Fic: Ace Up His Sleeve (Jensen/Jared)
Fandom: J2
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17 -- Wordcount: 5,600
Warnings: *deep breath* D/s, bootlicking, comeplay, barebacking, urethra play, an unnecessary amount of porny schmoop.
Notes: Fifth installment in the Escort!AU, following One of These Days. These things just keep getting kinkier. For the record, this was really going to be a drabble, but then naidaildri ran across a mention of a Prince's Wand in one of my old fics. This happened. Also, I can be a teasing bitch, but I'm not quite cruel enough to leave you hanging here - there's at least one more installment coming on this verse.
Summary - "Jensen's been expecting this for a couple of days now. Well, not this; he'd been expecting the package, not so much to walk into his bedroom to find his boyfriend sprawled out, naked, on his bed next to an open cardboard box, dry come shining on his belly as he mumbles contentedly in his sleep. Apparently Jared approves of his surprise."
Jensen groans as the front door swings shut behind him and tries to roll the tension out of his shoulders. It makes no sense for luncheons to be harder to put up with than dinners, and yet they invariably are; especially when most of the other men skip out on them, leaving Jensen to pick up the slack as not only fake boyfriend to his client, but also playing the good, attentive, step-and-fetch-it boy for half the women in the Junior League. He feels more like a waiter than an escort and his crocodile wingtips were definitely not the shoes for the job.
Jared’s not in the living room, and a glance down the hall tells Jensen not to bother with Jared’s bedroom either. It’s really only Jared’s bedroom in namesake anyway - he can’t remember the last time Jared actually spent the night in there. It’s too early in the year for Jared to be out by the pool, which only leaves Jensen’s room. There’s no actual reason for that simple thought to seem pornographic, but his dick twitches happily over it anyway. Sometimes he’s really not sure that he’s any less conditioned over this thing than Jared is.
He pushes open the door to his room, sliding his tie off as he goes and gets a full step and a half into the room before he stops dead.
Jensen's been expecting this for a couple of days now. Well, not this; he'd been expecting the package, not so much to walk into his bedroom - still technically his, despite the plethora of Jared's personal items he pretends not to notice that keep migrating here - to find his boyfriend sprawled out, naked, on his bed next to an open cardboard box, dry come shining on his belly as he mumbles contentedly in his sleep.
Apparently, Jared approves of his surprise.
Hanging his tie over the closet doorknob - his usual penchant for neatness losing footing under the assault of fuck, now, please - Jensen retrieves Jared's collar from it's small, polished box on the nightstand and lays the strip of leather gently over the mound of Jared's Adam's apple. Hazel eyes fly open immediately.
"You are a filthy tease," Jensen murmurs, leaning in for a slow, searching kiss that Jared immediately opens for. It's thrilling, kissing someone like Jared, the way he puts everything into it, communicating a dozen syrupy, wicked endearments with the hungry give of his lips and the way every murmur of Jensen's name sounds like 'oh god yes'.
There’s more edge to the touch of teeth and tongue than usual, an offer laid out in almost-bites and semi-growls, a taunt and a plea all rolled into one. Jensen doesn’t really need permission to take control - he’s never once reached for it and found Jared anything less than completely willing and eager - but the implicit approval is still clear in the way Jared touches him and it's a balm on the tiny part of Jensen's conscience that still worries over all of this from time to time.
"Says the guy who had those delivered to the house," his boyfriend replies muzzily, a few spit-slick minutes later. His eyes flick to the mauled shipping box sitting innocuously on the other side of the bed.
"Where else would I have had them delivered to?" he counters, teething along Jared's jaw just hard enough to leave him goosebumpy. "And it wouldn't have been a tease if you hadn't opened my package."
"Mmm, but I like your package." Jared's hand slips between their bodies to find the filling weight of Jensen's cock through his slacks, coaxing it along with clever fingers and kneading pressure.
"You're still not funny." That might have sounded a little more convincing if Jensen's breath hadn't hitched in the middle of it, but what can he say - Jared's got very talented hands.
Dimples flash as Jared smiles, "You love me anyway." Jensen hums and kisses the smug tilt off of his lips, silent agreement in the curl of his tongue.
"So you like them?" he purrs against Jared's cheek as though it's actually a question. The way Jared had dropped the idea, subtle as a tire iron to the skull, into conversation a few weeks ago would have been more than enough for Jensen to know that his boyfriend was going to be enthusiastic about the prospect, even without this particular 'welcome home' tableau. Jared moans and clings to Jensen harder by way of an answer.
Jensen crawls up onto the bed between the ready spread of Jared’s legs, pressing them close but not quite together, sharing heat more than space. It’s not nearly enough contact to satisfy Jared and he’s nothing like restrained about pointing it out; pulling and tugging and locking his legs around Jensen’s hips trying to force him to lay down. He really should know better than to think it will do anything but make Jensen hold off a little longer. Then again, maybe that’s the point - Jared knows his own buttons and he’s certainly not above teasing himself just because he knows seeing him all worked up makes Jensen crazy.
"I was going to surprise you with them, but since you're already worn out..." he trails off as a distraction, not bothering to hide a chuckle. It's nothing but a ploy and they both know it; after the regimen they've been on lately - Jensen categorically refuses to call it training, no matter what Jared says - Jared can go at least five or six times a day and they both know it. He doubts whatever his boyfriend got up to on his own even took the edge off.
Jared whines, nips kittenishly at Jensen's earlobe, hips pumping up against Jensen's to prove how very not worn out he is. Jensen's fingers are already busy buckling the collar.
He can't resist taking a moment to slide a fingertip between the leather and Jared's skin and feel the quick, hard flutter of his pulse. It's enough of a breather, just barely, to remember his carefully constructed plans and draw a groan out of Jared as his clothed erection jerks hard in his boyfriend's grip.
Honestly, he's not entirely sure how many of Jared's toys have taken up residence in the bottom drawer of his nightstand, but it's enough that the space is crowded when he fumbles a hand over the edge of the bed and searches blindly through it for what he wants. With relative ease, he finds the little plastic case that had left him gaping the first time Jared had showed it to him, molten buzz shooting through him just from cradling it in his palm. They don't use this particular accessory often, but it happens to be a favorite of Jensen's and - either coincidently or consequently - Jared's.
He sets the small case down on the pillow next to Jared's head, a tap of his fingernail on hard plastic getting Jared's eyes fixed on it, going dark and hooded almost instantly. His tongue flies across his lips for a split-second - reflex, not a provocation - and it’s just enough of a prelude to what’s coming up that Jensen can’t stop himself from diving back in and taking a lingering drag off of the slick, pink muscle.
"Clean yourself up and put that in,” he commands, sandpaper rough, “Then come find me in the living room. Bring those."
He tosses a casual wave at the abused cardboard box and heaves himself up off of the bed fast, leaving Jared blinking in the wake of his sudden departure. He needs a little space to get his head together before he just says fuck it and ravages Jared like his balls are currently demanding. Not that that wouldn't be fun, but there's always later.
Maybe Jensen's been looking forward to this a little bit.
It's taken a while for him to accept exactly how much he gets off on what he and Jared do together. Sure, he's always been a little bit of a control freak, he can admit that, but being somebody's Dom had never even been on his radar screen before this, not even in all the time that he and Jared lived together platonically with Jay walking around like a living billboard for BDSM. And even now, after months of doing this, the tight, hot anticipation pushing at the inside of his ribs as he waits to kick things off still jangles eerily at his sensibilities.
Jared's helped, in ways Jensen doubts his boyfriend's even noticed. For every moment Jensen's right on the brink of petrified of the intensity of this, worried about getting too wrapped up in it, of how much he wants to push and own and, yeah, sometimes hurt, Jared's right there, splayed out, pinned-butterfly pretty, proving to him with nothing but who he is that there's no part of Jensen that would ever give this man anything he can't handle; not just a stopgap of his own honed control but a literal incapacity. He'd never harm Jared; not in any way they didn't both want. It's like ruling the world and being cradled and safe all at the same time. He's long over the illusion that he could have felt this with anyone else.
Jensen settles himself down in the over-sized armchair in the living room - upholstered, like every other seating option Jared chose for the room, in dark leather - and smirks to himself as his fingers run over the cool hide. They've never openly addressed that particular predilection of Jared's but he has a feeling that his choice of accoutrement for this eveing's experiment is going to be hitting more than one of Jared's numerous kinks.
He doesn't have to wait long for Jared to appear, taut stomach flushed pink from scrubbing, metal-heavy erection fighting valiantly against gravity to rise up and meet his torso. The bead at the tip is bigger than usual, but that's the only real indication from this angle that it's not Jared's usual stud decorating the crown. Even without seeing it all, just knowing the Prince's Wand is in there, hollow little tube holding Jared open in the most intimate way possible, that bit of steel at the end holding his release inside until Jensen chooses to allow it... There's no choice in the matter at all when Jensen reaches down and palms his aching cock through his slacks; it's just too hot not to.
Jared already looks dazed, hazy-sharp in that way that Jensen's felt the edges of when he lets Jared control him, but has never fully gotten a handle on. He knows what it means, though - how deep in Jared is already on nothing but anticipation and sin-laced promises. His arms are held out to balance, almost reverently, a pair of shiny, black military dress boots, one hand braced under the soles like they need a pedestal.
It doesn't take more than a flick of Jensen's glance toward the plush carpet at his feet to get Jared on his knees, legs spread wide, tribute and presentation all in one. Jared's never been the kind of sub to lock his gaze on the ground and duck his head and Jensen's never asked him to. He likes weight of laser-focused hazel on him, the way everything Jared's thinking and feeling telegraphs through them. Like now, when the only thing mixed in with the sheer, undisguised want there is absolute devotion. People can pump whatever kind of chemicals they want into their bodies to try and feel good, nothing could ever possibly be as heady as this high.
Jared sets the boots carefully on the ground in front of him as Jensen easily toes off his own uncomfortable shoes, nudging them under the chair so they're out of the way. The already heavy rise and fall of Jared's flush-stained chest speeds up when Jensen holds out one socked foot, pointed delicately to make it easier for Jared to slide the appropriate boot onto it, painstakingly slow. The other gets the same treatment, careful, awe-struck attention as though getting Jensen into this footwear is the single most important thing Jared's ever done.
The stiffness of new leather is snug against him, getting moreso when Jared's faintly trembling fingers reach hesitantly for the laces and Jensen - after a moment of feigned-consideration that he lets drag out until Jared's toes curl with tension - gives his nod of approval. Jared tightens each 'X' of the laces individually, raising the leg of merino wool pants to get at the top few grommets just above ankle-high, cinching the boot in increments until it's molded seamlessly to Jensen. He carefully ties the knot - perfectly even and centered on the tongue - before running his fingers down over the length in a shaky, longing caress. Then he sets about repeating the process just as carefully on the other side.
It's time consuming and yet thrilling all at once, to watch the effect of it on Jared, pin-prickly surges of heat sparking under Jensen's skin at how much it clearly matters to Jared that he get this perfect. Sometime in the near future they're going to have to sit down and have a long discussion about why this has never come up before when Jared has such an obviously strong response to it. But for now, Jensen is content to lean back into the plush comfort of his chair and let a blistering sear of lust squirm through his belly as Jared works at the task before him with single-minded intent.
"You like them," he says as Jared finishes, not even in the same neighborhood as a question. The talking thing still makes Jensen more than a little uncomfortable, the obscenities always feeling more like lines out of a cheesy porno than something worthy of being in the pure-sex presence of Jay when he’s like this, but Jared shudders in response, maybe from the way Jensen's voice has dropped an octave in arousal, maybe from something else entirely.
He slides one foot forward, pristine lug soles dragging on dense carpet as he pushes it between Jared's legs. The heat from where Jared's sac - drawn up and tight enough to bounce a quarter off of already - rests on the toe seeps mutedly through the material and he doesn't miss the subtle shift of Jared's hips as he instinctually starts to rub against smooth leather but catches himself.
"Good boy," Jensen praises warmly, lifting a hand for Jared to lean forward and nuzzle against. He continues as he scritches gently through Jared's hair, combing it back to get a good look at the blissed-out look on his boyfriend’s face.
"They're very special, you know. Valuable. Like all the things I own." He leans into the last bit, fingertips finding the edges of Jared's collar, pulling just enough to draw attention there. Jared bares his throat for it and bites his lip on a pretty little whimper that Jensen could listen to on repeat until the day he dies. His sub presses in fractionally closer to his leg and Jensen's cock spits a thick blurt of precome at the feel of the smaller stud under the head of Jared's cock catching briefly on his bootlaces. Jared's panting against his wrist, licking over thin, vein-webbed skin and sucking dirty kisses like it'll kill him if he doesn't let all the desperation zipping through his system overflow somewhere.
"I thought you might want to welcome them to the family, seeing as they're mine now too."
Jared flat out moans, a miserable sound like Jensen's putting him through the best pain he ever felt. Then his eyes flutter open, so blown Jensen's actually startled for a second before the world shimmers red-hot when Jared chokes out, "Please."
Unintentionally, Jensen's fingers dig into the arm of the chair, the mess of Jared's hair, so hard they ache and Jared's hiss of pain turns into a mewl halfway through as he grinds himself helplessly against the stepladder of shoelaces up the front of Jensen's leg.
"I want to see my reflection in them when you're done." His voice is an airless croak around the warning, but he manages to find enough control to make himself release his grip on Jared's hair. If he makes it through one boot before he blows he'll count it as an award-worthy feat of self-possession.
He's huffing like a steam engine, trying to suck in enough air to see straight because there’s no way in hell he’s going to miss the view as Jared drops to his elbows, ass in the air, and huffs a fug of breath over the shiny toe of the shoe he was just practically having sex with.
Fuck it, Jensen has to get his cock out; he's not coming in his damn pants. Again. This week.
No one should possibly be able to affect him the way Jared does without even trying; make his heart drum and his nerves sizzle and his skin feel like it shrank in the wash. It’s moments like this that all the rational, logical doubts in his head about this thing between them shut the hell up and Jensen just knows - this is for keeps.
A velvet-soft shudder creeps it’s way up his spine, more in common with a whisper than the moan that eels out between Jared’s lips and shiny leather as he leans down, flash of pink as he tongues a kiss to the toe of Jensen’s boot. He goes slow, almost achingly so, the way he almost never does unless Jensen forces the issue, and that, in and of itself, is thrilling - how badly Jared wants this, just this. Yeah, later, they are totally having a discussion. Just as soon as Jensen's language-center comes back online.
Jensen’s cock had long since given up the pretense of doing anything besides jutting up out of the open V of his slacks and drooling a thin smear of precome over the stomach of his $200 Thomas Pink button-up. Being involved with Jared has altered a number of Jensen priorities, his relationship with their dry cleaners not the least of which.
Jared paints the flat of the boot slick with broad swipes of his tongue, slow heat bleeding in as he lavishes each curve and seam, the shallow rise of his ankle, the bump of stitches. His lips and the skin around them get progressively redder, darkening with blood as they rub and press, mouthing along rough and smooth. It makes Jensen’s hard-on twitch, sense memory attached to that visual, how heavenly it is to be inside all of that slick heat. The motion must catch Jared’s eye because he glances up suddenly, gaze hanging on the pearl of fluid shining at Jensen’s slit, skipping straight up to Jensen’s eyes midway through a long, slow lap up to the first set of grommets the hold the laces in place.
His hips are swiveling gently as he works, humping against empty air like it’s all he wants out of life. He kisses his way up the row, up underneath the cuff of Jensen’s pants until his breath is huffing a brief tease over Jensen’s shin before moving back down the other side, gaze never once leaving Jensen’s. Each press of his lips, slow stroke of tongue down between the laces to get every last inch wet, is like a touch to Jensen’s skin, a dare plucking at wire-tight control.
“Stop,” he barks, voice entirely too rough considering he hasn’t used it for a damn thing. Jared whimpers as he pulls back, something like a plea in his eyes but he doesn’t voice it further than that, sitting back on his heels.
The spit over the toe has already dried by the time Jensen lifts it, sets the rough-textured sole gently against the underside of Jared’s stuffed-full dick, pushing it flat against his body.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it. What you needed,” Jensen presses incrementally harder against Jared’s cock like a gas pedal and instead of a rev, he gets a strangled growl that sounds like assent. “Always so desperate to be of use. To be used. You’d come right now if I let you. Just rut up against my shoe like a dog until you can’t take it anymore, nothing but that plug at the end of your dick keeping you from making a mess. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Jared’s losing his grip fast, breaking down enough that he doesn't look for permission before presses his hips instantly into hard rubber. Jensen decides to let it go because Jesus Fucking Christ. With each bit of added pressure, Jared's eyelids go heavy, rising and falling like the ocean steady roll of his hips. His swollen lips are parted around quiet puffs of air and breathy noises and it’s a cocktail of temptation that Jensen just can’t withstand.
“Get up here.”
Jared follows through without hesitation, stumbling-eager to straddle Jensen’s lap the second he’s backed his foot away. His boyfriend gets in close enough that Jensen can feel the warmth pouring off of him like a furnace but they’re only touching along the outside of Jensen’s thighs, where his ass rests at the bend of Jensen’s hips, the soft, electric brush of their lengths. Waiting, just like he's supposed to.
Jensen’s hands are on him just as hungrily as Jared's mouth had moved over his goddamn shoe - that's going to fueling his fantasy life for a long while - one on Jared’s cock, the other sliding around the curve of his ass. Reasonably, Jensen knows that he can’t actually feel the bulge of steel inside the shaft as he gives it a slow stroke, but that doesn’t keep him from imagining it. Jared’s breath stutters with it like he’s taken a blow to the chest. His fingers dip easily into the cleft, no more intention than to tease at the furl of Jared’s hole only to be shocked still when he finds it slick.
Above him, Jared’s eyes fly open, air clogging in his lungs on a hiccup of surprise. Knowing exactly what Jensen’s going to ask before he does.
“Before or after?” He doesn’t need to clarify to know Jared understands the implicit question. Jensen would never put any moratorium on Jared touching himself in their real lives - it would imply too much, make this thing between them more than something exciting that they do together and make it their lives. He loves that Jared’s loud and brash, that he pushes Jensen and picks at him and doesn’t let up; that they can be equal partners as well as this self-enforced dichotomy. So if Jared's still slick and - as Jensen learns when he pushes a little and feels his fingertips press easily inside - open from what he was doing before Jensen got home, that’s one thing, but is he was touching himself without Jensen’s permission once the collar was on…
A flush rises high on Jared’s cheeks, and he bites his lip, guilt all but written on his face in bold print.
"Both?" he answers like it's a question of it's own. "I just wanted to ready f-"
The rest of the excuse shreds like wet tissue paper as Jensen works his hands in tandem, fingers of one pushing forward into the silken heat of Jared's body, hitting that little bundle of nerves that he could find in his sleep by now as the other pulls slow and easy up the length of Jared's cock.
"Oh God. Oh pleasepleaseplease." If Jensen's still uncomfortable spouting off like a 900-number operator, then begging is Jared's own special brand of Kryptonite, always making his eyes squench shut and his face turn red. There are very limited number of things Jensen loves more than getting Jared that far gone.
"I don't know, Jay," he muses, keeping up a relentless tempo of strokes to Jared's length and massages to his prostate, "Not sure you deserve it, touching my things without permission."
The sound Jared makes in reply is nothing so much as the bastard child of a mewl and a whimper. He's repeating Jensen's name over and over breathlessly, a perverse rosary of urgent prayer.
Low and long, Jensen shushes him, turning the whole thing on it's head by dragging his thumbnail around the spread of the steel-stuffed slit. Jared's body spasms uncontrollably like Jensen's playing a raw nerve as a puppet-string.
He's knealt up as high as he can get without crawling right out of Jensen's lap, as though he's trying to get away when the greedy rock of his hips isn't doing a damn thing but work Jensen's fingers as deep as they can go. The swollen-fat crown is right there, close enough to Jensen's face to lean in and tickle at with his tongue, tasting metal and silicone from the special lube and the mild salt of clean skin. Jared's clawing at the chair like he's losing his mind making noises that sound like proof of it.
Jensen looks up at Jared through his lashes, smirks to see the edge of teeth as they dig into his abused lower lip so hard it mottles white. "Hands behind your back, and keep them there."
A whine dies bloody halfway out of Jared’s throat, but with visible effort, he does as he’s told, crossed wrists brushing against Jensen’s arm as he continues needlessly stretching the well-prepped muscle. He takes his time unscrewing the stopper at the tip of the Wand, flirting at the sensitive skin all around it with his fingertips, watching Jared clench and struggle to keep hold of himself.
Jay is so beautiful like this, wild and overwhelmed, yet still totally trusting and reliant on Jensen to take care of him, to give him what they both want. It makes him want to get stupid and poetic, to say crazy things he means with his whole heart, words like ‘forever’. Instead he presses his face in close to Jared’s, enough so that he can feel the incredible, thick heat plumping Jared’s lips and yet still refusing to allow that last fraction of an inch to make it a kiss; as much mouth-watering torture for himself as it is for Jared.
The bead comes free in Jensen’s hand, a warm rush of thin, built up precome sloshing out of the tube after it, coating Jensen’s fingers. If he doesn’t do something soon, the prep is going to be a moot point. It’d be a damn shame to go through all of this to lose it all over Jared’s thighs just from looking at him.
He takes his boyfriend's shaft in a firmer grip than he’s given up yet, just tight enough around the metal inside to flit over to the wrong side of pain - exactly the way he knows Jared likes it. A sharp, bitten off breath punches through the silence around them, every muscle and sinew in Jared’s body a wire waiting to snap.
Jensen sweeps his thumb over the tip one last time, fingerprint dragging on overheated flesh and metal before he speaks the word Jared's been waiting for all this time.
“Come.”
Jared wails like Jensen’s murdering him when he’s not even bothering to move his hand, just holding Jared’s dick in place so the steady rush of sticky, white fluid pouring from his spread slit dribbles all over Jensen’s own cock. People all over the world might as well just give up on having sex right now because Jared coming on command - on nothing but command - is officially the pinnacle of hotness that humanity can ever hope to achieve; anything else would just be a pale imitation.
There’s still a slow leak of come drooling out of the Wand when Jensen’s tentative grasp on self-control breaks, the wet of it soaking through his shirt as he lets go and cursorily spreads the liquid over his cock - so good, too good - and pulls Jared down onto him, sheathing himself to the hilt without preamble. Jared lets out a soft sound that’s neither pleasure nor pain, inner muscles fluttering around the sudden intrusion.
Jensen, as usual, had the best of intentions about this whole thing, planned out in his head how he would milk this for all it was worth; a whole evening of tempting Jared with nothing but shiny leather and slim steel. Like always, those ideas go flying out the window the second he’s actually got Jared in front of him, on him, around him; too wrapped up in the having and being had and the fucking need to even consider making it anything but fast and brutal and ambrosia-sweet.
Jared’s got one hand clamped around his opposite wrist when Jensen’s touch finds them, holding on like his very existence depends on keeping them just like Jensen told him to. At least until Jensen grasps them in his own hands; then Jared goes ragdoll limp, moaning into the curve of Jensen’s neck as he lets himself be used.
It’s hot and wet and perfect, Jared bearing down hard against him, making it so tight every thrust makes Jensen’s eyes want to roll back. The length of Jared’s cock digs slightly against his side, still hard from the metal splitting him open, still wet from either a fresh batch of precome or another too-soon orgasm smearing from the tip all over Jensen’s shirt for the brief hits of air sneaking between them to lick cold. His balls pull in almost painfully, ready, right fucking there, and Jensen just has time to turn his head and capture the feverish, bruised press of Jared’s mouth before he lets go, vision shimmering at the edges, the taste of leather strong on his tongue.
Jared’s still at it when Jensen comes out of the fog enough to feel anything besides bliss; soft, sucking kisses to his slack lips and gentle licks all around the inside of his mouth. Jensen returns them a lot more sloppily than he’d care to admit, still much too far gone to do more than revel in the sensations. He’s going soft, but Jared’s still tight around him, pressed in as close as he can get to keep Jensen inside as long as he can. The space between them is humid and sweaty, thick with the smell of sex. He eases his grip on Jared’s hands slowly, gentling him out the overload of being trapped into the security of being held.
They haven’t been together all that long in the grand scheme of things, half a year like this, plus almost a whole one before that as friends, but it’s been more than long enough for him to know what Jared likes, and more importantly, what Jared needs. He can read Jared in ways he never imagined he was capable of - and that in a lifetime of being pretty damn good at reading people. He knows that he needs to run his fingernails softly over Jared’s spine to keep him in that middle-space until the endorphins have time to mellow, knows that now is the time to cautiously remove the Prince’s Wand so that it earns a shudder and not a pained groan, knows that it will be at least fifteen minutes before Jared’s ready to move enough for Jensen to drag him into a bath and keep lavishing him with attention, check and make doubly sure nothing tore or chafed.
Moreover, he knows he likes knowing; likes having this responsibility and opportunity that no one else gets to have - ever will get to have if Jensen has anything to say about it. It’s not the sort of thing he ever expected to learn about himself, and looking back, he’s not at all sure how he ever managed without it.
“I love you,” Jared slurs, lazy and drugged as he tries to press himself into the non-existent sliver of space between them.
Jared smiles against a soft cheek, traces dark ink over the curve of Jared’s shoulder with his finger. “I love you too, Jay. So much.”
The reaction is immediate, high pitched keen to match the hummingbird-wing quiver that works all the way down Jared’s body. It’s far from the first time Jensen’s ever said it, but Jared never seems to adjust, never gets over it like he honestly can’t believe that Jensen could love him when Jensen honestly can’t believe he could ever feel any other way. He’ll be more than happy to spend the rest of his life proving that to Jared, but he thinks he’ll wait a little longer to let Jared in on that particular secret. After all, Jared’s awfully good at ruining his surprises - it’s about time Jensen finally gets to play one of the aces up his sleeve the way he wants to.
The pressureless mouthing Jared’s been using against Jensen’s neck starts to turn into a steady suckle, darkening up a new mark under his jaw despite their agreement about keeping it below the line of his collar. Jensen curves his palm around the back of Jared’s head and hold him where he is, goading him on.
Yeah, he thinks, mind flashing to the other delivery, the one he’d had sent to the service’s office, the one Genevieve’s holding on to him for safe keeping until the moment is right. The thought makes him smirk, chest flooding warm as he tips his head a bit to give his boyfriend more room to work. Just about time.
On to the next part - An Offer He Can't Refuse
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Rating: NC-17 -- Wordcount: 5,600
Warnings: *deep breath* D/s, bootlicking, comeplay, barebacking, urethra play, an unnecessary amount of porny schmoop.
Notes: Fifth installment in the Escort!AU, following One of These Days. These things just keep getting kinkier. For the record, this was really going to be a drabble, but then naidaildri ran across a mention of a Prince's Wand in one of my old fics. This happened. Also, I can be a teasing bitch, but I'm not quite cruel enough to leave you hanging here - there's at least one more installment coming on this verse.
Summary - "Jensen's been expecting this for a couple of days now. Well, not this; he'd been expecting the package, not so much to walk into his bedroom to find his boyfriend sprawled out, naked, on his bed next to an open cardboard box, dry come shining on his belly as he mumbles contentedly in his sleep. Apparently Jared approves of his surprise."
Jensen groans as the front door swings shut behind him and tries to roll the tension out of his shoulders. It makes no sense for luncheons to be harder to put up with than dinners, and yet they invariably are; especially when most of the other men skip out on them, leaving Jensen to pick up the slack as not only fake boyfriend to his client, but also playing the good, attentive, step-and-fetch-it boy for half the women in the Junior League. He feels more like a waiter than an escort and his crocodile wingtips were definitely not the shoes for the job.
Jared’s not in the living room, and a glance down the hall tells Jensen not to bother with Jared’s bedroom either. It’s really only Jared’s bedroom in namesake anyway - he can’t remember the last time Jared actually spent the night in there. It’s too early in the year for Jared to be out by the pool, which only leaves Jensen’s room. There’s no actual reason for that simple thought to seem pornographic, but his dick twitches happily over it anyway. Sometimes he’s really not sure that he’s any less conditioned over this thing than Jared is.
He pushes open the door to his room, sliding his tie off as he goes and gets a full step and a half into the room before he stops dead.
Jensen's been expecting this for a couple of days now. Well, not this; he'd been expecting the package, not so much to walk into his bedroom - still technically his, despite the plethora of Jared's personal items he pretends not to notice that keep migrating here - to find his boyfriend sprawled out, naked, on his bed next to an open cardboard box, dry come shining on his belly as he mumbles contentedly in his sleep.
Apparently, Jared approves of his surprise.
Hanging his tie over the closet doorknob - his usual penchant for neatness losing footing under the assault of fuck, now, please - Jensen retrieves Jared's collar from it's small, polished box on the nightstand and lays the strip of leather gently over the mound of Jared's Adam's apple. Hazel eyes fly open immediately.
"You are a filthy tease," Jensen murmurs, leaning in for a slow, searching kiss that Jared immediately opens for. It's thrilling, kissing someone like Jared, the way he puts everything into it, communicating a dozen syrupy, wicked endearments with the hungry give of his lips and the way every murmur of Jensen's name sounds like 'oh god yes'.
There’s more edge to the touch of teeth and tongue than usual, an offer laid out in almost-bites and semi-growls, a taunt and a plea all rolled into one. Jensen doesn’t really need permission to take control - he’s never once reached for it and found Jared anything less than completely willing and eager - but the implicit approval is still clear in the way Jared touches him and it's a balm on the tiny part of Jensen's conscience that still worries over all of this from time to time.
"Says the guy who had those delivered to the house," his boyfriend replies muzzily, a few spit-slick minutes later. His eyes flick to the mauled shipping box sitting innocuously on the other side of the bed.
"Where else would I have had them delivered to?" he counters, teething along Jared's jaw just hard enough to leave him goosebumpy. "And it wouldn't have been a tease if you hadn't opened my package."
"Mmm, but I like your package." Jared's hand slips between their bodies to find the filling weight of Jensen's cock through his slacks, coaxing it along with clever fingers and kneading pressure.
"You're still not funny." That might have sounded a little more convincing if Jensen's breath hadn't hitched in the middle of it, but what can he say - Jared's got very talented hands.
Dimples flash as Jared smiles, "You love me anyway." Jensen hums and kisses the smug tilt off of his lips, silent agreement in the curl of his tongue.
"So you like them?" he purrs against Jared's cheek as though it's actually a question. The way Jared had dropped the idea, subtle as a tire iron to the skull, into conversation a few weeks ago would have been more than enough for Jensen to know that his boyfriend was going to be enthusiastic about the prospect, even without this particular 'welcome home' tableau. Jared moans and clings to Jensen harder by way of an answer.
Jensen crawls up onto the bed between the ready spread of Jared’s legs, pressing them close but not quite together, sharing heat more than space. It’s not nearly enough contact to satisfy Jared and he’s nothing like restrained about pointing it out; pulling and tugging and locking his legs around Jensen’s hips trying to force him to lay down. He really should know better than to think it will do anything but make Jensen hold off a little longer. Then again, maybe that’s the point - Jared knows his own buttons and he’s certainly not above teasing himself just because he knows seeing him all worked up makes Jensen crazy.
"I was going to surprise you with them, but since you're already worn out..." he trails off as a distraction, not bothering to hide a chuckle. It's nothing but a ploy and they both know it; after the regimen they've been on lately - Jensen categorically refuses to call it training, no matter what Jared says - Jared can go at least five or six times a day and they both know it. He doubts whatever his boyfriend got up to on his own even took the edge off.
Jared whines, nips kittenishly at Jensen's earlobe, hips pumping up against Jensen's to prove how very not worn out he is. Jensen's fingers are already busy buckling the collar.
He can't resist taking a moment to slide a fingertip between the leather and Jared's skin and feel the quick, hard flutter of his pulse. It's enough of a breather, just barely, to remember his carefully constructed plans and draw a groan out of Jared as his clothed erection jerks hard in his boyfriend's grip.
Honestly, he's not entirely sure how many of Jared's toys have taken up residence in the bottom drawer of his nightstand, but it's enough that the space is crowded when he fumbles a hand over the edge of the bed and searches blindly through it for what he wants. With relative ease, he finds the little plastic case that had left him gaping the first time Jared had showed it to him, molten buzz shooting through him just from cradling it in his palm. They don't use this particular accessory often, but it happens to be a favorite of Jensen's and - either coincidently or consequently - Jared's.
He sets the small case down on the pillow next to Jared's head, a tap of his fingernail on hard plastic getting Jared's eyes fixed on it, going dark and hooded almost instantly. His tongue flies across his lips for a split-second - reflex, not a provocation - and it’s just enough of a prelude to what’s coming up that Jensen can’t stop himself from diving back in and taking a lingering drag off of the slick, pink muscle.
"Clean yourself up and put that in,” he commands, sandpaper rough, “Then come find me in the living room. Bring those."
He tosses a casual wave at the abused cardboard box and heaves himself up off of the bed fast, leaving Jared blinking in the wake of his sudden departure. He needs a little space to get his head together before he just says fuck it and ravages Jared like his balls are currently demanding. Not that that wouldn't be fun, but there's always later.
Maybe Jensen's been looking forward to this a little bit.
It's taken a while for him to accept exactly how much he gets off on what he and Jared do together. Sure, he's always been a little bit of a control freak, he can admit that, but being somebody's Dom had never even been on his radar screen before this, not even in all the time that he and Jared lived together platonically with Jay walking around like a living billboard for BDSM. And even now, after months of doing this, the tight, hot anticipation pushing at the inside of his ribs as he waits to kick things off still jangles eerily at his sensibilities.
Jared's helped, in ways Jensen doubts his boyfriend's even noticed. For every moment Jensen's right on the brink of petrified of the intensity of this, worried about getting too wrapped up in it, of how much he wants to push and own and, yeah, sometimes hurt, Jared's right there, splayed out, pinned-butterfly pretty, proving to him with nothing but who he is that there's no part of Jensen that would ever give this man anything he can't handle; not just a stopgap of his own honed control but a literal incapacity. He'd never harm Jared; not in any way they didn't both want. It's like ruling the world and being cradled and safe all at the same time. He's long over the illusion that he could have felt this with anyone else.
Jensen settles himself down in the over-sized armchair in the living room - upholstered, like every other seating option Jared chose for the room, in dark leather - and smirks to himself as his fingers run over the cool hide. They've never openly addressed that particular predilection of Jared's but he has a feeling that his choice of accoutrement for this eveing's experiment is going to be hitting more than one of Jared's numerous kinks.
He doesn't have to wait long for Jared to appear, taut stomach flushed pink from scrubbing, metal-heavy erection fighting valiantly against gravity to rise up and meet his torso. The bead at the tip is bigger than usual, but that's the only real indication from this angle that it's not Jared's usual stud decorating the crown. Even without seeing it all, just knowing the Prince's Wand is in there, hollow little tube holding Jared open in the most intimate way possible, that bit of steel at the end holding his release inside until Jensen chooses to allow it... There's no choice in the matter at all when Jensen reaches down and palms his aching cock through his slacks; it's just too hot not to.
Jared already looks dazed, hazy-sharp in that way that Jensen's felt the edges of when he lets Jared control him, but has never fully gotten a handle on. He knows what it means, though - how deep in Jared is already on nothing but anticipation and sin-laced promises. His arms are held out to balance, almost reverently, a pair of shiny, black military dress boots, one hand braced under the soles like they need a pedestal.
It doesn't take more than a flick of Jensen's glance toward the plush carpet at his feet to get Jared on his knees, legs spread wide, tribute and presentation all in one. Jared's never been the kind of sub to lock his gaze on the ground and duck his head and Jensen's never asked him to. He likes weight of laser-focused hazel on him, the way everything Jared's thinking and feeling telegraphs through them. Like now, when the only thing mixed in with the sheer, undisguised want there is absolute devotion. People can pump whatever kind of chemicals they want into their bodies to try and feel good, nothing could ever possibly be as heady as this high.
Jared sets the boots carefully on the ground in front of him as Jensen easily toes off his own uncomfortable shoes, nudging them under the chair so they're out of the way. The already heavy rise and fall of Jared's flush-stained chest speeds up when Jensen holds out one socked foot, pointed delicately to make it easier for Jared to slide the appropriate boot onto it, painstakingly slow. The other gets the same treatment, careful, awe-struck attention as though getting Jensen into this footwear is the single most important thing Jared's ever done.
The stiffness of new leather is snug against him, getting moreso when Jared's faintly trembling fingers reach hesitantly for the laces and Jensen - after a moment of feigned-consideration that he lets drag out until Jared's toes curl with tension - gives his nod of approval. Jared tightens each 'X' of the laces individually, raising the leg of merino wool pants to get at the top few grommets just above ankle-high, cinching the boot in increments until it's molded seamlessly to Jensen. He carefully ties the knot - perfectly even and centered on the tongue - before running his fingers down over the length in a shaky, longing caress. Then he sets about repeating the process just as carefully on the other side.
It's time consuming and yet thrilling all at once, to watch the effect of it on Jared, pin-prickly surges of heat sparking under Jensen's skin at how much it clearly matters to Jared that he get this perfect. Sometime in the near future they're going to have to sit down and have a long discussion about why this has never come up before when Jared has such an obviously strong response to it. But for now, Jensen is content to lean back into the plush comfort of his chair and let a blistering sear of lust squirm through his belly as Jared works at the task before him with single-minded intent.
"You like them," he says as Jared finishes, not even in the same neighborhood as a question. The talking thing still makes Jensen more than a little uncomfortable, the obscenities always feeling more like lines out of a cheesy porno than something worthy of being in the pure-sex presence of Jay when he’s like this, but Jared shudders in response, maybe from the way Jensen's voice has dropped an octave in arousal, maybe from something else entirely.
He slides one foot forward, pristine lug soles dragging on dense carpet as he pushes it between Jared's legs. The heat from where Jared's sac - drawn up and tight enough to bounce a quarter off of already - rests on the toe seeps mutedly through the material and he doesn't miss the subtle shift of Jared's hips as he instinctually starts to rub against smooth leather but catches himself.
"Good boy," Jensen praises warmly, lifting a hand for Jared to lean forward and nuzzle against. He continues as he scritches gently through Jared's hair, combing it back to get a good look at the blissed-out look on his boyfriend’s face.
"They're very special, you know. Valuable. Like all the things I own." He leans into the last bit, fingertips finding the edges of Jared's collar, pulling just enough to draw attention there. Jared bares his throat for it and bites his lip on a pretty little whimper that Jensen could listen to on repeat until the day he dies. His sub presses in fractionally closer to his leg and Jensen's cock spits a thick blurt of precome at the feel of the smaller stud under the head of Jared's cock catching briefly on his bootlaces. Jared's panting against his wrist, licking over thin, vein-webbed skin and sucking dirty kisses like it'll kill him if he doesn't let all the desperation zipping through his system overflow somewhere.
"I thought you might want to welcome them to the family, seeing as they're mine now too."
Jared flat out moans, a miserable sound like Jensen's putting him through the best pain he ever felt. Then his eyes flutter open, so blown Jensen's actually startled for a second before the world shimmers red-hot when Jared chokes out, "Please."
Unintentionally, Jensen's fingers dig into the arm of the chair, the mess of Jared's hair, so hard they ache and Jared's hiss of pain turns into a mewl halfway through as he grinds himself helplessly against the stepladder of shoelaces up the front of Jensen's leg.
"I want to see my reflection in them when you're done." His voice is an airless croak around the warning, but he manages to find enough control to make himself release his grip on Jared's hair. If he makes it through one boot before he blows he'll count it as an award-worthy feat of self-possession.
He's huffing like a steam engine, trying to suck in enough air to see straight because there’s no way in hell he’s going to miss the view as Jared drops to his elbows, ass in the air, and huffs a fug of breath over the shiny toe of the shoe he was just practically having sex with.
Fuck it, Jensen has to get his cock out; he's not coming in his damn pants. Again. This week.
No one should possibly be able to affect him the way Jared does without even trying; make his heart drum and his nerves sizzle and his skin feel like it shrank in the wash. It’s moments like this that all the rational, logical doubts in his head about this thing between them shut the hell up and Jensen just knows - this is for keeps.
A velvet-soft shudder creeps it’s way up his spine, more in common with a whisper than the moan that eels out between Jared’s lips and shiny leather as he leans down, flash of pink as he tongues a kiss to the toe of Jensen’s boot. He goes slow, almost achingly so, the way he almost never does unless Jensen forces the issue, and that, in and of itself, is thrilling - how badly Jared wants this, just this. Yeah, later, they are totally having a discussion. Just as soon as Jensen's language-center comes back online.
Jensen’s cock had long since given up the pretense of doing anything besides jutting up out of the open V of his slacks and drooling a thin smear of precome over the stomach of his $200 Thomas Pink button-up. Being involved with Jared has altered a number of Jensen priorities, his relationship with their dry cleaners not the least of which.
Jared paints the flat of the boot slick with broad swipes of his tongue, slow heat bleeding in as he lavishes each curve and seam, the shallow rise of his ankle, the bump of stitches. His lips and the skin around them get progressively redder, darkening with blood as they rub and press, mouthing along rough and smooth. It makes Jensen’s hard-on twitch, sense memory attached to that visual, how heavenly it is to be inside all of that slick heat. The motion must catch Jared’s eye because he glances up suddenly, gaze hanging on the pearl of fluid shining at Jensen’s slit, skipping straight up to Jensen’s eyes midway through a long, slow lap up to the first set of grommets the hold the laces in place.
His hips are swiveling gently as he works, humping against empty air like it’s all he wants out of life. He kisses his way up the row, up underneath the cuff of Jensen’s pants until his breath is huffing a brief tease over Jensen’s shin before moving back down the other side, gaze never once leaving Jensen’s. Each press of his lips, slow stroke of tongue down between the laces to get every last inch wet, is like a touch to Jensen’s skin, a dare plucking at wire-tight control.
“Stop,” he barks, voice entirely too rough considering he hasn’t used it for a damn thing. Jared whimpers as he pulls back, something like a plea in his eyes but he doesn’t voice it further than that, sitting back on his heels.
The spit over the toe has already dried by the time Jensen lifts it, sets the rough-textured sole gently against the underside of Jared’s stuffed-full dick, pushing it flat against his body.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it. What you needed,” Jensen presses incrementally harder against Jared’s cock like a gas pedal and instead of a rev, he gets a strangled growl that sounds like assent. “Always so desperate to be of use. To be used. You’d come right now if I let you. Just rut up against my shoe like a dog until you can’t take it anymore, nothing but that plug at the end of your dick keeping you from making a mess. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
Jared’s losing his grip fast, breaking down enough that he doesn't look for permission before presses his hips instantly into hard rubber. Jensen decides to let it go because Jesus Fucking Christ. With each bit of added pressure, Jared's eyelids go heavy, rising and falling like the ocean steady roll of his hips. His swollen lips are parted around quiet puffs of air and breathy noises and it’s a cocktail of temptation that Jensen just can’t withstand.
“Get up here.”
Jared follows through without hesitation, stumbling-eager to straddle Jensen’s lap the second he’s backed his foot away. His boyfriend gets in close enough that Jensen can feel the warmth pouring off of him like a furnace but they’re only touching along the outside of Jensen’s thighs, where his ass rests at the bend of Jensen’s hips, the soft, electric brush of their lengths. Waiting, just like he's supposed to.
Jensen’s hands are on him just as hungrily as Jared's mouth had moved over his goddamn shoe - that's going to fueling his fantasy life for a long while - one on Jared’s cock, the other sliding around the curve of his ass. Reasonably, Jensen knows that he can’t actually feel the bulge of steel inside the shaft as he gives it a slow stroke, but that doesn’t keep him from imagining it. Jared’s breath stutters with it like he’s taken a blow to the chest. His fingers dip easily into the cleft, no more intention than to tease at the furl of Jared’s hole only to be shocked still when he finds it slick.
Above him, Jared’s eyes fly open, air clogging in his lungs on a hiccup of surprise. Knowing exactly what Jensen’s going to ask before he does.
“Before or after?” He doesn’t need to clarify to know Jared understands the implicit question. Jensen would never put any moratorium on Jared touching himself in their real lives - it would imply too much, make this thing between them more than something exciting that they do together and make it their lives. He loves that Jared’s loud and brash, that he pushes Jensen and picks at him and doesn’t let up; that they can be equal partners as well as this self-enforced dichotomy. So if Jared's still slick and - as Jensen learns when he pushes a little and feels his fingertips press easily inside - open from what he was doing before Jensen got home, that’s one thing, but is he was touching himself without Jensen’s permission once the collar was on…
A flush rises high on Jared’s cheeks, and he bites his lip, guilt all but written on his face in bold print.
"Both?" he answers like it's a question of it's own. "I just wanted to ready f-"
The rest of the excuse shreds like wet tissue paper as Jensen works his hands in tandem, fingers of one pushing forward into the silken heat of Jared's body, hitting that little bundle of nerves that he could find in his sleep by now as the other pulls slow and easy up the length of Jared's cock.
"Oh God. Oh pleasepleaseplease." If Jensen's still uncomfortable spouting off like a 900-number operator, then begging is Jared's own special brand of Kryptonite, always making his eyes squench shut and his face turn red. There are very limited number of things Jensen loves more than getting Jared that far gone.
"I don't know, Jay," he muses, keeping up a relentless tempo of strokes to Jared's length and massages to his prostate, "Not sure you deserve it, touching my things without permission."
The sound Jared makes in reply is nothing so much as the bastard child of a mewl and a whimper. He's repeating Jensen's name over and over breathlessly, a perverse rosary of urgent prayer.
Low and long, Jensen shushes him, turning the whole thing on it's head by dragging his thumbnail around the spread of the steel-stuffed slit. Jared's body spasms uncontrollably like Jensen's playing a raw nerve as a puppet-string.
He's knealt up as high as he can get without crawling right out of Jensen's lap, as though he's trying to get away when the greedy rock of his hips isn't doing a damn thing but work Jensen's fingers as deep as they can go. The swollen-fat crown is right there, close enough to Jensen's face to lean in and tickle at with his tongue, tasting metal and silicone from the special lube and the mild salt of clean skin. Jared's clawing at the chair like he's losing his mind making noises that sound like proof of it.
Jensen looks up at Jared through his lashes, smirks to see the edge of teeth as they dig into his abused lower lip so hard it mottles white. "Hands behind your back, and keep them there."
A whine dies bloody halfway out of Jared’s throat, but with visible effort, he does as he’s told, crossed wrists brushing against Jensen’s arm as he continues needlessly stretching the well-prepped muscle. He takes his time unscrewing the stopper at the tip of the Wand, flirting at the sensitive skin all around it with his fingertips, watching Jared clench and struggle to keep hold of himself.
Jay is so beautiful like this, wild and overwhelmed, yet still totally trusting and reliant on Jensen to take care of him, to give him what they both want. It makes him want to get stupid and poetic, to say crazy things he means with his whole heart, words like ‘forever’. Instead he presses his face in close to Jared’s, enough so that he can feel the incredible, thick heat plumping Jared’s lips and yet still refusing to allow that last fraction of an inch to make it a kiss; as much mouth-watering torture for himself as it is for Jared.
The bead comes free in Jensen’s hand, a warm rush of thin, built up precome sloshing out of the tube after it, coating Jensen’s fingers. If he doesn’t do something soon, the prep is going to be a moot point. It’d be a damn shame to go through all of this to lose it all over Jared’s thighs just from looking at him.
He takes his boyfriend's shaft in a firmer grip than he’s given up yet, just tight enough around the metal inside to flit over to the wrong side of pain - exactly the way he knows Jared likes it. A sharp, bitten off breath punches through the silence around them, every muscle and sinew in Jared’s body a wire waiting to snap.
Jensen sweeps his thumb over the tip one last time, fingerprint dragging on overheated flesh and metal before he speaks the word Jared's been waiting for all this time.
“Come.”
Jared wails like Jensen’s murdering him when he’s not even bothering to move his hand, just holding Jared’s dick in place so the steady rush of sticky, white fluid pouring from his spread slit dribbles all over Jensen’s own cock. People all over the world might as well just give up on having sex right now because Jared coming on command - on nothing but command - is officially the pinnacle of hotness that humanity can ever hope to achieve; anything else would just be a pale imitation.
There’s still a slow leak of come drooling out of the Wand when Jensen’s tentative grasp on self-control breaks, the wet of it soaking through his shirt as he lets go and cursorily spreads the liquid over his cock - so good, too good - and pulls Jared down onto him, sheathing himself to the hilt without preamble. Jared lets out a soft sound that’s neither pleasure nor pain, inner muscles fluttering around the sudden intrusion.
Jensen, as usual, had the best of intentions about this whole thing, planned out in his head how he would milk this for all it was worth; a whole evening of tempting Jared with nothing but shiny leather and slim steel. Like always, those ideas go flying out the window the second he’s actually got Jared in front of him, on him, around him; too wrapped up in the having and being had and the fucking need to even consider making it anything but fast and brutal and ambrosia-sweet.
Jared’s got one hand clamped around his opposite wrist when Jensen’s touch finds them, holding on like his very existence depends on keeping them just like Jensen told him to. At least until Jensen grasps them in his own hands; then Jared goes ragdoll limp, moaning into the curve of Jensen’s neck as he lets himself be used.
It’s hot and wet and perfect, Jared bearing down hard against him, making it so tight every thrust makes Jensen’s eyes want to roll back. The length of Jared’s cock digs slightly against his side, still hard from the metal splitting him open, still wet from either a fresh batch of precome or another too-soon orgasm smearing from the tip all over Jensen’s shirt for the brief hits of air sneaking between them to lick cold. His balls pull in almost painfully, ready, right fucking there, and Jensen just has time to turn his head and capture the feverish, bruised press of Jared’s mouth before he lets go, vision shimmering at the edges, the taste of leather strong on his tongue.
Jared’s still at it when Jensen comes out of the fog enough to feel anything besides bliss; soft, sucking kisses to his slack lips and gentle licks all around the inside of his mouth. Jensen returns them a lot more sloppily than he’d care to admit, still much too far gone to do more than revel in the sensations. He’s going soft, but Jared’s still tight around him, pressed in as close as he can get to keep Jensen inside as long as he can. The space between them is humid and sweaty, thick with the smell of sex. He eases his grip on Jared’s hands slowly, gentling him out the overload of being trapped into the security of being held.
They haven’t been together all that long in the grand scheme of things, half a year like this, plus almost a whole one before that as friends, but it’s been more than long enough for him to know what Jared likes, and more importantly, what Jared needs. He can read Jared in ways he never imagined he was capable of - and that in a lifetime of being pretty damn good at reading people. He knows that he needs to run his fingernails softly over Jared’s spine to keep him in that middle-space until the endorphins have time to mellow, knows that now is the time to cautiously remove the Prince’s Wand so that it earns a shudder and not a pained groan, knows that it will be at least fifteen minutes before Jared’s ready to move enough for Jensen to drag him into a bath and keep lavishing him with attention, check and make doubly sure nothing tore or chafed.
Moreover, he knows he likes knowing; likes having this responsibility and opportunity that no one else gets to have - ever will get to have if Jensen has anything to say about it. It’s not the sort of thing he ever expected to learn about himself, and looking back, he’s not at all sure how he ever managed without it.
“I love you,” Jared slurs, lazy and drugged as he tries to press himself into the non-existent sliver of space between them.
Jared smiles against a soft cheek, traces dark ink over the curve of Jared’s shoulder with his finger. “I love you too, Jay. So much.”
The reaction is immediate, high pitched keen to match the hummingbird-wing quiver that works all the way down Jared’s body. It’s far from the first time Jensen’s ever said it, but Jared never seems to adjust, never gets over it like he honestly can’t believe that Jensen could love him when Jensen honestly can’t believe he could ever feel any other way. He’ll be more than happy to spend the rest of his life proving that to Jared, but he thinks he’ll wait a little longer to let Jared in on that particular secret. After all, Jared’s awfully good at ruining his surprises - it’s about time Jensen finally gets to play one of the aces up his sleeve the way he wants to.
The pressureless mouthing Jared’s been using against Jensen’s neck starts to turn into a steady suckle, darkening up a new mark under his jaw despite their agreement about keeping it below the line of his collar. Jensen curves his palm around the back of Jared’s head and hold him where he is, goading him on.
Yeah, he thinks, mind flashing to the other delivery, the one he’d had sent to the service’s office, the one Genevieve’s holding on to him for safe keeping until the moment is right. The thought makes him smirk, chest flooding warm as he tips his head a bit to give his boyfriend more room to work. Just about time.
On to the next part - An Offer He Can't Refuse