Fic: RPS (Jared/Jensen): Fallen | NC-17 | 3600 words
Title: Fallen
Author: dragonspell
Fandom: RPS
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Religious overtones, Dub-con, public sex
Summary: Life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. A month ago, Jensen had met the Devil and welcomed him with open arms.
Word Count: 3600
A/N: Written for __tiana__'s salt_burn_porn prompt shh, no one's looking. This is plays off an earlier fic, A Devil's Grin
Life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.
When Jensen had been nine, he’d prayed to God every night for a new bike. He had one, sure, and he’d been told all of his life to be grateful for what was given to him, but the bike had been handed down from his older brother, and a cousin before him. It was old, with a chain that would catch and tangle when you were coasting along, stopping you dead in your tracks, and a seat that wiggled no matter how hard you tightened it. The paint had flaked off years ago and had been replaced with brown rust, though there were still some spots that you could see that it used to be blue. Jensen hadn’t wanted an expensive bike; he understood well enough why he only got two new outfits for school each year and why the mac and cheese that Mom made three times a week could never be the kind with the dinosaurs. There was one in the catalog, though, that was advertised for only $55, and Jensen thought that if he was really good, he might just get one for his birthday.
He got a BB gun that year, a hand-me-down from his brother. Jensen had been grateful just the same. He stopped praying for birthday gifts after that.
After he turned eleven, he’d woken up in the middle of the night to wet sheets and a thrum echoing through his limbs that scared him and made him feel ashamed for reasons he didn’t quite understand. He’d hidden the sheets in his brother’s hamper-they were his anyway-and sent up a quick prayer to God for it not to happen again. He didn’t know what had happened or why but if he could push it away and forget about it, he could be happy.
Four days later, he woke up again. He’d understand when he was twelve and his brother took him aside-but, when he was thirteen, he began to suspect that maybe his brother had left some things out. Josh had never mentioned that Jensen might dream of boys, too. Though, maybe Josh hadn’t known about that. Jensen never told him and made sure to bury it deep. That sort of thing wasn’t normal, but maybe if he ignored it, it would go away.
In the eighth grade, Jensen had finally kissed a girl. It had felt nothing like what it was supposed to. There’d been no fireworks, no passionate grabbing, and the girl hadn’t fallen into his arms like they always did in the movies. Jensen had chalked it up to her being the wrong girl and added a new verse to his nightly prayer for God to send him the right one.
He dropped the verse when he was fifteen and didn’t think of it again. There were other things to focus on.
He went to the police academy straight out of high school and graduated the best in his class. His father had been proud, his mom had cried, and his brother, already a cop, had shaken his hand. It was everything Jensen had ever wanted.
That was how life was supposed to go. The plan was that if you lived your life as a good Christian, were kind to your neighbors, accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior, and treated the world with respect, then you were saved. When your time on Earth was done, you would go to Heaven a good and righteous man and people would say nice things at your funeral. There were incidentals along the way, but those were just minor details. Jensen didn’t like to worry about them.
Details like when he’d stood beside his best friend on a hot, sunny day in June and watched Stacey, dressed all in white, walk slowly down the down the aisle. Greg had thrown Jensen a nervous smile before looking at Stacey like she was the only person in the world that mattered and Jensen’s heart had given an odd, painful squeeze. Jensen had thought for a moment that he was going to have a heart attack right there during Greg’s wedding and what kind of best man would he be if the bride and groom had to cut the festivities short to call an ambulance? But things had straightened themselves out, and Jensen had spent the rest of the ceremony standing beside Greg with his hands folded in front of him and a pleasant smile on his face, trying to think about why he felt like the world was a little more gray than it should be.
Details like whenever Mom invited Mary Lou over for dinner and sat her down right next to Jensen with a big, beaming smile on her face. Jensen always greeted Mary Lou nicely and talked about work and Mary Lou’s dogs while he pushed his peas around on his plate. He’d already figured out that Mary Lou wasn’t the right girl for him when he’d kissed her behind the middle school gymnasium. If, however, he still didn’t know who the right girl for him was all these years later, then that was a detail that Jensen wasn’t going to worry about, either.
He had his job, after all, and, like all Ackles men, he was already married to it. He’d been born and bred to be a cop and that was something that he never questioned.
Jensen still prayed to God every night-short, little prayers out of habit and because it never hurt-and went to church every Sunday. He knew every hymn by heart and even sang when he was supposed to, unlike some who just mouthed the words or mumbled through the lines. He’d read the Bible three times over, pulled out quotes and recited them faithfully. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
That was how his life was supposed to be. So why did it mean so little to him now?
He used to be so full of faith in himself, so confident, so sure of where he stood. Now, he only knew that Christian or not, good man or not, he was going to Hell. The Devil had marked Jensen and Jensen didn’t even know when he’d said yes. Whenever it had been, it was long before the Devil had shown his face (beautiful, with a smile to make your heart stop), because there’d been something inside Jensen already, longing to welcome him back.
Jensen dug his toe into the grass beside the fence of the baseball diamond. That was the kicker, wasn’t it? Jensen had wanted it, had wanted him. Jensen had lived his entire life as a good man, kept to the straight and narrow to ward away evil, only to find out that, no matter how much he’d prayed when he was little, the evil had been in him all along, a dark, twisting, pulsing thrum of desire that he couldn’t escape. Jensen stared out across the field. A ball arched up towards third base, the thwack of the wooden bat still echoing in the air, while a boy raced towards first. One of his teammates slid across home.
Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you. The Devil hadn’t run. He’d smiled and pulled Jensen closer, recognizing one of his own. A flush worked its way up Jensen’s neck, not all shame and not all anger either. It was a feeling that he was familiar with.
A month ago, Jensen had met the Devil, and a month ago, Jensen had welcomed him in. So much for pretending.
Pretending is what Jensen had been doing his entire life. He realized that now. He’d been putting on an elaborate charade, one so intricate that he’d even fooled himself into believing it. It had taken less than fifteen minutes for him to throw aside everything he’d ever known and burn it all. Now, he was standing in the ashes of what used to be his life wondering where he went from here. He’d tried building it back up, pretending it was just the way it used to be, but he knew how hollow it was. He knew how empty he was.
How hungry.
“Hey, Jensen!” Jensen turned his head, catching Greg’s smile and the beer raised in a good-natured salute, despite the harsh light of the sun behind him. Half of Greg’s face was in shadow, back-lit as he was, and for a moment, an angel took Greg’s place. Jensen’s eyes burned and he closed them, trying to save his sight. Greg stepped under the shadow of the tall tree beside the fence and turned back into a man. “Good to see you made it out.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Jensen replied, the social niceties engrained in him forming the response before he could even think about it. The smile that should have accompanied the phrase was a bit delayed, but Greg didn’t seem to notice.
Greg nodded, his blue eyes focusing on the boy who was stepping up the plate with the bat resting on his shoulder. “The team’s been doing really good this year.” His hair curled under his ears like little tufts of gold. Stacey liked it when Greg’s hair had that small bit of curl, so he kept it that way. “The rumor is that Peter is going to be voted MVP.” Greg tipped his beer toward the boy on second, hunkered down and ready to make a run for it. Jensen kept his eyes on the game, glad for the excuse, because otherwise, he might start staring at Greg and wondering where his wings had gone.
And Jensen’s eyes might burn out of their sockets if he looked too long.
“Well, hey, Stace and I are just behind home if you want to come over and join us,” Greg said, clapping a hand on Jensen’s shoulder. It was warm but disappointingly normal. “We can talk about Saturday. It’s going to be great, man. You know, with the new grill and all. You gotta bring over some of that spicy barbeque sauce your mom makes. I can’t get enough of it.”
Jensen smiled again. “Nah, I’ve only got a little bit before I’ve got to get back to the station. I’ll see you Saturday, though.”
Greg nodded again. “See you Saturday.”
Jensen didn’t watch Greg go, just listened to the sound of his shoes on the crisp grass before he reached the crunch of the gravel and knew that he was gone. The crack of the baseball hitting the solid wood of the bat reverberated across the field again, followed swiftly by a cheer when Peter slid across home. Jensen sighed.
“You look like a rain cloud on a sunny day,” a voice purred in his ear and a shiver raced down Jensen’s spine. He knew that voice. It echoed in his dreams. “Cheer up, Officer Ackles.”
Jensen jerked around, feeling a metaphorical knife stabbing into his back as fear flooded through him, but he was shoved back, his body bouncing off the chain-link fence before being pinned there. He threaded his fingers through the links, using them to hold himself up and tensed. “Easy, Jensen.”
Jensen took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes. He was trapped, the bar of the fence in front of him, the hard body of a man behind him, but all he had to do was make some noise. This wasn’t like before; he wasn’t alone in the station. There were six cops less than 100 yards away and they would be running to the rescue within minutes if Jensen called for help. One word was all that it would take to resist. Jensen swallowed.
Stubble rasped over his ear and the man behind him chuckled softly. In his head, Jensen could see the smile that he remembered, wide and beautiful and dangerous. “You’re not even going to say ‘hi’?” A large hand encircled Jensen’s wrist, pushing up the cuff of his shirt. “A ‘hey, Jared, long time, no fuck’?”
The fence rattled as Jensen surged against it, spurred into motion, but he was wrestled back into place again, this time with one of Jared’s hands pressing against his stomach above his belt. “Eyes forward,” Jared told him and Jensen froze, his heart thumping loud enough to drown out all other sound besides Jared’s voice. His body thrilled at the touch of Jared’s hand, lust pooling in his gut, heady enough to physically ache. A player in the outfield caught a ball and came running in with the rest of his team. Another inning down.
He should move. He should fight. He should turn around and punch the man behind him. It wouldn’t be hard. Jared’s grip had already relaxed and Jensen knew that he could match Jared if he wanted to. That was the problem.
He could spin around, he could take a swing, he could probably even land it and the one after and the one after that. Jared would hit him back and they’d have a real fight. They were evenly matched. Jared had the reach but Jensen thought he could compensate for that. Jensen had training but what little he knew of Jared told him that Jared probably had a few tricks of his own up his sleeve. The man that Jared was, he had to know how to fight dirty. Jensen could see it all in his head. He could see the blows, the kicks, the grabs, and the tackles; could see Greg and the guys and the Little League boys all turning to see what was going on under the tall tree by left field; could see Jared being pulled away and his arms being yanked behind his back, the cuffs going on again; could see Jared behind the bars of the station again. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be quick and definite.
“I thought about you,” Jared said. “Thought about you the entire time I was locked up in that little cell. Thought about coming back here, back to you. I wondered how I’d find you, what you’d do. Wondered if you’d have fooled yourself back into thinking that you were that straight-laced Dudley Do-Right Officer Ackles that you like to pretend you are.” Jensen jammed his elbow back, making Jared grunt when he connected. Jared chuckled again, breathier this time, but still amused. “But I see you’re still just Jensen.”
“Shut up,” Jensen growled. Anger flashed through him, but he could keep a hold of it; it was too quickly washed away under the flood of everything else. Jared was so solid behind him. Something in Jensen craved this, wanted this, and Jensen didn’t think he was strong enough to say no. He was too hungry; he’d been starving for weeks, desperate for something he hadn’t even known that he’d wanted before he’d met Jared.
Jared was the only one that made the emptiness go away.
Jared rubbed his cheek against Jensen’s hair. “Don’t be mad. I like it. I like you like this. I like just Jensen.” His fingers dipped behind Jensen’s belt, filling the little bit of slack. Jensen sucked in his stomach, pulling away from the touch, giving Jared more room to slip in deeper.
“Nearly half the police department is watching this game,” Jensen said.
“Yeah?” Jared asked. His fingers slipped under the tails of Jensen’s tucked-in shirt, finger tips touching skin. “Are they enjoying it?”
Jensen bit his lip. His palms were sweaty against the slick metal of the chain links. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t give in. No matter how much he wanted it-or needed it-he was better than this. He went to church every Sunday. Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.
“They’ll see you.” That voice couldn’t be his. It was too weak, too needy, and nothing at all what he should sound like or saying what he should.
“Shh,” Jared whispered, his fingertips rubbing circles against Jensen’s skin. “No one’s looking.”
Jensen knew it was true. Everyone was so focused on their own lives, so blinded by their own wholesome goodness, that they didn’t notice the perversion that walked beside them, the evil that stood in daylight. They’d never noticed Jensen; they wouldn’t notice Jared. No one was looking.
“Stay,” Jared said and Jensen did. God help him but he did. He gripped the fence with both hands, stared out at the sunlit baseball game and the happy, smiling faces, and didn’t move away. The buckle of his belt clinked against the chain link as Jared let it hang free, and the zipper of his pants seemed to echo in Jensen’s ears, but he stayed.
Jared’s hand flattened against Jensen’s stomach before sliding down and pushing into his underwear. Jensen’s mouth dropped open, sucking in air in hard, quick gasps. “Be quiet or they’ll know,” Jared warned him, then grabbed his dick with a solid, firm grip. Jensen shuddered.
His head dropped forward and his teeth sank into his lip hard enough to hurt but he didn’t make a sound. If he made a sound, then this would all be over and Jensen didn’t want it to be over. Behind him, Jared rolled his hips, grinding against Jensen’s ass, and sighed. “This is good,” he whispered. “You feel so good. No idea, Jensen…”
Oh, Jensen had an idea. He knew how good it felt to have Jared behind him again, to have Jared touching him, leading him down the road of temptation. Sin always had its pleasures and Jared knew how to beckon so sweetly. The Devil always knew. Jensen didn’t want to push him away.
Jared had shown Jensen the truth of himself that night in the jail and now, for the first time since Jensen had walked away from Jared and left him in that cell, Jensen was no longer empty. He couldn’t ignore it. He was full to bursting with lust and need and want, and there was no room for things like shame or doubt. This was what he had needed, what made him whole. How had he lived without this feeling? How could he ever live without it after? He accepted himself, even as he hated himself for doing so. “That’s it,” Jared said. “You’re doing so well. You’re great.”
Jensen was hard in Jared’s hand, his hips giving little rolling jerks in time with Jared’s strokes, and his body felt as if it were on fire. This, Jensen, thought, was what it must feel like to burn in the fires of Hell. He was damned and he couldn’t even bring himself to care. He was being consumed whole, devoured by the flames, and he wouldn’t resist. He would stay.
Jensen’s thighs trembled. His body felt strung tight, like a wire about to snap, and Jared was in his ear, whispering dirty things that made his blood sing. Jensen opened his eyes but he was blind; all he saw was white bursts of light. He was dying.
He was finally living.
“Fuck, yeah, that’s it, just like that, you’re so fucking hot…” Jared stroked him hard and fast until Jensen felt his entire body shudder and then he was pulsing into Jared’s hand, giving Jared everything he had. Jared growled and bit Jensen’s ear, possessive and dominant. Jensen’s knees buckled but Jared caught him, holding him up against the fence.
Jensen panted, the lust and the need ebbing from his mind. He feebly tried to grab it but it slipped away, leaving a bone-deep satisfaction in its wake. It felt comfortable, warm, but even it too started to dwindle as reality seeped back in.
He was still at a Little League game. Greg and Stacey and the guys were just a little ways away, and Jensen had let a criminal jerk him off. He had welcomed the Devil back with open arms. Shame mingled with anger. He could still make this right. He could-
Jared’s hand slapped over Jensen’s mouth. It felt wet. Slick. “Drink,” Jared said. A shudder of revulsion wracked Jensen’s body as he realized what he’d been ordered to do. He struggled, fought back, because he wouldn’t do that. He refused to sink so low. Jared rolled with each motion, holding him in place, and if they kept this up, somebody would notice.
Jensen licked.
The taste of his own come was strange and musky and the shame of it made his face burn. He licked again.
And again. He licked until his tongue encountered nothing but the taste of Jared’s skin and then kept at it. Humiliation pricked at his insides, tickled across his body. He knew it was wrong. He knew it was dirty. He knew he didn’t want to stop. The shame only spurred him on. His own hands grabbed onto Jared’s to hold it in place. He was corrupt to his very core, damned and depraved, but he couldn’t make himself stop. It made the emptiness go away.
He liked it.
He whimpered when Jared pulled away. Jared laughed at him. “Maybe we’ll do this again sometime,” Jared taunted and Jensen closed his eyes. He was a disgrace. He would burn in Hell.
Jensen reached back and caught Jared’s hand again, though he didn’t dare look. The Devil had once been an angel too, after all. “And maybe,” he said, his voice a hoarse rasp as he forced the words out, “you’ll be waiting for me after my shift.”
There was a pause as what he’d said sunk in, and then Jared’s fingers twined with his. “Maybe I will.” His hand slipped away and Jensen listened to his footsteps on the crisp grass and the hard gravel. He didn’t look back. There was no need.
Jared would be waiting for him.
This wasn’t how his life was supposed to turn out. He knew now, though, that he’d never had a choice. The Devil always came to claim his own.
Author: dragonspell
Fandom: RPS
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Religious overtones, Dub-con, public sex
Summary: Life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. A month ago, Jensen had met the Devil and welcomed him with open arms.
Word Count: 3600
A/N: Written for __tiana__'s salt_burn_porn prompt shh, no one's looking. This is plays off an earlier fic, A Devil's Grin
Life wasn’t supposed to turn out this way.
When Jensen had been nine, he’d prayed to God every night for a new bike. He had one, sure, and he’d been told all of his life to be grateful for what was given to him, but the bike had been handed down from his older brother, and a cousin before him. It was old, with a chain that would catch and tangle when you were coasting along, stopping you dead in your tracks, and a seat that wiggled no matter how hard you tightened it. The paint had flaked off years ago and had been replaced with brown rust, though there were still some spots that you could see that it used to be blue. Jensen hadn’t wanted an expensive bike; he understood well enough why he only got two new outfits for school each year and why the mac and cheese that Mom made three times a week could never be the kind with the dinosaurs. There was one in the catalog, though, that was advertised for only $55, and Jensen thought that if he was really good, he might just get one for his birthday.
He got a BB gun that year, a hand-me-down from his brother. Jensen had been grateful just the same. He stopped praying for birthday gifts after that.
After he turned eleven, he’d woken up in the middle of the night to wet sheets and a thrum echoing through his limbs that scared him and made him feel ashamed for reasons he didn’t quite understand. He’d hidden the sheets in his brother’s hamper-they were his anyway-and sent up a quick prayer to God for it not to happen again. He didn’t know what had happened or why but if he could push it away and forget about it, he could be happy.
Four days later, he woke up again. He’d understand when he was twelve and his brother took him aside-but, when he was thirteen, he began to suspect that maybe his brother had left some things out. Josh had never mentioned that Jensen might dream of boys, too. Though, maybe Josh hadn’t known about that. Jensen never told him and made sure to bury it deep. That sort of thing wasn’t normal, but maybe if he ignored it, it would go away.
In the eighth grade, Jensen had finally kissed a girl. It had felt nothing like what it was supposed to. There’d been no fireworks, no passionate grabbing, and the girl hadn’t fallen into his arms like they always did in the movies. Jensen had chalked it up to her being the wrong girl and added a new verse to his nightly prayer for God to send him the right one.
He dropped the verse when he was fifteen and didn’t think of it again. There were other things to focus on.
He went to the police academy straight out of high school and graduated the best in his class. His father had been proud, his mom had cried, and his brother, already a cop, had shaken his hand. It was everything Jensen had ever wanted.
That was how life was supposed to go. The plan was that if you lived your life as a good Christian, were kind to your neighbors, accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior, and treated the world with respect, then you were saved. When your time on Earth was done, you would go to Heaven a good and righteous man and people would say nice things at your funeral. There were incidentals along the way, but those were just minor details. Jensen didn’t like to worry about them.
Details like when he’d stood beside his best friend on a hot, sunny day in June and watched Stacey, dressed all in white, walk slowly down the down the aisle. Greg had thrown Jensen a nervous smile before looking at Stacey like she was the only person in the world that mattered and Jensen’s heart had given an odd, painful squeeze. Jensen had thought for a moment that he was going to have a heart attack right there during Greg’s wedding and what kind of best man would he be if the bride and groom had to cut the festivities short to call an ambulance? But things had straightened themselves out, and Jensen had spent the rest of the ceremony standing beside Greg with his hands folded in front of him and a pleasant smile on his face, trying to think about why he felt like the world was a little more gray than it should be.
Details like whenever Mom invited Mary Lou over for dinner and sat her down right next to Jensen with a big, beaming smile on her face. Jensen always greeted Mary Lou nicely and talked about work and Mary Lou’s dogs while he pushed his peas around on his plate. He’d already figured out that Mary Lou wasn’t the right girl for him when he’d kissed her behind the middle school gymnasium. If, however, he still didn’t know who the right girl for him was all these years later, then that was a detail that Jensen wasn’t going to worry about, either.
He had his job, after all, and, like all Ackles men, he was already married to it. He’d been born and bred to be a cop and that was something that he never questioned.
Jensen still prayed to God every night-short, little prayers out of habit and because it never hurt-and went to church every Sunday. He knew every hymn by heart and even sang when he was supposed to, unlike some who just mouthed the words or mumbled through the lines. He’d read the Bible three times over, pulled out quotes and recited them faithfully. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
That was how his life was supposed to be. So why did it mean so little to him now?
He used to be so full of faith in himself, so confident, so sure of where he stood. Now, he only knew that Christian or not, good man or not, he was going to Hell. The Devil had marked Jensen and Jensen didn’t even know when he’d said yes. Whenever it had been, it was long before the Devil had shown his face (beautiful, with a smile to make your heart stop), because there’d been something inside Jensen already, longing to welcome him back.
Jensen dug his toe into the grass beside the fence of the baseball diamond. That was the kicker, wasn’t it? Jensen had wanted it, had wanted him. Jensen had lived his entire life as a good man, kept to the straight and narrow to ward away evil, only to find out that, no matter how much he’d prayed when he was little, the evil had been in him all along, a dark, twisting, pulsing thrum of desire that he couldn’t escape. Jensen stared out across the field. A ball arched up towards third base, the thwack of the wooden bat still echoing in the air, while a boy raced towards first. One of his teammates slid across home.
Submit yourselves therefore to God. Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you. The Devil hadn’t run. He’d smiled and pulled Jensen closer, recognizing one of his own. A flush worked its way up Jensen’s neck, not all shame and not all anger either. It was a feeling that he was familiar with.
A month ago, Jensen had met the Devil, and a month ago, Jensen had welcomed him in. So much for pretending.
Pretending is what Jensen had been doing his entire life. He realized that now. He’d been putting on an elaborate charade, one so intricate that he’d even fooled himself into believing it. It had taken less than fifteen minutes for him to throw aside everything he’d ever known and burn it all. Now, he was standing in the ashes of what used to be his life wondering where he went from here. He’d tried building it back up, pretending it was just the way it used to be, but he knew how hollow it was. He knew how empty he was.
How hungry.
“Hey, Jensen!” Jensen turned his head, catching Greg’s smile and the beer raised in a good-natured salute, despite the harsh light of the sun behind him. Half of Greg’s face was in shadow, back-lit as he was, and for a moment, an angel took Greg’s place. Jensen’s eyes burned and he closed them, trying to save his sight. Greg stepped under the shadow of the tall tree beside the fence and turned back into a man. “Good to see you made it out.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Jensen replied, the social niceties engrained in him forming the response before he could even think about it. The smile that should have accompanied the phrase was a bit delayed, but Greg didn’t seem to notice.
Greg nodded, his blue eyes focusing on the boy who was stepping up the plate with the bat resting on his shoulder. “The team’s been doing really good this year.” His hair curled under his ears like little tufts of gold. Stacey liked it when Greg’s hair had that small bit of curl, so he kept it that way. “The rumor is that Peter is going to be voted MVP.” Greg tipped his beer toward the boy on second, hunkered down and ready to make a run for it. Jensen kept his eyes on the game, glad for the excuse, because otherwise, he might start staring at Greg and wondering where his wings had gone.
And Jensen’s eyes might burn out of their sockets if he looked too long.
“Well, hey, Stace and I are just behind home if you want to come over and join us,” Greg said, clapping a hand on Jensen’s shoulder. It was warm but disappointingly normal. “We can talk about Saturday. It’s going to be great, man. You know, with the new grill and all. You gotta bring over some of that spicy barbeque sauce your mom makes. I can’t get enough of it.”
Jensen smiled again. “Nah, I’ve only got a little bit before I’ve got to get back to the station. I’ll see you Saturday, though.”
Greg nodded again. “See you Saturday.”
Jensen didn’t watch Greg go, just listened to the sound of his shoes on the crisp grass before he reached the crunch of the gravel and knew that he was gone. The crack of the baseball hitting the solid wood of the bat reverberated across the field again, followed swiftly by a cheer when Peter slid across home. Jensen sighed.
“You look like a rain cloud on a sunny day,” a voice purred in his ear and a shiver raced down Jensen’s spine. He knew that voice. It echoed in his dreams. “Cheer up, Officer Ackles.”
Jensen jerked around, feeling a metaphorical knife stabbing into his back as fear flooded through him, but he was shoved back, his body bouncing off the chain-link fence before being pinned there. He threaded his fingers through the links, using them to hold himself up and tensed. “Easy, Jensen.”
Jensen took a deep, shuddering breath and closed his eyes. He was trapped, the bar of the fence in front of him, the hard body of a man behind him, but all he had to do was make some noise. This wasn’t like before; he wasn’t alone in the station. There were six cops less than 100 yards away and they would be running to the rescue within minutes if Jensen called for help. One word was all that it would take to resist. Jensen swallowed.
Stubble rasped over his ear and the man behind him chuckled softly. In his head, Jensen could see the smile that he remembered, wide and beautiful and dangerous. “You’re not even going to say ‘hi’?” A large hand encircled Jensen’s wrist, pushing up the cuff of his shirt. “A ‘hey, Jared, long time, no fuck’?”
The fence rattled as Jensen surged against it, spurred into motion, but he was wrestled back into place again, this time with one of Jared’s hands pressing against his stomach above his belt. “Eyes forward,” Jared told him and Jensen froze, his heart thumping loud enough to drown out all other sound besides Jared’s voice. His body thrilled at the touch of Jared’s hand, lust pooling in his gut, heady enough to physically ache. A player in the outfield caught a ball and came running in with the rest of his team. Another inning down.
He should move. He should fight. He should turn around and punch the man behind him. It wouldn’t be hard. Jared’s grip had already relaxed and Jensen knew that he could match Jared if he wanted to. That was the problem.
He could spin around, he could take a swing, he could probably even land it and the one after and the one after that. Jared would hit him back and they’d have a real fight. They were evenly matched. Jared had the reach but Jensen thought he could compensate for that. Jensen had training but what little he knew of Jared told him that Jared probably had a few tricks of his own up his sleeve. The man that Jared was, he had to know how to fight dirty. Jensen could see it all in his head. He could see the blows, the kicks, the grabs, and the tackles; could see Greg and the guys and the Little League boys all turning to see what was going on under the tall tree by left field; could see Jared being pulled away and his arms being yanked behind his back, the cuffs going on again; could see Jared behind the bars of the station again. It wouldn’t be easy, but it would be quick and definite.
“I thought about you,” Jared said. “Thought about you the entire time I was locked up in that little cell. Thought about coming back here, back to you. I wondered how I’d find you, what you’d do. Wondered if you’d have fooled yourself back into thinking that you were that straight-laced Dudley Do-Right Officer Ackles that you like to pretend you are.” Jensen jammed his elbow back, making Jared grunt when he connected. Jared chuckled again, breathier this time, but still amused. “But I see you’re still just Jensen.”
“Shut up,” Jensen growled. Anger flashed through him, but he could keep a hold of it; it was too quickly washed away under the flood of everything else. Jared was so solid behind him. Something in Jensen craved this, wanted this, and Jensen didn’t think he was strong enough to say no. He was too hungry; he’d been starving for weeks, desperate for something he hadn’t even known that he’d wanted before he’d met Jared.
Jared was the only one that made the emptiness go away.
Jared rubbed his cheek against Jensen’s hair. “Don’t be mad. I like it. I like you like this. I like just Jensen.” His fingers dipped behind Jensen’s belt, filling the little bit of slack. Jensen sucked in his stomach, pulling away from the touch, giving Jared more room to slip in deeper.
“Nearly half the police department is watching this game,” Jensen said.
“Yeah?” Jared asked. His fingers slipped under the tails of Jensen’s tucked-in shirt, finger tips touching skin. “Are they enjoying it?”
Jensen bit his lip. His palms were sweaty against the slick metal of the chain links. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t give in. No matter how much he wanted it-or needed it-he was better than this. He went to church every Sunday. Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is abomination.
“They’ll see you.” That voice couldn’t be his. It was too weak, too needy, and nothing at all what he should sound like or saying what he should.
“Shh,” Jared whispered, his fingertips rubbing circles against Jensen’s skin. “No one’s looking.”
Jensen knew it was true. Everyone was so focused on their own lives, so blinded by their own wholesome goodness, that they didn’t notice the perversion that walked beside them, the evil that stood in daylight. They’d never noticed Jensen; they wouldn’t notice Jared. No one was looking.
“Stay,” Jared said and Jensen did. God help him but he did. He gripped the fence with both hands, stared out at the sunlit baseball game and the happy, smiling faces, and didn’t move away. The buckle of his belt clinked against the chain link as Jared let it hang free, and the zipper of his pants seemed to echo in Jensen’s ears, but he stayed.
Jared’s hand flattened against Jensen’s stomach before sliding down and pushing into his underwear. Jensen’s mouth dropped open, sucking in air in hard, quick gasps. “Be quiet or they’ll know,” Jared warned him, then grabbed his dick with a solid, firm grip. Jensen shuddered.
His head dropped forward and his teeth sank into his lip hard enough to hurt but he didn’t make a sound. If he made a sound, then this would all be over and Jensen didn’t want it to be over. Behind him, Jared rolled his hips, grinding against Jensen’s ass, and sighed. “This is good,” he whispered. “You feel so good. No idea, Jensen…”
Oh, Jensen had an idea. He knew how good it felt to have Jared behind him again, to have Jared touching him, leading him down the road of temptation. Sin always had its pleasures and Jared knew how to beckon so sweetly. The Devil always knew. Jensen didn’t want to push him away.
Jared had shown Jensen the truth of himself that night in the jail and now, for the first time since Jensen had walked away from Jared and left him in that cell, Jensen was no longer empty. He couldn’t ignore it. He was full to bursting with lust and need and want, and there was no room for things like shame or doubt. This was what he had needed, what made him whole. How had he lived without this feeling? How could he ever live without it after? He accepted himself, even as he hated himself for doing so. “That’s it,” Jared said. “You’re doing so well. You’re great.”
Jensen was hard in Jared’s hand, his hips giving little rolling jerks in time with Jared’s strokes, and his body felt as if it were on fire. This, Jensen, thought, was what it must feel like to burn in the fires of Hell. He was damned and he couldn’t even bring himself to care. He was being consumed whole, devoured by the flames, and he wouldn’t resist. He would stay.
Jensen’s thighs trembled. His body felt strung tight, like a wire about to snap, and Jared was in his ear, whispering dirty things that made his blood sing. Jensen opened his eyes but he was blind; all he saw was white bursts of light. He was dying.
He was finally living.
“Fuck, yeah, that’s it, just like that, you’re so fucking hot…” Jared stroked him hard and fast until Jensen felt his entire body shudder and then he was pulsing into Jared’s hand, giving Jared everything he had. Jared growled and bit Jensen’s ear, possessive and dominant. Jensen’s knees buckled but Jared caught him, holding him up against the fence.
Jensen panted, the lust and the need ebbing from his mind. He feebly tried to grab it but it slipped away, leaving a bone-deep satisfaction in its wake. It felt comfortable, warm, but even it too started to dwindle as reality seeped back in.
He was still at a Little League game. Greg and Stacey and the guys were just a little ways away, and Jensen had let a criminal jerk him off. He had welcomed the Devil back with open arms. Shame mingled with anger. He could still make this right. He could-
Jared’s hand slapped over Jensen’s mouth. It felt wet. Slick. “Drink,” Jared said. A shudder of revulsion wracked Jensen’s body as he realized what he’d been ordered to do. He struggled, fought back, because he wouldn’t do that. He refused to sink so low. Jared rolled with each motion, holding him in place, and if they kept this up, somebody would notice.
Jensen licked.
The taste of his own come was strange and musky and the shame of it made his face burn. He licked again.
And again. He licked until his tongue encountered nothing but the taste of Jared’s skin and then kept at it. Humiliation pricked at his insides, tickled across his body. He knew it was wrong. He knew it was dirty. He knew he didn’t want to stop. The shame only spurred him on. His own hands grabbed onto Jared’s to hold it in place. He was corrupt to his very core, damned and depraved, but he couldn’t make himself stop. It made the emptiness go away.
He liked it.
He whimpered when Jared pulled away. Jared laughed at him. “Maybe we’ll do this again sometime,” Jared taunted and Jensen closed his eyes. He was a disgrace. He would burn in Hell.
Jensen reached back and caught Jared’s hand again, though he didn’t dare look. The Devil had once been an angel too, after all. “And maybe,” he said, his voice a hoarse rasp as he forced the words out, “you’ll be waiting for me after my shift.”
There was a pause as what he’d said sunk in, and then Jared’s fingers twined with his. “Maybe I will.” His hand slipped away and Jensen listened to his footsteps on the crisp grass and the hard gravel. He didn’t look back. There was no need.
Jared would be waiting for him.
This wasn’t how his life was supposed to turn out. He knew now, though, that he’d never had a choice. The Devil always came to claim his own.