jensen had never gotten more than halfway there for the whole episode when he’d tried - cock, feeling the muscles grudgingly give way and allow the shining metal to plunge deeper. Jared’s muscles dance in no pattern that Jensen can discern, the body leaning against him apparently on autopilot for all the control Jared’s asserting. It’s intoxicating in a way Jensen’s not prepared to cope with; Jared rigid with the strain of it and yet, simultaneously, completely at Jensen’s mercy - every whimper and twitch and pliant motion under Jensen’s coaxing direction promising nothing but unwavering willingness. Submission.
Like tumblers clicking into place - Jensen would swear he can actually hear it - it makes sense. This, all of it, every time Jared’s given it up for him; that’s power. To surrender this way and give it all, to trust this absolutely - because Jared doesn’t look like he remembers his own name right now, let alone a goddamn safeword - the sheer magnitude of it is so great that Jensen feels like he should be trembling before it. But he can’t - not won’t, can’t - like the physical ability to have that kind of weakness has been sapped out of him by the wash of what Jared’s allowing him to have. He’s never had a religious experience before, but this must be what it’s like.
Jensen can’t take his eyes off of Jared’s face as he catches the tip of the sound between his fingers and slowly slides it as deep as it will go, back until it’s almost pulled free and then in again, fucking Jared with the little bit of metal in steady, deliberate strokes; so close to overcome by the desire to free his own dick and fill Jared up from both sides, own him completely just because Jared would let him, maybe even wants him to.
“You’re beautiful,” he husks, too close to where Jared’s head his pillowed on his shoulder to see more than hazel swallowed in black as Jared’s eyes flutter open. And for the life of him, he couldn't say why that snaps something inside of him and shoots his filters all to hell so that he’s suddenly flooded, drowning in something deep red and feral that leaves him growling “Mine,” and crushing Jared’s slack mouth against his own with bruising force.
What might have been a cracked scream from Jared gets lost amid the flurry of teeth and tongue and biting kisses that Jensen hasn’t even got a fraction of the willpower it would take to make himself stop giving. It’s not a scream of pain anyway, Jensen knows; knows and doesn’t have the time or inclination to care how, just does. The rod comes free of Jared’s cock smoothly and Jensen lets it hit the floor with a tinny clang, far too occupied with the come drooling sloppily from Jared’s spread slit to give a damn about the fucking equipment. It coats his fingers and palm, hot and sluggish with no spasms of worn out muscle to push it free, and Jensen strokes it back along Jared’s softening length, reveling in the helpless quivers it produces along with half-pained, wordless noises.
Jensen feels completely out of his head with it and yet crystal clear; starkly in control, like the best possible version of himself. It makes perfect sense why Jared needs this so badly; Jensen’s not sure he’ll ever be the same without it.
As soon as Jensen undoes the restraints on his wrists, Jared flops back, boneless to the point that Jensen would think he was unconscious if he couldn’t see Jared’s eyes indolently following him. He unfastens the ankle cuffs efficiently, barely sparing them a second look as he crawls back onto the bed and spreads himself out over Jared. His cock slots into the dip of Jared’s hip, pounding so hard it seems like his heart has spontaneously relocated itself, but he doesn't do anything more about it that lacing his fingers between the limp hold of Jared’s larger hands and willing the sensation away with painful pressure.
The high bleeds out of him slowly, evaporating like exhaust fumes as he whispers hushed praise against Jared's ear and pets over whatever piece of his roommate he happens to comes across. It feels like a lifetime later - the confidence of whatever Jensen had been riding burning away to novocained worry as he comes back to himself - that Jared finally stirs enough to count it as voluntarily; a small movement of his free hand that’s just enough to get it resting on Jensen's hip. The turns of his head is even lazier, probably only makes it all the way to facing Jensen because of the helping nudge of Jensen's fingers on his chin.
A couple of years back, Jensen had been in the delivery room when his niece was born, had been right there when they laid her in her mother's arms, eyes still new to light and hardly even human yet. Jared looks a whole hell of a lot like that right now; color returning around his pupil slowly as he blinks and blinks and blinks at Jensen as if it's all he knows how to do.
"Jay, you're freaking me out," is that Jensen's voice? When did it get so low and ragged? "I need you to say something, ok?"
Jared opens his mouth on a breathy noise and moves his lips around what might have been words with a few more consonants thrown in at the right places. Christ, he broke Jared.
But then Jared's pushing in toward him, burying his face against Jensen's neck and trying to roll them over with all of the strength of a newborn chick. Jensen goes with it anyway, shuffling them both around until they're in the position Jared tends to favor after they mess around; blanketing Jensen is too-long limbs. Somewhere along the line he became Jared's mattress of choice, so he supposes it's about time he accepted that fact. Also, he can't think of a single other thing he can do to help, and this at least feels like something.
Jared slurs out a few more sounds, frenzied edge on them finally helping Jensen figure out that he's trying to apologize, which makes exactly the kind of sense that doesn't at all until Jensen replays it all in his head - his cock all but screaming at him for relief and not assuaged in the least by skipping over the specifics in his mental skin flick - and remembers Jared's come clinging in the webbing of his fingers.
"Shh, it's ok," he hushes, kneading circles into the loose muscles of Jared's back, "You did so good. So good for me. Exactly what I wanted you to do." It's sort of lie, although after the initial push he'd mostly been ad libbing anyway, and once he wandered into whatever kind of headspace that was, he sure as hell didn't have the common sense to be planning in advance. Still, he can't possibly let Jared feel bad about getting off - coming like a damn freight train - when he just... Jensen doesn't even have a word for what Jared just did, but it was definitely something. An intense something, and neither one of them is in any kind of a condition to be thinking about punishment right now.
The strong body splayed out over him goes fluid, more near-words flowing out of Jared against Jensen's still-thundering pulse - one that might be 'best' and another that could be 'love you' but isn't because Jensen can't actually afford for his brain to implode right now. He's genuinely not cut out for this emotional roller coaster thing they seem to keep doing.
The damp tackiness of Jared's dick rubs against Jensen's hip and he feels the catch of pain in Jared's chest but never hears it and Jared doesn't so much as twitch. He really ought to get up and get something to clean them both up with because the mess is only going to be more uncomfortable to clean off once it's dried, but there's no real question about him moving from this spot and not even because he's got Jared's dead weight huffing exhausted breaths against him.
Because he doesn't want to be anywhere else. And isn't that just a terrifying realization?
What the fuck happened to 'just for Jared' and 'because Jared needs it'? What the fuck happened to this not being about Jensen getting off on it? And what the ever-loving fuck is he supposed to do with... feelings about this? About Jared.
Shit - just truly, deeply, shit.
With a sleepy sigh, Jared nuzzles impossibly closer, dusky orange fading to blue as Jensen watches the sun set on the canvas of Jared's warm skin. An hour ago they'd been in this exact same position, and yet it's so much different now, the whole world spinning in the opposite direction, with Jensen helpless over what to do about it. Maybe the most disturbing thing of all is how very not new this feeling seems.
Meditatively, Jensen maps out the curves and dips of Jared's spine with his fingers, less shocked than he should be at how responsive Jared is, even unconscious. He plots a course along the dots of the ceiling and looks for answers he knows he's not going to find in the settling night.
On to Part 4 - One of These Days
Fandom:J2
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17 (I am so not kidding) -- Wordcount: 8,500
Warnings: D/s, some schmoop, some angst, cranky!needy!sub!Jared, TLC, mild predicament bondage, sounding (if you don't know what this is, I recommend looking it up before reading or this fic might bad-touch you) - in other words, heaping helpings of kink.
Notes: Third in what I am creatively calling the Escort!AU, following Halfway To In Love - there will be at least one more installment. This, my dear flistites, is why you do not pet the kink bunnies, because then they mutate and become bunnyzillas and I flood your life with this. I sincerely apologize. Also, I just want to take a moment to thank those of you out there who are actually in the scene who have commented, it's been very informative for me and I've enjoyed it very much - hoping not to disappoint you.
Summary - Jared's had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week as a Dom and now it's his turn to be taken care of - in the kinkiest possible way.
Jared’s door slamming echoes dully down the hall; single sound equivalent of the last six days of Jensen’s life. Jensen breathes out steadily and avoids thinking phrases like ‘bitch-queen diva’. It’s not Jared’s fault that he’s acting like this; Jensen understands, Jensen knows. He’s lived through Jared in hard-core Dom mode before and he’s even had the dubious honor of seeing him on a Kripke week once. And, no, Jensen does not growl Jared’s client’s name, not even in the privacy of his own mind - he may be capable of being a possessive bastard, but he’s not going to be now, because he has no claim on Jared, so there.
Kripke’s easily Jared’s most valuable client; one of those multi-costal TV assholes who’s always here or there, smchoozing somebody or other and cutting deals. What that means is that the man is only in town for more than a day at a time on very rare occasions and what that means is that on those occasions, he likes to have his favorite plaything on retainer. Yes, retainer - Jared’s been paid 24 hours a day for the last six days to be ready to jump whenever Kripke calls him in. All of which equals Jared living in his Dom headspace for almost a week, which is essentially the most miserable living arrangement Jensen’s ever had to put up with.
He gives Jared credit for putting in the effort; he hasn’t tried to bend Jensen over or make him his bitch or anything else that he can tell by the looks Jared’s been shooting him this week his roommate really wants to do - not that Jensen would mind that kind of treatment, per se, but that’s adding a whole other level to their already unnecessarily complex relationship. Instead, Jared’s acting like a fourteen year old girl with PMS - petulant, moody, contrary just for the sake of being so. Jensen’s done his best to ignore it when he can and not retaliate the times he can’t but it hasn’t been easy by any stretch of the imagination.
In fact, it’s probably worse now because of their arrangement, because there’s a very large, inappropriately proprietary part of him that wants to march in there after Jared and show him who’s boss. Worse still because Jared’s only been taking care of himself in the loosest possible terms - he’s refused to eat anything that didn’t come pre-packaged, even when Jensen cooked, has gone through two cases of beer and five packs of Red Bull, and Jensen strongly suspects that the liner around his eyes is performing a secondary service to cover the dark circles that would inevitably be there, because if Jared’s sleeping, he’s doing a damn fine job of hiding it.
It’s not that Jensen doesn’t sympathize - being in that Dom mindset can be draining, even for the short periods of time he usually puts it on with Jared; living there for days on end, he can’t even imagine. Still, it’s over now, effectively dealt with with Kripke well on his way to wherever the hell - Jensen’s doesn’t even begin to care. Jared’s his priority now, and after almost a week to think about it, he has a fairly clear idea of what his sub needs.
***
Jared wakes with a thin sheen of sweat on his skin and a shard of afternoon sunlight creeping through the curtains to stab his retinas. Cactus needles, appear to have spontaneously grown on the insides of his eyelids sometime after he collapsed into bed around four this morning - fucking makeup, he knows better than to go to sleep with it on, but he was so tired when he got in he only barely managed to strip before passing out.
He can smell his own skin, which is both a token of how desperately in need of a shower he is and of the stress migraine he can feel trying to take hold behind his eyebrows. Fucking perfect. He fucking hates Eric Kripke.
An untold number of minutes pass while Jared debates the merits of spending the rest of possibly forever laying in exactly this position and the inevitable needs to eat and pee that are rapidly asserting themselves. Ultimately he hauls his aching body - he’s a strong guy, but you can really only manhandle a full-grown man like a ragdoll for so long before your arms and back start to rebel - off of the sheets and gets himself standing.
Cloth underfoot isn’t exactly surprising considering that he’d basically let his clothes land wherever gravity happened to take them last night as he’d shucked out of them like a physical layer of tension, so that’s probably why he doesn’t notice what’s laying on the floor beside his bed until after he’s gone to the bathroom, scrubbed the death-warmed-over taste off of his teeth and washed the smudgy, caked liner from around his eyes.
A neatly folded pair of simple, grey boxer-briefs and a collar. His collar. Oh fuck.
Jared’s acted out before, sure, and been punished accordingly, but this isn’t some stupid shit he’d pulled to get Jensen’s attention; this isn’t even some casual fuck-up that Jensen can use to toy with him. This is a serious, continued pattern of disrespect over the course of days that, even if Jensen wasn’t his Dom, would be totally inexcusable behavior. It’s not something he’s ever encountered with Jensen before and he can’t begin to guess what kind of hell is going to be meted out on him in retribution. The hot sea of anxiety churning in his gut comes very close to quelling the shocky surge of need that slams through him.
Fingers clumsy, Jared manages to fumble into the plain, cotton underwear and, with a bit more trouble, the collar. It’s been a while since he put one on himself - Jensen usually likes to handle that personally and Jared can’t for the life of him puzzle out what it means that Jensen left it for him to do this time. Dimly he notes that the crap that had been building up around the room all week is gone; the chip bags and energy drink cans, clothes worn or tried on and discarded, the plates from the microwave taquitos he’s been largely subsisting on all week. He wonders if Jensen cleaned it up before he got home last night or if he’d been out so cold this morning that his roommate had played maid without him ever waking up.
He lingers for a moment over changing jewelry. All Jensen had laid out for him were these two items, a tacit command to wear this and only this, but Jared had intentionally been wearing the studs in his nipples instead of the rings this week because the rings are all about him and Jensen and what they do together and he hadn’t wanted that getting mixed in with his being Dom-on-call for fucking Kripke. He doesn’t really want part of his job spilling over into his and Jensen’s private world either. Jensen will understand, he tells himself, willing his hands steady as he switches out the piercings.
Opening the door is a couple hundred times harder than it ought to be; bone-deep need warring with uncertainty of what he’s walking into. It’s a bright, razor-sharp thrill, the fear and the want all muddled together and it’s his cock that finally makes the decision for him, rising to divining-rod point toward the rest of the house where Jensen’s almost certainly waiting on him. One more heavy breath that does next to nothing to calm him and he makes his move, doorknob slipping slightly through the moisture on his palm.
Jensen’s on the couch when Jared rounds the corner, book in hand, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose like a professor straight out of Jared’s schoolboy fantasies. The lounge-pants and white Henley kind of mess with the illusion, but fuck it, that’s Jensen right there waiting to punish him, so Jared doesn’t need a goddamn illusion.
Green eyes dart up from what they were reading, sunlight through the bay windows catching and burnishing them emerald-gold. Jared’s too hot on the inside - stomach roiling hard enough to get another couple of internal organs in on the act - and too cool on the inside - nervous perspiration on his skin amplifying the air conditioned chill. It’s like a fever burning through him, making him sick with the compulsion to atone and all his instincts can tell him is that it would all be ok if he could just get Jensen’s hands on him.
His roommate cocks his head to the side a little, considering, then smiles softly. Not with anything like intent, not slow and promising, nor dark and malicious; just a smile, like this is any other day, like Jared’s not standing in front of him next to naked, collared and hard as the concrete in the outfit Jensen picked for him to wear. The silence jangles along Jared’s nerves, zipping up and down his veins on a permanent loop that builds in intensity as he searches for and fails to understand what he’s supposed to do.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, sir,” seems like a safe step to take, gaze caught on the floor between Jensen’s feet because he just might spontaneously explode if he keeps meeting Jensen’s unwavering gaze like that.
“Don’t be,” Jensen assures him easily, “You needed the rest.”
It’s not in the least the response he was expecting, nor the tone, and it throws Jared off enough that he can’t come up with one single thing to say afterward. Fortunately, Jensen rescues him after a moment of confusion with a, “Go sit,” waved casually at the kitchen table.
Jared hesitates halfway there, brain finally catching up with what his body’s doing enough to question why. There’s one place setting laid out - placemat, napkin, the whole shebang - which Jared can only assume is meant for him since all of the other kitchen chairs are mysteriously missing. The strangeness of it all puts him even more on edge, just when he thought he was already balanced on the point of a knife. Jensen slides a bookmark into the page he’s on - never, ever dogear the page of one of Jensen’s books; Jared had learned that the hard way - seemingly oblivious to Jared’s moment of uncertainty, but Jared he double-times it to the table anyway. He wets his dry lips with his tongue and watches as Jensen blithely circles into the kitchen and dishes up something out of a large pot on the stove.
Jared hadn’t noticed before, too caught up in his own predicament to pay much attention, but the house smells heavenly; warm and savory, like salt and herbs and something else he knows but can’t quite put his finger on until Jensen sets the bowl down in front of him. Chicken and dumplings, Jared’s all time favorite food.
Jensen also provides him with a small salad - not his all time favorite food, but also the first green food he’s seen in over a week - a glass of iced tea, and the quandary of whether he’s actually still asleep right now or if he somehow crossed into an alternate dimension in the middle of the night. What the serious fuck is going on?
“You can feed yourself,” Jensen says, not some backhanded joke, but like it’s actual permission for Jared to eat without aid. It does downright bizarre things to his ability to regulate his own heart rate and he can’t decide whether the reaction is good or bad. His dick, however, knows exactly how it feels about the situation and seems to have hatched a plan to escape its grey cotton confines by soaking them into submission with precome.
“Ok,” Jared chokes out after several seconds too long, during which he mostly just stares at Jensen for some sign that he’s been replaced by a pod-person. The quirk of a dark-blonde eyebrow is barely perceptible but still enough to snap Jared back to himself. “I mean, yes. Thank you,” he tacks on to the end. Jensen gives him an approving tilt of his lips and goes back to the couch and his book.
Jared spends a minute or so trying to remember through his stunned, sleep-deprived haze how to work a spoon and attempting to convince himself that even if Jensen were to have such an extreme reaction to the past week that he’d actually poison Jared, he probably wouldn’t go to all the trouble to mess up the kitchen for it.
It’s just… it’s weird is all. Jensen a good cook - because there’s not much Jensen sets his mind on that he doesn’t do to his own exacting standards - but he doesn’t actually do it all that often; with their schedules, it’s just isn’t generally feasible. For him to take the time to make Jared favorite meal from scratch - and it has to be from scratch because Jensen would never deign to cut corners - a favorite meal that Jared’s sure he’s mentioned before but would never have expected Jensen to actually remember… well, he really hasn’t got a clue what that’s supposed to mean. Add that to the fucking list. Jared’s stomach grumbles, reminding him that the last time it had anything at all in it, let alone something home cooked, was close to a dozen hours ago so it really doesn’t care what the food means as long as it’s edible.
And God is it edible. It’s fan-fucking-tastic, at least as good as his momma’s and that’s really not a direction he wants his thoughts heading with his massive boner doing its best to leave a permanent mark on the underside of the table so he shoves that line of thinking aside in favor of watching Jensen get up and give him one warning ‘stay’ gesture before he disappears down the hall. Jared couldn’t figure out which way is up at this point if he had a GPS; but on the other hand, food.
He manages to power through the entire bowl and most of the salad - which is actually pretty good, for rabbit food - by the time Jensen comes back. His roommate stands off to the side as Jared finishes and then immediately whisks the empty dishes away to set them in the sink. Jared would really kind of like a second helping, not to mention a third, but that option doesn’t appear to be on the table. At least it looks like there will be plenty for leftovers.
After that, he’s got other things to occupy his mind because Jensen’s there next to him, one hand on Jared’s shoulder keeping him seated while the other wraps tenderly around his head to pull him up against the slow rise and fall of Jensen’s chest. The kisses pressed to the top of his head are more pressure than real sensation through the unruly mat of his hair, but Jared feels them all the way through him, right along with the scratch of Jensen’s nails at the nape of Jared’s neck. The warm fullness in his belly seems to bloom out slowly and consume everything else, leaving him with this sultry, doped-up looseness that doesn’t fight at all when Jensen urges him up from the chair and starts leading him by the hand, fingers laced together.
They’re in Jensen’s bedroom before Jared zones back in on anything enough to realize that they’re in Jensen’s fucking bedroom. They’ve done this plenty in Jared’s room, a couple of times in the living room, that once by the pool, but Jensen’s bedroom has always been off limits. Not that Jensen’s ever actually said that, it’s just, like, a vibe that Jared gets - hell, he barely even comes in here when they’re not scening; Jensen’s really possessive of his space.
He only has a moment to bask in being allowed into this most private of all things Jensen before he’s being hustled out of it again and into the warm, mildly humid air of Jensen’s bathroom. It smells like a fucking spa, all clean earthy scents, and considering the number of bath products Jensen owns, he guesses that makes sense; it’s the whole reason Jensen got the good bathroom in the first place. Jared’s always been a shower-until-you’re-clean kind of guy, but Jensen takes it all seriously; long soaks with bath oils and salts and, like, bubbles or whatever the hell else bath-people have. Jen will never admit it, but he’s totally a sensualist.
Which is maybe why the giant, aqua-orgy sized bathtub of Jensen’s is filled all the way to the overflow valve with scented water, hot enough that Jared can see little wisps of steam curling off of it.
Jensen wastes no time in stripping Jared of the meager bits of clothing he’s got on, the head of his cock catching on his elastic waistband, fast-rough friction hard enough to make him gasp. He loses the collar too, missing it the instant it’s gone like the floor plummeted out from underneath him, but Jensen’s got a hand on him, thumb stroking at Jared’s neck until he manages to pull it back together. Jensen’s not done with him, he repeats like a mantra in his head and resolves to get a waterproof collar as soon as physically possible.
Jensen indicates for him to get into the tub, expression calm but not about to be argued with. Jared’s beginning to worry he’s been dosed or something because there is just no fucking way his dick should still be this goddamn stiff, thin sheen of precome around the stud at the tip, a couple of strokes away from coming, when not a damn thing Jensen’s done is even remotely sexual.
This isn’t how he scenes, not ever, not even with the couple of Doms he’s had that he was actually in a relationship with. The lines have always been clear - wicked and dirty sliding steadily into filthy with just the right side of pain when they’re playing, relaxed and loving and just a touch clingy when they’re not. Jared likes the lines, they make sense to him, and whatever the hell this is, it doesn’t. It’s too much like something else, too much like things Jared means and Jensen doesn’t; like loving and caring and belonging. It would be freaking him the fuck out except that Jensen’s not giving him a chance to get that far with it.
Jensen’s strong arms gently guide him into the almost-too-hot water and his deft fingers drifting silkily over Jared’s skin, distracting him and kicking rational thought to the curb. He’s being bathed like a little fucking kid and God help him but he’s getting off on it in the weirdest possible way. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t be surprised; it was Jensen’s casual, everyday bossiness that had Jared coming all over his own fist for months before they started this - maybe Jensen just figured it out sooner than Jared did.
He’s an attention whore, always has been, always will be. It’s a big portion of what makes him good at his job and, honestly, a big portion of what makes him who he is. He doesn’t need undivided, unquestioning adulation, but he can’t deny that he likes it, thrives on it, has a fucking hard-on for being worshipped and pleased like it’s his own personal aphrodisiac. This is just a flip side of that coin, one he’s used to having played on in aftercare, maybe a little bit through the rough and raw need he can see in a Dom’s eyes sometimes, but not like this. This is just Jensen touching him; stroking and soothing and feeling him up all over with his sleeves rolled up to his powerful biceps and his arms elbow-deep in water. Meticulous, claiming touches like it would never occur to him that he doesn’t have this right, like the fact that he owns Jared isn’t even in question. The thought sends an icicle shiver down Jared’s spine at odds with the cocoon of heat enveloping him.
It’s still not exactly what he needs, not quite unknotting the dark, venomous disarray buried way down inside, but it’s good, sure as hell good enough, so he goes with it when Jensen moves to tip his head back into the water, lets powerful fingers work shampoo through his hair in a massage that makes Jared’s eyes flutter closed. Liquid heat trickles over his forehead as Jensen carefully cups water in his hand to rinse Jared’s hair, making sure none of it gets anywhere close to his eyes. He’d actually forgotten about the threatening vestiges of a migraine he’d started the day with, how much his eyes had ached. Jensen’s fucking made of magic. And Sex. Sex magic. Yeah, that makes sense.
Soft fingertips trace the line of Jared’s neck where his collar should be, this close to being ticklish as the other hand skates lower to where Jared’s balls are throbbing in time to his pulse. He’d almost forgotten about it, actually, the dull pain of unfullfillment muted by the smooth, sparking trails Jensen’s touch has left webbing his skin.
Tipping his face up for the kiss his mouth is watering for gets him a light press of lips to his cheek instead, butterfly-soft caresses of them over his eyelids, his nose, the ridge of his brow. Jensen just mutters a laugh when Jared mewls his discontent and tries to chase his Dom’s lips with his own. Jared would call him a cocktease, but about that time, his capacity for intelligent speech is shattered by Jensen firmly gripping around his aching dick and giving it a steady, mind-melting stroke.
“Jensen,” he gasps, balls already drawing close and tight. It’s seriously fucking embarrassing how hard all of this has nailed him but he’ll worry about that later when there’s not a white-hot coil of pleasure buzzing that the base of his spine, and the sharp-laced panic over breaking the rules because he’s not going to be able to hang on, hadn’t gotten himself anywhere close to steeled for holding back.
Jensen lays one more soft kiss to Jared’s forehead and rumbles, “Come whenever you’re ready.” It’s all the permission he needs.
Orgasm hits him out of nowhere, mugger in a blind alley, stealing air and thought and sound. All he’s got left is Jensen’s hand on him and Jensen’s breath on his face and the thick pulses of come spurting out of him to mix with the water stroking his oversensitized body like a sating glove.
In the blissed out fog, sometimes, he worries that one day Jensen’s going to throw the word ‘come’ into a sentence and Jared’s just going to go off right then and there, zero to sixty, too damn conditioned to fucking help himself. Sometimes he sort of prays that’s exactly the way it goes.
***
The gold-orange light of sunset is pouring in the window and Jensen’s doing his best not to fall asleep again because so far it’s only worsened the persistent hard-on that crops up every time he thinks about what he had planned on doing with Jared this afternoon. It’s good that all the caretaking worked and Jared didn’t need to be pushed any farther. It’s good, and that little pang in Jensen’s chest whenever he imagines about the aborted phase two of the plan is definitely not disappointment.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to work out from early on that giving up control gives Jared control, helps him cope, but Jensen still struggles sometimes to find the right degrees of it, especially when Jared seems inclined to hand himself over on a silver platter for whatever Jensen sees fit to give him. He’d been hoping - really, he had - that a little TLC would do the job and he wouldn’t have to go any further, but he’ gone ahead and prepped just in case. Always better to be prepared. Though, in retrospect, he wishes he hadn’t been quite so prepared; his dick is still sore from all the practice.
Jared makes a quiet sound that Jensen is mildly disturbed to discover he recognizes as Jared’s ‘waking up’ noise. They really don’t share a bed all that often, do they?
It always surprises him how big Jared’s hand seems palming Jensen’s chest, a hot, bare drag of skin on skin because Jensen’s shirt had been soaked through by the time he actually managed to get Jared out of the tub and something vaguely approximating dry.
His roommate sighs, muggy draft across skin as Jared turns his mouth to Jensen’s flesh and nibbles a little at the hours-old bruise he’d sucked to Jensen’s shoulder earlier. Jared can pretend all he wants that the marks are just something that happens when he’s hazy and out of it, Jensen’s not naïve enough to have not noticed how Jared dotes on each one until it fades, how the one low on Jensen’s hip, just above the line of neatly trimmed hair, keeps getting refreshed whenever it starts to yellow. It’s probably going to bust a capillary there one of these times and then he’s going to be well and truly hacked off. Reasonably he should put a stop to the whole damn marking thing, but they passed reasonable a while back when Jensen wasn’t paying attention and it’s too late to turn around now.
“Hey,” is what he says instead, quiet enough that it’s not quite a reprimand. Jared mumbles something that gets lost against Jensen’s muscle and makes another one of those sounds that makes cashmere heat sweep all through Jensen’s body for no discernable reason. “You can keep sleeping if you want, but those of us in the diurnal crowd have to get up.”
That at least gets a reaction, although said reaction is only for Jared to groan, sling a leg over Jensen’s hips and tighten his hold. It’s not helpful in any meaningful way because now Jared is essentially straddling him and while most of him understands the difference between the appropriate and inappropriate times to look at his roommate as a sexual being, Jensen’s cock is still struggling with the details. Jared’s sleep-chubby dick rubbing against it is not aiding matters.
“Jay, come on, I’m starving to death,” he complains because it’s going to become readily apparent in a second that food is not the unsatisfied hunger that Jensen has to deal with and he needs Jared to be somewhere other than on top of him when that happens.
Jared whines - actually whines, like a lost puppy; Jensen didn’t even know people could make that sound - and nuzzles the hinge of Jensen’s jaw - which, once more, utterly fails with the helping - and begrudgingly rolls off to the side.
Jensen does what he can to make his sigh of relief sound like anything but a sigh of relief and heaves himself off of the bed to find a shirt. A nice, long, crotch-covering shirt. He very deliberately does not touch his erection, even though it’s whining just as pitifully as his roommate in its own special way, because giving in will only encourage it.
He’s contemplating whether the black t-shirt in his top drawer is actually his or got mixed in from Jared’s laundry when Jared sleepily asks, “Wha’s zat?”
Glancing over his shoulder makes Jensen’s heart skip a beat as he sees Jared pointing at a strip of black nylon cord looped around the leg at the foot of the bed. The covers are rucked up just enough for it to show and it’s not even particularly obvious, but, naturally, Jared would have to notice the one thing Jensen didn’t want him to. He’d really prefer to keep his wild miscalculations of Jared’s needs to himself - plus, no point in giving Jared ideas.
“Nothing,” Jensen covers lamely, hoping that the bleariness in the hazel eyes looking up at him from the bed will dissuade any further questions. But who’s he kidding, this is Jared.
His roommate lumbers down to the end of the bed on all fours, still naked, oblivious to the effect the position might or might not be having on Jensen’s dick, which is actually still pretty obvious since he never got around to putting on a shirt. Holding the maybe-his-and-maybe-Jared’s shirt balled up in his hand fixes one problem but not the other as Jared is now pulling on the cord until he finds the ends attached to the D-rings of his leather cuffs. It would be difficult to avoid noticing the effect the sight has on Jared, what with the naked and all, but Jensen still does his best not to stare as Jared’s cock rapidly fills and rises between his thighs.
“It was just…” Jensen begins, but it sounds wrong so he switches to, “I just wanted to be prepared, depending on how far you needed to go. You know, boy scout and all that.” The smile feels weak on his lips but it doesn’t matter much because Jared’s still staring at the cuff in his hand like if he looks at it hard enough the secrets of the universe will reveal themselves.
“What did you have planned?” he mutters, eyes flicking up to search Jensen’s for a moment before falling back to his handful.
Jensen huffs a laugh that comes out nothing but air and shrugs. “Nothing really, just, like I said… just wanted to be ready.”
“Bullshit,” Jared fires back, too heated, eyes flashing that desperate, manic light Jensen’s seen there on occasion when Jared really wants something, “You always have a fucking plan.”
Alright, well, he’s got Jensen there, but still, that’s not the point. The point is… The point is Jensen really doesn’t want to be having this conversation, especially not with a naked, hard, intense-faced Jared.
“It wasn’t anything special, I swear.” It’s a thin lie and Jared is absolutely going to push it, but maybe if Jensen can just get out of this room he can at least keep Jared from discovering anything else unfortunate under the bed, so he turns and makes for the door as fast as he can without running - it seems like so many of his conversations with Jared end this way - only to have the room spin on point around him until he finds himself dragged off balance and flat on the bed, Jared looming over him.
“You don’t get to say that, Jen,” Jared’s voice is something deep and foreboding, not even a growl; black-tar resolve that makes Jensen’s hackles rise and does surprisingly little to persuade his cock into realizing that this is not a good thing. “You don’t get to tell me you were going to fucking tie me up and then make like it’s no big deal. It’s a big fucking deal to me. Fucking dying for it for weeks, man.” Jared straddling him again, hands and knees bracketing Jensen. He could get out if he wanted to, probably, depending on how motivated Jared really is to keep him here. He intends to move, is going to move, except it just keeps not happening and instead he’s laying here underneath Jared, one pair of workout pants away from being naked together and he couldn’t look away from the focus of Jared’s eyes if his life depended on it. “Now tell me what the fuck you were going to do.”
“The sounds,” Jensen croaks, ironically almost soundless, all of the oxygen in the room seeming to feed into Jared’s enormous presence.
He can actually see the way Jared’s muscles shiver, reverbing all the way up into a hitched breath and a starved, abused expression that Jensen can’t even begin to understand.
“Why not?” Jared’s voice is too high, thready like he’s on the verge of frantic. His fingers are white-knuckled around the bunch of the sheets and Jensen doesn’t for the life of him know what just went wrong or why, but obviously it was something important and now he’s going to have to deal with it.
“You didn’t need-“ is as far as he gets with what he was planning to make a gentle explanation about taking things too far before Jared jumps in with, “I need. Oh, fuck, I really need, Jen. This is me, needing. C’mon, you gotta. You really, really gotta.”
There’s a tiny voice at the back of Jensen’s head whispering about what’s the point in fighting it if it’s what they both want, but he tells it to shut up, because this isn’t about what Jensen wants, it’s about Jared. His roommate’s not so much trembling as he is vibrating, wire-taut from head to toe, with a mutated version of that puppy-whine coming out of his throat and that, at least, Jensen understands.
“Collar,” he commands, tossing a glance toward the bathroom where he’d left it earlier. Jared’s off of him like he’s in the Olympic 10K and the starter pistol just fired, nearly tripping over himself in his hurry to fetch the thin strip of leather and put it back in Jensen’s hands. He ends up kneeling at the side of the bed, looking entirely too eager for a guy who just asked to have a steel rod jammed into his dick. The sense memory makes Jensen’s balls try to draw up and hide.
Snapping that buckle closed around Jared’s neck never fails to make a reluctant swell of anticipation claw at Jensen’s nerves, even as he reminds himself again - always again, over and over again, every single time - that this isn’t supposed to be about him. Something indiscernible loosens in Jared as soon as he’s collared, something in the sense of him rather than anything Jensen can actually see. He follows easily when Jensen guides him to sit on the end of the bed and the only flinch he makes as Jensen fastens the thick leather cuffs around his ankles is to move them farther apart to give Jensen better access. Well, that and to moan like it’s the best thing he ever felt.
Jensen makes a couple of fine adjustments to the straps before doing up the cuffs on Jared’s wrists, checking the slack along the bindings looped around the bedpost, connecting wrist to ankle. It allows just enough range of motion if Jared keeps his legs splayed that his arm muscles won’t be constantly tensed, but offering enough restriction that if he tries to close his legs or move his arms much, he’ll be fighting against the pull of his own body - as Jensen had discovered last night, it’s even harder than you’d imagine to sit still with a piece of metal pushing into your cock, and the last thing he needs is Jared accidentally hurting himself.
When he looks up from double- and triple-checking everything, it’s to find Jared relaxed as Jensen’s ever seen him. Calm, serene, almost euphoric and Jensen’s not sure if it’s stranger that being tied down soothes Jared or that he’d never guessed that it would garner that reaction before now. Jared’s cock is dark red, steadily leaking from the tip like a slow-running faucet. It jumps in his grip when he takes it in hand to remove the stud from the tip, fingers fumbling for a moment to get it open with all of the slick coating smooth metal but finally manages, wiping it off before tucking it into his pocket for safe keeping.
The case with the sounds in it is still tucked safely under the bed, but he gets gummed up by his own thoughts with the box in his hand, already partway to standing. The thing is, he’s never sucked Jared before, never actually done more than touch him, and while it’s not something that’s usually his first choice off the menu now that he’s right here, staring it in the face, he sort of wants a taste.
Jared loses a yelp when Jensen flicks his tongue out over the crown, the velvety flesh there looking strangely naked and vulnerable without the harsh gleam of steel. Jared doesn’t taste exceptional, not particularly better than any of the handful of guys Jensen’s done this with, but not bad either; sort of nice, in a way. His next touch is a little more serious, letting the rigid flesh part his lips, sliding slippery through the mess of precome that’s blurting out in earnest now. He has to wonder if Jared’s this wet with everyone or if it’s something about subbing that gets him going like this. All that does is lead to strobe-flashes of Jared with other guys, though, and for reasons he’s resolutely not thinking about, it’s suddenly a lot harder for Jensen to stay composed and level-headed.
The tip of his tongue finds the slit, digs in on reflex and then an alarm goes off in his head about what he’s going to be doing to that forgiving little opening in a minute and he completely abandons the idea of not grabbing his own cock because there’s simply no way not to.
He drags himself off of Jared dick, only realizing when it’s out of his mouth that he doesn’t really want it to be. That’s also when he realizes that Jared writhing like he’s about to die; pulling at his restraints, head tossing on the axis of his shoulders, hips undulating against empty air as if it’s going to do something for him, as if he can’t stop himself from doing it. "Gonna, gonna, gonna" keeps falling from his lips, a fucked-raw drag of pitiful sound. Jensen kisses Jared’s cheek lightly - only just remembering not to really kiss him, not to make it personal - shushing him and petting his hair until he stills again.
“No you’re not,” he comforts, smoothing his knuckles up and down the length of Jared’s sternum, “You’re going to hold on until I tell you otherwise, just like you’re supposed to.” Shakily Jared nods, glassy eyes full of dedication and on a whim, Jensen decides, fuck it, and plants his lips feather-light against Jared’s. A live wire shudder shoots through his roommate, leaving him moaning and straining for it when Jensen almost instantly pulls back.
It doesn’t help; he can still feel the softness of Jared’s mouth against his as a phantom tingle, burrowing under his skin to nest like an infection, itch he just knows he’s going to want to scratch again. Damnit.
Mentally berating himself for his own impulsiveness, Jensen climbs around on the bed behind Jared, kneeling so that his legs are on the outside of Jared’s and his chest is snug against his roommate’s broad back - a little extra insurance that Jared will stay put.
Flipping open the case, Jensen pulls out the little bottle of gel sanitizer and thoroughly coats his hands, waiting for it to dry before plucking the - freshly sterilized - second slimmest sound out of its home. Between the piercing and the fact that he found this case at the top of the cluttered pile of toys in Jared’s drawer, he figures Jared's used to this enough that he doesn’t have to start out quite as small as he did with himself.
He coats the cool steel with the tiny tube of lube from the case - though, it doesn’t look like Jared will need any extra; he's nearly dripping as it is - and peers over Jared’s shoulder to watch what he’s doing. A juddery buzz of excitement-laced anxiety keep him from getting right to it, swirling the blunt tip around the head instead as Jared hisses in a breath and holds it, waiting.
The tips catches on the slit, slips in just a sliver where Jared’s already a little open from the stud, goes deeper easily, like it belongs there. Jared’s breath hiccups, a bitten off chop of noise and only Jensen’s hand around the base of Jared’s cock keeps the slim rod from being forced in any further.
Every bit of slack in the bindings is caught up in Jared’s fiercely gripping fingers, pulling his legs open as wide as they’ll go with Jensen’s trapping them from the outside. His jaw is clenched tight enough that the tendons in his neck are straining, flushed violently scarlet from hairline to navel and Jensen is honest to God milliseconds from calling the whole thing off as a mistake because he vividly remembers how that felt yesterday and he’s not about to put Jared through that if it’s not doing something for him. Then his roommate lets out this ecstatic, gut-wrenching keen and Jensen’s heart stops trying to spit out the front of his chest, too busy being awestruck.
Jared’s into this. Like, seriously into it. And yeah, he’d said he would be, all but begged for it, but still, Jensen’s brain couldn’t quite compute it before, especially after his own lackluster experience. Jared likes this and Jensen is suddenly, painfully aware of the practically untouched length of his own hard-on brushing the valley of Jared’s spine. It wouldn’t take much of anything to press in a little closer and rub himself up against it, but there’s just no way that he has the presence of mind to do that and finish what he’s started with Jared, and choosing between the two, well, it’s no choice at all.
Slowly he drags the circle of his fingers up and down the length of Jared’s - still marble-hard; Jensen had never gotten more than halfway there for the whole episode when he’d tried - cock, feeling the muscles grudgingly give way and allow the shining metal to plunge deeper. Jared’s muscles dance in no pattern that Jensen can discern, the body leaning against him apparently on autopilot for all the control Jared’s asserting. It’s intoxicating in a way Jensen’s not prepared to cope with; Jared rigid with the strain of it and yet, simultaneously, completely at Jensen’s mercy - every whimper and twitch and pliant motion under Jensen’s coaxing direction promising nothing but unwavering willingness. Submission.
Like tumblers clicking into place - Jensen would swear he can actually hear it - it makes sense. This, all of it, every time Jared’s given it up for him; that’s power. To surrender this way and give it all, to trust this absolutely - because Jared doesn’t look like he remembers his own name right now, let alone a goddamn safeword - the sheer magnitude of it is so great that Jensen feels like he should be trembling before it. But he can’t - not won’t, can’t - like the physical ability to have that kind of weakness has been sapped out of him by the wash of what Jared’s allowing him to have. He’s never had a religious experience before, but this must be what it’s like.
Jensen can’t take his eyes off of Jared’s face as he catches the tip of the sound between his fingers and slowly slides it as deep as it will go, back until it’s almost pulled free and then in again, fucking Jared with the little bit of metal in steady, deliberate strokes; so close to overcome by the desire to free his own dick and fill Jared up from both sides, own him completely just because Jared would let him, maybe even wants him to.
“You’re beautiful,” he husks, too close to where Jared’s head his pillowed on his shoulder to see more than hazel swallowed in black as Jared’s eyes flutter open. And for the life of him, he couldn't say why that snaps something inside of him and shoots his filters all to hell so that he’s suddenly flooded, drowning in something deep red and feral that leaves him growling “Mine,” and crushing Jared’s slack mouth against his own with bruising force.
What might have been a cracked scream from Jared gets lost amid the flurry of teeth and tongue and biting kisses that Jensen hasn’t even got a fraction of the willpower it would take to make himself stop giving. It’s not a scream of pain anyway, Jensen knows; knows and doesn’t have the time or inclination to care how, just does. The rod comes free of Jared’s cock smoothly and Jensen lets it hit the floor with a tinny clang, far too occupied with the come drooling sloppily from Jared’s spread slit to give a damn about the fucking equipment. It coats his fingers and palm, hot and sluggish with no spasms of worn out muscle to push it free, and Jensen strokes it back along Jared’s softening length, reveling in the helpless quivers it produces along with half-pained, wordless noises.
Jensen feels completely out of his head with it and yet crystal clear; starkly in control, like the best possible version of himself. It makes perfect sense why Jared needs this so badly; Jensen’s not sure he’ll ever be the same without it.
As soon as Jensen undoes the restraints on his wrists, Jared flops back, boneless to the point that Jensen would think he was unconscious if he couldn’t see Jared’s eyes indolently following him. He unfastens the ankle cuffs efficiently, barely sparing them a second look as he crawls back onto the bed and spreads himself out over Jared. His cock slots into the dip of Jared’s hip, pounding so hard it seems like his heart has spontaneously relocated itself, but he doesn't do anything more about it that lacing his fingers between the limp hold of Jared’s larger hands and willing the sensation away with painful pressure.
The high bleeds out of him slowly, evaporating like exhaust fumes as he whispers hushed praise against Jared's ear and pets over whatever piece of his roommate he happens to comes across. It feels like a lifetime later - the confidence of whatever Jensen had been riding burning away to novocained worry as he comes back to himself - that Jared finally stirs enough to count it as voluntarily; a small movement of his free hand that’s just enough to get it resting on Jensen's hip. The turns of his head is even lazier, probably only makes it all the way to facing Jensen because of the helping nudge of Jensen's fingers on his chin.
A couple of years back, Jensen had been in the delivery room when his niece was born, had been right there when they laid her in her mother's arms, eyes still new to light and hardly even human yet. Jared looks a whole hell of a lot like that right now; color returning around his pupil slowly as he blinks and blinks and blinks at Jensen as if it's all he knows how to do.
"Jay, you're freaking me out," is that Jensen's voice? When did it get so low and ragged? "I need you to say something, ok?"
Jared opens his mouth on a breathy noise and moves his lips around what might have been words with a few more consonants thrown in at the right places. Christ, he broke Jared.
But then Jared's pushing in toward him, burying his face against Jensen's neck and trying to roll them over with all of the strength of a newborn chick. Jensen goes with it anyway, shuffling them both around until they're in the position Jared tends to favor after they mess around; blanketing Jensen is too-long limbs. Somewhere along the line he became Jared's mattress of choice, so he supposes it's about time he accepted that fact. Also, he can't think of a single other thing he can do to help, and this at least feels like something.
Jared slurs out a few more sounds, frenzied edge on them finally helping Jensen figure out that he's trying to apologize, which makes exactly the kind of sense that doesn't at all until Jensen replays it all in his head - his cock all but screaming at him for relief and not assuaged in the least by skipping over the specifics in his mental skin flick - and remembers Jared's come clinging in the webbing of his fingers.
"Shh, it's ok," he hushes, kneading circles into the loose muscles of Jared's back, "You did so good. So good for me. Exactly what I wanted you to do." It's sort of lie, although after the initial push he'd mostly been ad libbing anyway, and once he wandered into whatever kind of headspace that was, he sure as hell didn't have the common sense to be planning in advance. Still, he can't possibly let Jared feel bad about getting off - coming like a damn freight train - when he just... Jensen doesn't even have a word for what Jared just did, but it was definitely something. An intense something, and neither one of them is in any kind of a condition to be thinking about punishment right now.
The strong body splayed out over him goes fluid, more near-words flowing out of Jared against Jensen's still-thundering pulse - one that might be 'best' and another that could be 'love you' but isn't because Jensen can't actually afford for his brain to implode right now. He's genuinely not cut out for this emotional roller coaster thing they seem to keep doing.
The damp tackiness of Jared's dick rubs against Jensen's hip and he feels the catch of pain in Jared's chest but never hears it and Jared doesn't so much as twitch. He really ought to get up and get something to clean them both up with because the mess is only going to be more uncomfortable to clean off once it's dried, but there's no real question about him moving from this spot and not even because he's got Jared's dead weight huffing exhausted breaths against him.
Because he doesn't want to be anywhere else. And isn't that just a terrifying realization?
What the fuck happened to 'just for Jared' and 'because Jared needs it'? What the fuck happened to this not being about Jensen getting off on it? And what the ever-loving fuck is he supposed to do with... feelings about this? About Jared.
Shit - just truly, deeply, shit.
With a sleepy sigh, Jared nuzzles impossibly closer, dusky orange fading to blue as Jensen watches the sun set on the canvas of Jared's warm skin. An hour ago they'd been in this exact same position, and yet it's so much different now, the whole world spinning in the opposite direction, with Jensen helpless over what to do about it. Maybe the most disturbing thing of all is how very not new this feeling seems.
Meditatively, Jensen maps out the curves and dips of Jared's spine with his fingers, less shocked than he should be at how responsive Jared is, even unconscious. He plots a course along the dots of the ceiling and looks for answers he knows he's not going to find in the settling night.
On to Part 4 - One of These Days