Fic: Someone to Save You (1/3)

[firesign10]

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Jensen drove the borrowed Lotus through the seedier side of L.A. "Borrowed" was stretching it; he'd barely asked his lawyer--a man who made profiteering look like child's play--for permission before taking it. His eyes barely noticed the bright lights of the clubs and bars that illuminated the street, blaring against the darkness of a California night. He felt jaded and empty; the walls he'd spent years building around himself for protection and strength were tall and thick, and while nowadays he felt reasonably safe, he also felt . . . lonely.

It was only late at night when he was alone that he succumbed to these weak, ridiculous feelings--normally, his day was filled with conferences and phone calls, meetings and schmoozing, where he made his trademark cut-throat deals and eviscerated conquered businesses. Jensen Ackles, CEO of Ackles Acquisitions, terror of the manufacturing world. He bought or took over any company he set his sights on, and reduced it to smaller parts to sell off and leaving only smoking rubble.

And tonight, he was alone, driving down Hollywood Boulevard, trying to feel . . . something. Anything. The speed of the car, the life that surrounded him, even the hookers as they cruised their corners, advertising their bodies, all had a drive and energy he couldn't feel tonight. He felt completely detached.

Jensen was well above soliciting from sleaze like this--he employed the most beautiful call girls and boys when his needs required attention. A phone call from a discreet aide and some lithe, pretty thing would be knocking on his door. Perhaps he might actually employ one as an escort to a business event, but event or not, they'd end up in bed with him, soothing him with soft skin and willing limbs, even offering sweet or dirty words. Until he curtly reminded them he wasn't paying them for their conversation skills. They weren't friends. They weren't lovers. It was a business transaction: his money in exchange for using their bodies to get him off.

He stopped abruptly at a red light, snorting in annoyance, and as he waited for the light to change again, he took a moment to check out the hookers decorating the street in their loud, colorful, skimpy outfits. Did anyone besides a hooker ever really wear zebra, or purple feathers? he wondered idly. God, so gaudy and pathetic.

As he reached to shift gears for the green light, his attention was distracted by the longest pair of legs he'd ever seen. The legs were encased in thigh-high leather boots with the cuff turned over at the top. Tan skin flashed between the boots and the minuscule denim cut-offs that strained over a pert ass as the legs paraded down the street. Jensen had to move then, as the car behind him honked impatiently. He moved slowly along the side of the street, finding himself unexpectedly curious about the owner of those crazy-long legs and sexy ass.

The hooker reached the end of the block and turned, revealing a young man slowly sashaying back down the sidewalk. A tight red top clung to his broad, muscular shoulders and opened to his waist in a wide vee, displaying a tempting slice of smooth, naked chest. The shorts were just as tiny from the front, the waistband slung low under well-defined abs and the bottom hem barely edging onto the tops of his thighs. A large tote bag hung from one shoulder, and a black jacket dangled over the other. He was talking with the other hookers and calling out to the cars passing by, waving and flashing dimples that Jensen could see from his car. Another streetwalker hollered back to him, and his hot pink bobbed hair shook as he threw back his head in laughter.

Jensen wasn't sure what he was thinking when he pulled over. Something about this guy intrigued him, tickled his jaded palate. He waited for the tall young man's eye to check him out and crooked a finger to beckon him. The hooker lazily sauntered over, hips swaying with every step.

"Well, hello, handsome," he purred as he leaned into the open window on the passenger side. His voice was rich and sounded like sin. Up close, Jensen saw tip-tilted eyes of indeterminate color, a pink mouth currently curled in an arch smile, and a few arrestingly placed moles. He idly wondered what those moles--next to his nose, the corner of his mouth, the curve of his chin--would taste like under his tongue.

"$25 for a hand job, $45 for a blow job, and $90 for a fuck, and I'll give you 10% off because you are such a fine-lookin' man," the hooker drawled. "Condoms only." He smiled widely, showing very white teeth and the dimples that Jensen had noticed from the street.

"Well, sugar? What can I do for you?" One of the young man's hand had strayed down the expanse of his exposed chest, a finger tracing the curve of his pec and circling a dark rose nipple. His eyes never left Jensen's face, lips parted slightly as he waited for Jensen's response.

Jensen's eyes couldn't help following that adventurous finger. His traitorous cock twitched inside his elegant dress slacks, but he was not ready to admit to his desire.

"Directions," he replied casually, managing to hide a snicker at the young man's surprise. "I need directions to the Beverly Wilshire. Can you help me?"

The hooker laughed and dropped his hand onto the Lotus' window edge. "Of course! Honey, I can get you all kinds of places." He winked slyly at Jensen. "I'm going to do better than tell you, I'm going to show you!" He ran long fingers across the door frame. "I've never ridden in a Lotus before!"

Jensen's response was to pop open the automatic locks, and the streetwalker hopped into the car in a tangle of legs, tossing his jacket and tote bag into the back seat.

"Well, thank you, sugar! Here we go!" He waved cheerfully to the other streetwalkers as they drove down the block, most of whom yelled and catcalled back.

"Jared," the young man said, smiling broadly at Jensen. "My name--it's Jared."

Jensen looked at him sideways, watching Jared bop to some interior soundtrack.

"This car is to die for! Such a smooth ride!" Jared commented, batting his eyes at Jensen. "How about you, sugar? What kind of ride are you?" He put one large hand on Jensen's thigh and squeezed.

Jensen fought to keep his face straight. "Directions?"

Jared sighed, drew his hand back, and began to direct him back to the hotel.

When they arrived at the Beverly Wilshire, Jensen pulled up to valet parking and turned to Jared.

"How much for the whole night?"

"The whole night?" Jared's eyebrows rose and his eyes widened before he caught himself and assumed a more detached mien. "Um, that would be . . . $500, plus breakfast and full use of the facilities." He jutted his chin out defiantly as he regarded Jensen, but Jensen saw insecurity lurking in Jared's eyes.

"Done. Come on up." Jensen handed the keys to the valet and strode into the hotel, knowing that as soon as the stunned expression left his face, Jared would be hot on his heels.

And so he was, his boots clicking on the sidewalk until they entered the hotel and crossed the lush carpet in the lobby. Jensen indicated the elevator, and they both got in, Jared clutching his tote bag in both arms and grinning like a fool. He inhaled sharply when Jensen hit "P", sneaking looks at Jensen, who pretended he didn't see them in the mirrored elevator walls.

Just before the elevator hit the penthouse, Jensen--his eyes focused straight ahead--said "Jensen."

"Uh, 'scuse me, what?"

"Jensen. My name is Jensen."

The elevator doors opened and they stepped out into the penthouse foyer. Jared stopped and Jensen saw his eyes go round at surroundings that were undoubtedly far more elegant that he was used to. Jensen was blasé about the place himself--he spent too much time in beautiful, empty rooms like this for this one to stand out.

"Come in, Jared." Jensen led the way into a exquisitely decorated living room, casting his suit coat carelessly onto a cocoa brocade chaise. Jared followed, staring at everything, turning his head until he looked like an owl. He bumped into Jensen and snapped his focus back to his new client. Jensen grabbed him around the waist, pulling him in tight. A slow smile spread across Jared's face as he slung an arm around Jensen's neck.

"Well, hello there, Jensen. It's a pleasure to meet you!" He ducked his face and kissed Jensen's cheek. Jensen moved to kiss him, but Jared shook his head and laid a finger across Jensen's lips. "I don't kiss on the lips, darlin'. You get everything else under the sun, but not that." His face was briefly serious.

"Okay," said Jensen. "I can live with that." He reached down and grabbed the hem of Jared's shirt, pulling it up and over his head. The red material made a startling splash of color as it spilled onto the plush cream carpet. His hands immediately began roving over the smooth skin of Jared's chest, stroking over his pecs and abs. Jared was not heavily muscled, but he was well-defined, his muscles laying sleekly under his tan skin.

"You know just what you want, don't you?" Jared asked as Jensen's hand moved lower, squeezing Jared's cock through his cut-offs. His hips pushed back against Jensen's palm, and Jensen tightened his grip, making the hooker gasp.

"Big boy," Jensen murmured, moving to grip Jared's ass, holding him tight as he started grinding against the young man. Jared gasped softly, his hands winding in Jensen's spiky hair, hips undulating in Jensen's grip. "I top. Exclusively."

"Okay," husked Jared. "I can live with that."



Jared woke up in the biggest, softest bed he'd ever seen, much less ever been in. Jensen was not in the room, but Jared could smell food and coffee. He stretched languorously, reveling in the size of the bed and the silkiness of the sheets. His body felt pleasantly sore from the night before--Jensen was strong and liked it a little rough, but nothing extreme. It had been a straightforward fuck, with little foreplay but plenty of lube. Jensen's cock was nicely sized, cut, and filled Jared in a most satisfactory way. While Jensen hadn't gone out of his way at all to make sure Jared got off, Jared had no trouble climaxing before they finished. In his line of work, he didn't expect anything from his clients at all, so having the sex be so enjoyable was a huge perk. This had been a sweet gig for sure.

And now breakfast appeared to be ready, so Jared hopped out of the luxurious bed and pulled on some pajama pants (sock monkeys? Really? They were awfully cute though . . .) he found folded in a basket at the foot of the bed. He walked into the next room, where indeed there was a large tray with an array of food waiting; a dish of scrambled eggs, another of bacon, croissants, a carafe of juice and another of coffee, and a bowl of strawberries. His mouth watered immediately. He never truly went hungry, but there were times the coffers were emptier than was desirable for a young man of his size and appetite.

Jensen was already dressed in a crisp button-down, tie, and sharply creased dress pants. He was sipping coffee and nibbling on a croissant as he perused the newspaper. He looked up at Jared and gestured to the breakfast tray.

"Help yourself. There's plenty."

Jared nodded with a smile and slung himself sideways into a chair. He grabbed a plate, piling it with eggs, bacon, a croissant, and half a dozen strawberries. He poured a glass of juice and drank half of it immediately, humming with pleasure. Finally he fixed himself a cup of coffee, adding plenty of milk and sugar to it, before sinking back in his chair with a happy sigh.

Jensen watched him with a little half-smile.

"Hungry?"

Jared nodded. "Think I'm still growing, actually. I'm 21, but I grew an inch still last year. Plus, I burn a lot of energy. And fresh juice like that? I never get that, it's a real treat." He sipped coffee and shoveled in a few more bites. "Thank you, Jensen. I know I said breakfast, but this is way more than I ever expected. So . . . thanks."

"Of course. As I promised, so I deliver." He studied Jared for moment, making him wonder if he had food in his teeth. He ran a hand through his hair - his thick, shaggy mane of chestnut hair - and realized what the stare was about.

"Yeah, um . . . not really pink hair."

Jensen nodded. "I see that."

Jared gave him a somewhat embarrassed smile. "It just helps me stand out on the street, you know? And answers the whole gay question at the same time."

"Got it. I like this better."

Jensen returned to his newspaper. Jared plowed through his food, looking all the while around the beautiful suite. The entry door and foyer were just beyond the living/dining room that they were seated in, which was appointed with rich cocoa and taupe furniture. It all blended beautifully with the burgundy and cream swirls of the carpet and the cream brocade walls. Everything had clean, simple lines, yet was comfortable instead of stiff or cold. The bedroom carried the same color scheme as the living room, with the addition of deep burgundy in the curtains and linens. The effect was rich and calm.

Huge windows allowed for plentiful sunlight as well as a stunning view of the L.A. skyline, and Jared saw there was even a terrace outside the double French doors. He picked up his plate and walked over to them, opening one door and stepping onto the marble terrace. The air was already warm, but the marble was cool against his bare feet. He went up to the railing and looked out in awe, biting the juicy strawberries and savoring their sweet flavor as he surveyed the view.

"Jared!"

Jared turned to see Jensen standing in the doorway, looking pained.

"Jared! Come in, please. You're right next to the railing!"

Jared felt perplexed. This was the penthouse! If you were spending the bucks to stay up here, why wouldn't you enjoy the fabulous view from the terrace? But Jensen was his client, and apparently he was richer than God, so Jared returned to the living room, simply filing his curiosity away for now.

Jensen was back at the table, folding up the newspaper and drinking coffee. He didn't even glance at Jared, who plopped back into his chair and snagged some more strawberries. Jared wondered if he could bathe before heading out to the streets as he bit into the plump little berries. Last night had been sweaty and sticky, plus when he'd used the bathroom, he'd seen a beautiful sunken tub that just screamed for a bubble bath.

Jensen stood up and began fastening his cuffs, picking up a pair of silver barbell cufflinks set with emeralds on the ends. "I'm in town all week on business, Jared. I'd like to hire you for the entire week. You'd be expected to accompany me to a couple of social events I must attend for business reasons, and--of course--you'd stay here with me." He looked up, his eyes fixed on Jared's. Jared thought, as he had last night, that Jensen had the most astonishing green eyes; they were thickly lashed, and his stern face was softened by the freckles sprinkled over his flawless skin. His cool demeanor was offset by full, ripe lips that he often moistened temptingly with his tongue. Jared was curious about the mixture of masculine beauty and emotional detachment that made up Jensen. What made this guy tick? It was clear that Jensen kept everything close, and his detached manner made Jared wonder what went on behind that handsome face.

"The whole week? Twenty-four/seven? That's going to cost you big-time, dude--I don't come cheap for an extended gig like that. Including all meals? 'Cause I told you, I'm --"

"A growing boy. Yes, I remember." Jensen smiled . . . just a little. The corners of his mouth turned up and little dimples popped out, and Jared thought whoa. Jensen had just gone from attractive to stunning. Jared wanted to see more of this Jensen. "Of course, all meals are included. What's your fee?"

Jared sat for a moment, calculating. Seven days/nights at $500 each was $3500, plus 15% for the exclusivity, round it down to . . . "$4,000, and I am all yours, and yours only, for the entire week. You'll have Jared on tap for any . . . needs that might arise." He ran a hand through his long hair. "And the previous conditions still apply--no kissing, no sex without condoms." He felt a little nervous - this was the biggest deal he'd ever had. Just spending the week in this gorgeous hotel with this gorgeous man was a sweet arrangement. Walking away with 4K? He'd be able to think about getting out of hooking, have a chance to decide what he wanted to do besides sell himself.

"Done." Jensen slipped on his suit jacket. "I want you to keep this in mind, though. Don't mistake this for anything but a business deal. When this week is done, I will let you go, Jared. Don't think that I won't."

"Yes, of course," Jared replied, feeling like Jensen had just thrown cold water on him. He knew it was only business. It just was nice to . . . pretend a little sometimes.

Jensen nodded and picked up his briefcase. "Tonight, we have drinks with Jim Beaver and his nephew. We're negotiating my acquisition of his chain of salvage yards. Meet me in the hotel bar at seven p.m. And, Jared--dress appropriately. The cut-offs are hot, but not . . . suitable."

Jared looked down, thinking shit, is this gonna be over already? He mumbled, "Uh, everything I have is pretty much like this. I don't exactly have a designer wardrobe." He picked up a fork and started doodling with it on the tablecloth.

Jensen stopped at the door. "Oh. Well." He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a thin black billfold, from which he extracted several bills. He walked back to the table and dropped them on the thick fabric. "Here. Go shopping, get a few outfits. Some dress casual things, a suit. Four or five shirts, couple of ties. Shoes. Got it?"

Jared was astonished by the number of bills on the table. Hundred dollar bills, as bright and fresh as if they were newly-printed, easily a couple dozen or more, dispensed without any hesitation. He was even more astonished that Jensen would trust him to actually shop and return to the penthouse, instead of walking out the door and simply disappearing. Jensen struck him as being very shrewd, but the apparent trust he was now placing in Jared spoke to a depth of perspicuity that Jared was unfamiliar with. He reached out, his hand lingering over the money before he picked it up, feeling its crispness between his fingers.

"Got it. I'll--I'll be ready. Hotel lounge at seven." He looked up at Jensen, unsure of how to react. He could tell already that Jensen would eschew any overly emotional gratitude, so he kept it simple. "Thank you. Is tonight suit or dress casual?"

"Dress casual. If you need anything, see the hotel concierge--that's his job." And with that, Jensen picked his briefcase back up and left the suite.

Jared sat there, a little shocked. Great digs, great sex, a guy as handsome as any fucking fairytale prince. A week-long gig, a crazy amount of money. And now, he was going shopping on Jensen's dime--an all-expenses-paid spree on Rodeo Drive, like a fucking movie star!

"WOOHOO!" he yelled, throwing the money up in the air and laughing as it rained down on him. "Woo fucking hoo!!" Then he jumped up, carefully put all the money back together, and stashed it in his tote bag before heading to the bathroom for that bubble bath.

A few hours later, Jared walked back into the lobby of the Beverly Wilshire. His mood was no longer ebullient; his shopping experiences had been a far cry from what he'd anticipated. Shop after shop had refused him, chivvying him to the door with false, solicitous tones as they told him he was in the wrong place. He was used to his clothes, but as he walked down the elegant sidewalk of Rodeo Drive, he became self-conscious of accusing stares and expressions of disdain. He'd put his black jacket on, wrapping it around him for some cover but unable to do anything about his short cut-offs and thigh-high boots.

The final straw had come at the last shop, Pellegrino's. He'd seen a beautiful outfit in the window: a pair of tan linen pants and a short-sleeve sage green cotton shirt with a delicious cashmere sweater vest. Opening the shop door, he'd gone right over to the rack with the outfit featured on it, looking for a price tag. He was already feeling depressed from his previous shopping encounters, but he was determined to do this. He was not going to let Jensen down this evening.

"May I help you?" said a dulcet voice with a delicious English accent. Jared turned and saw a tall, slim woman, exquisitely attired and wearing a name tag that read "Lauren". Her tawny, stick-straight hair hung just below her shoulders, and her rose-pink mouth was lifted in a pretty smile that Jared could immediately tell was fake. In case he wasn't sure, her gray eyes were ice-cold.

"Yes," Jared said defiantly. "I'm interested in this outfit. Could you tell me the price, and if you might have it in my size?"

Her eyes flicked up and down his body before they utterly dismissed him. "I'm afraid you can't afford that outfit, my dear." Her smile widened as her eyes flicked over him with disgust, and Jared felt like a very large bug in the shiny-bright shop.

He dug down in his tote bag and pulled out a couple of the hundred dollar bills Jensen had given him. "I have money. See? I can pay. I just need you to tell me how much the clothes are!"

Lauren crossed her arms. "I'm terribly sorry, I don't think we have anything in the store that will . . . fit you." She stared at Jared as if to dare him to challenge her ridiculous statement.

He couldn't do it. He was already half-crushed by similar treatment in half-a dozen other stores, and Lauren, standing there so lovely and fashionable, radiated a confidence and superiority that he couldn't withstand. Tears came to his eyes as he looked at the beautiful outfit again, then down at the floor, as Lauren simply waited for him to cave and depart.

By this point, two or three other salespeople were gathered behind the register, whispering. Jared burned with humiliation, but grit his teeth. He gathered the shredded remains of his dignity and lifted his head up proudly, looking Lauren square in the eyes.

"I see. How unfortunate." He strode to the door, ignoring the chorus of whispers behind him, and walked back outside.

He walked briskly for a block, just to get away from there and any chance that one of them would see him, then ducked into an alleyway and leaned against the wall. He was breathing heavily as he tried not to cry, sniffling a little as he worked to bring himself under control. Fuck it, he thought. I've been through a lot worse than that. Fuck their superior asses. He nodded firmly, taking a couple of deep breaths. Just . . . what am I going to tell Jensen tonight? He sighed, the distress over failing Jensen deflating his resolve.

A footfall brought his head up, and he saw a well-dressed older man had stepped into the alley. The man's dark suit was enlivened by a bright tie and pocket square, and he wore a kindly expression on his face.

"Are you all right, my boy? I saw you duck in here and I thought you might be hurt." The man's voice was rather gravelly, but Jared appreciated his words.

"No, I'm not hurt, thank you. I just--I was upset, and I needed to catch my breath. Thank you for checking, that was kind of you." Jared took a deep breath and ran his hands through his hair, his jacket falling open as he let go of it.

The man's eyes dropped to Jared's body, and his tongue licked his lips.

"You're so pretty . . . " His hand reached out and rested on Jared's chest, sliding down his torso slowly, his fingertips digging into Jared's skin slightly as they dragged down. "Oh, yes, very nice, so firm . . . tell you what, Pretty, you give an old man a good time and I won't have you arrested for soliciting. Hmm?? Kneel down and let me use that pretty mouth and we'll all be happy." He pinched one of Jared's nipples with a leer.

Jared jumped, gaping at him in horror. Yeah, he was a whore. Sure, on his own corner, he'd probably have let this man do whatever for the price. But he wasn't on his corner, and he wasn't whoring here.

Shock coalesced into anger and he yelled at the man, pushing him back with one long arm.

"NO! I'm not hooking, and you don't have any right to touch me, you creep!" Jared ran past the disgusting man and out onto the street again, not slowing until he was two blocks away.

It was a long trudge back to the hotel after that. Once Jared arrived, hot and sweaty under his jacket, the air conditioning felt like he'd walked into Heaven. Unfortunately, that moment of respite ended quickly.

"Excuse me, young man," a cultured voice addressed Jared. "Would you please come with me?"

Jared turned to see a tall, slim man with bright blue eyes, curly blonde hair and a beautifully trimmed goatee. He wore a navy suit with a burgundy pocket square and tie. The man beckoned to an open door off the lobby, clearly herding Jared out of the public eye.

Jared had had it.

"Really? Really? What, am I too slutty to be in your hotel? Am I besmirching it? Well, join the parade, dude, there's already been a line to kick me, and you're late to the party!" Jared couldn't help the whine that crept into his voice - he was tired and humiliated and his feet hurt.

The elegant man ushered him through the door and into a beautifully appointed office with a window to the flower garden. "Please, take a seat here. Would you like some water? You look very flushed."

A tray with a pitcher of ice water and some glasses materialized on a table next to the chair Jared was seated in, and he gratefully poured a glass and drank the whole thing straight down.

"I'm sorry . . . I just have had a really, really bad day. I had to go shopping, but--" Jared sipped some more water.

"Young man, are you a guest at this establishment?" Mr. Cultured Goatee said. His face was politely impassive, but his eyes were quite sharp, and Jared knew he didn't miss a thing. This man already knew quite well that Jared was not a hotel guest.

"Um, not exactly . . . I'm a friend of a guest. I . . . came in with him . . . last night."

"Ah! Of course. Which guest of ours would that be?"

"Jensen . . . his name is Jensen. I, um, I don't know his last name. Oh! He's in the penthouse."

Mr. Cultured Goatee turned to the desk he was leaning against and picked up the phone. "Mr. Ackles' number, please. And connect us. Thank you."

Jared fidgeted in his chair as they waited.

"Mr. Ackles, it's Sebastian Roche, concierge at the Beverly Wilshire. I'm inquiring about a guest of yours. A young man, around twenty years old, about six foot three? Yes. Of course, you are an extremely valued guest, sir, but generally speaking the hotel does not condone guests bringing in their own guests, if you understand my meaning."

Mr. Roche glanced over at Jared before continuing with Mr. Ackles.

"However, we do understand if a family member comes to visit--say, a nephew . . . you're an only child? Mr. Ackles, do please work with me here . . . oh, a cousin! Of course. Young Mr. --" Mr. Roche cocked an eyebrow at Jared.

"Jared. Jared Padalecki."

"Mr. Jared Padalecki, sir. All week? Of course, sir. Thank you." And he hung up.

Jared sat up very straight as he and Mr. Roche regarded each other.

"I think you know I'm not really his cousin." Jared said.

"Yes, sir, I'm aware. Mr. Ackles is a very distinguished guest, and we try to offer the very best service we can to him. I'm quite sure, however, that when this week is up and Mr. Ackles departs back to New York, you will make sure that I don't see you here again. Am I understood?"

Jared's throat choked up. Dammit, he was not going to cry. Again.

"Yessir." He managed to get the word out.

"Fine. Go on up to the penthouse. And, Mr. Padalecki? Would it be possible to dress in a more . . . seemly manner for the Beverly Wilshire? We don't want to challenge our other guests' sense of propriety."

That was it for Jared. The heat, the walking, the rudeness, the condescension, the derision, the assumption that he was always available - it all swept over him in a hot, angry wave, propelling him out of the chair and onto his feet.

"I tried! I tried! I spent all goddamn day trying to buy some clothes to wear! Jensen--Mr. Ackles--gave me a fistful of hundreds to shop with, but no one would sell me anything! I wasn't good enough to be in their fucking little shops, and I'm supposed to go have drinks with Jensen and some business guy tonight, and I can't buy any clothes!"

The anger seeped away after his outburst, and Jared was left panting, blinking hard to hold back the tears which instead decided to trickle out via his nose.

Mr. Roche offered him a handkerchief, and Jared gave him a wavery smile of thanks before blowing his nose and offering it back.

". . . Keep it," said Mr. Roche dryly. He moved back to his phone again, dialed, and greeted the answerer cordially. Jared heard his name during the quiet conversation, but was unable to overhear anything else.

"Jared, go up to the penthouse and take a shower. A woman named Samantha Smith will be coming to see you with some outfits--she'll be able to fix you up for tonight." Mr. Roche told him with a slight twinkle in his eyes.

"Thanks--thank you!" Jared exclaimed, and threw himself onto Mr. Roche, expressing his gratitude and relief by wrapping his arms around the man in a big hug. Mr. Roche quietly squawked and patted Jared delicately on the back.



Jensen walked into the hotel lobby at seven p.m., checking his watch before he entered the lounge. The concierge appeared next to him as if out of thin air, greeting him as he steered him out of the main lobby into an alcove.

"Good evening, Mr. Ackles. I'm Mr. Roche, the concierge. We spoke on the phone earlier? About your . . . cousin?"

Jensen was puzzled. "My cousin?"

Mr. Roche politely rolled his eyes. "Young Mr. Padalecki, who is visiting you while you're staying in the penthouse."

"Oh, yes! My cousin! Yes, what about him?"

"He seems to be quite a nice young man, albeit a little rough around the edges. Anyway, he's waiting for you in the cocktail lounge." Mr. Roche gestured toward it. "Have a very, very pleasant evening, Mr. Ackles."

Giving Jensen a small smile, he walked away, leaving Jensen still somewhat puzzled.

Nonetheless, he had an appointment, so Jensen entered the lounge and looked around for his "cousin", Jared.

Who was nowhere to be seen.

Impatience stung Jensen. He'd been quite clear about when and where he expected Jared to be this evening, and he didn't have a lot of time to wait around before his dinner. He huffed in annoyance as he scanned the room.

His eye passed over a tall figure in a black silk shirt and black linen trousers, and he found himself drawn to the casually dressed, yet very elegant, man. The linen pants draped perfectly over a shapely ass, and the silk similarly hinted at the strong back muscles underneath the delicate fabric. Chestnut hair swept in loose waves over the shirt collar . . . and then the man turned, and Jensen gasped.

Jared smiled at him, his artfully tousled hair framing his high cheekbones perfectly. As he drew near, Jensen could see the intriguing, foxy eyes sparkling, could appreciate the contrast of those white teeth in that tan face. The shirt was unbuttoned low enough to see some caramel skin, but high enough to still be tasteful, and if the silk had hinted at the back muscles, it was nothing for what it did to Jared's chest. Jensen found himself hoping devoutly that his own pants were full enough to hide the little dance his cock was doing as it began fattening up.

Jared reached him, standing in front of him. Jensen reached out and ran a hand down his arm, studying his face until Jared ducked his head in embarrassment.

"You look fantastic," Jensen said quietly.

"Thanks. It's because of Mr. Roche. I had a facial, and a haircut, and the clothes were brought in--he had everything and everyone sent up to the penthouse." Jared looked around before returning his gaze to Jensen. "I feel pretty wonderful, and I'm glad you like it."

Jensen stepped closer and hugged him, burying his nose in Jared's hair and inhaling its woodsy-spicy smell with pleasure. The silk conveyed all the heat of Jared's body directly to Jensen's hands, and he could feel every curve and bulge of muscle and bone. Jared's hands came up around Jensen's shoulders, and he'd be a liar if he denied how good they felt. They felt damn good.

They broke apart at the same time, both smiling as they acknowledged that they better get moving. Jared preceded Jensen out of the lounge, and Jensen found himself quite enthralled as he watched Jared's long legs striding in the linen pants, to say nothing of that ass. He firmly told himself to settle down and focus--he had business now. He and Jared could play after.

Oh yeah, there would be some playtime.

The next morning, Jared was lounging at the table over breakfast as Jensen finished dressing. Jensen had been very demonstrative the night before about how pleased he'd been with Jared, and Jared felt very relaxed and hungry, and possibly a trifle sore. Jensen chuckled as he walked by and saw Jared helping himself to seconds of everything.

"I can't help it--I have a high metabolism, to say nothing of a client who demands an enormous amount of attention," Jared said loftily. "I have to do everything I can to satisfy him." He winked at Jensen, who turned on his heel and swept Jared into his embrace, biting his neck softly as Jared laughed and squealed, "Ticklish! Ticklish!"

Jensen pulled away and sighed. "I have meetings, I have to go. We have another dinner tonight, so choose another outfit like last night's." He picked up his briefcase and checked his hair and tie in the mirror, where he saw Jared plop back down with an unhappy face.

"Jared, what is it?" He watched Jared look out the window, evading Jensen's eyes. "Jared?"

Jared ducked his head and let out a deep breath. "I don't have any other clothes. I only got the one outfit I wore last night."

Jensen didn't understand. Surely he'd given Jared plenty of money. Was the hooker hitting him up for more? Did he really look like an easy mark that Jared could milk?

He replied testily, "What are you talking about? I gave you more than enough money - "

"Yes, you did! I just couldn't spend it!" Jared's voice jumped in volume, and now he was looking at Jensen angrily. "No one would let me buy anything in their goddamn shops! They all looked at me like I was a bug! A fucking disgusting bug, Jensen! Not fit to touch their clothes, only good enough to blow them in an alley!" He drew a deep, shuddering breath. "The only reason I got the clothes I wore last night was because Mr. Roche called in a stylist friend, and she called in the esthetician and the hairstylist as well. So I don't know have anything to wear tonight, or any idea how I'm going to get it."

He flopped onto the couch, apparently drained by his outburst. Jensen studied him for a moment, his eyes following the graceful tumble of limbs. He noted that Jared's face --momentarily unguarded--looked far closer to seventeen than twenty-one. And that, even while rumpled and unhappy, he was ridiculously beautiful.

He went over to the side table and picked up the phone. He dialed, spoke a few clipped sentences, and hung up.

"Okay. Get dressed. We're going shopping."

Jared's head whipped around, his eyes wide and uncomprehending. "What?"

Jensen couldn't keep himself from smiling. "Get dressed. You can't crawl down Rodeo Drive in your sock monkey pajamas! C'mon, my black AmEx is burning a hole in my pocket." He winked at Jared.

Jared sat frozen for a few seconds, then bounded up off the couch to the bathroom. "Oh my God! Oh, wow! I just gotta change--and brush my teeth - and then I'll be ready! Oh!"

At the door of the bathroom, he froze before spinning around and leaping over to Jensen. He threw his arms around Jensen and smacked his cheek, hugging him tightly.

"Thank you! Thank you so much, Jensen! Oh, we are going to have the best day!!"

As Jared bounded back into the bathroom, Jensen found himself ever-so-lightly touching his cheek as his eyes followed the happy young man.



It was 4 p.m., and Jared was back in the penthouse living room, sprawled on the chaise. Bags of every size surrounded him, while boxes with shoes and hats in them were piled carelessly by the couch. A couple of garment bags were slung over the couch's back; Jared looked at them reverently. He'd never even worn a suit before, much less owned one.

He sighed. He was tired, yet a thrum of residual excitement from the day still tingled through his veins. Jensen had been a man of his word, sweeping Jared into a limo and then to a couple of very swanky shops. The first stop was Stefano Ricci, where they'd selected boxers in both Egyptian cotton and silk, as well as some T-shirts. Jensen picked out thin cotton tank tops in black and white; his eyes sparkled in approval when Jared tried one on. Socks, two leather belts, one black and one brown. A new wallet, plus a monogrammed silver money clip for cash, and they were done.

Then it was on to the clothing store, and Jared had the kind of fun he'd only every dreamed of. Armani was just a name he'd heard on television before, and here he was being plied with coffee, water, champagne. He tried on any item that caught his fancy. Three clerks assisted him, while Jensen spoke to the shop manager. Jared watched out of the corner of his eye, keeping a sharp ear tuned into what Jensen was saying.

"I'm here today to spend an excessive amount of money on that young man." Jensen gestured towards Jared. "Excessive. You could say . . . obscene. Yes, that's it, we'll be spending an obscene amount of money. We are going to need as much help as possible, and a lot of sucking up, so that that young man is spoiled within an inch of his life. All the sucking up that is humanly possible. Do you understand me?"

The shop manager, whose discreet name tag read "Mr. Heyerdahl", said obsequiously, "Of course, Mr. Ackles! We are happy to do everything we can, sir, and may I say how thrilled I am you chose our store. We will provide the very best sucking up that can be found on Rodeo Drive, sir. And may I just say how elegant that suit looks on you, and how very flattering the drape of the trousers. You cut a very . . . virile silhouette, sir, very imposing --"

"Not me, you idiot! Him! He gets the sucking up!" Jared stifled a laugh as Jensen rolled his eyes in exasperation while gesturing at towards Jared.

"Oh, of course! Certainly, sir!" And Mr. Heyerdahl ran over to Jared and began to ply him with shirts and ties to go with the various suits and pants they were looking at.

Later in the afternoon, Jared asked for pizza. Three pizzas were delivered to the store, and Jared happily ate almost a whole one himself, sharing the rest with the clerks and the other customers. He turned his head and caught Jensen smiling fondly at him.

". . . What?"

"Nothing. Like to see you eat with such a good appetite. Listen, I have to go--don't worry, you're in good hands here now. I have a meeting and then I'll see you for dinner again. Wear that cashmere sweater, the charcoal gray one, and the skinny black pants, okay? Have everything you don't want to carry sent over to the hotel."

He kissed the top of Jared's head, then tilted his head and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

Jared didn't say a word as Jensen left, just watched him go out the door in his usual purposeful manner. He didn't realize he was still staring until the manager coughed softly and brought his attention back to the clothes waiting around him.

Jared was in the changing room when he saw one of the store clerks punch out, then pull off his fancy sweater. Underneath it was a vintage Pink Floyd T-shirt with the Dark Side of the Moon art, and Jared ran after him as a crazy idea hit him.

"Hey! 'Scuse me!"

They were in the main part of the store again as the clerk stopped at Jared's call.

"Yes?"

"Can I--I want to buy your shirt. Jensen would love it--something that isn't for some meeting he's going to, but just for him. Please?"

The clerk looked at him in confusion, but the manager smacked him on the back of the head. "He wants your shirt! Take it off, give it to him! Of course, Mr. Jared, and we'll clean it in the back while you finish shopping!" He grabbed a plain T-shirt off a rack, thrusting it into the clerk's arms as he pushed him back to the fitting room again. "Go on, you moron!" Jared waved and mouthed thank you at the clerk.

Finally they were done, and Jared had most of his new wardrobe sent to the hotel, only carrying three large bags and a couple of smaller ones, including the one with Jensen's T-shirt, all cleaned and gift-boxed. He wanted to walk down the sidewalk and enjoy the sun and fresh air, after being in the store most of the day. His designer jeans clung perfectly to his long legs, and his tailored white shirt fit his wide shoulders and narrow waist to a tee, while the turquoise, green and brown embroidery down the front of the shirt accented his eyes. He looked like a million bucks, and he knew it.

As he strolled on the way to the hotel, he realized he was passing in front of the shop where he'd been humiliated by the snippy saleslady. He smiled to himself as he opened the door and entered.

The little chime of the door alerted the saleslady and she came right over to her new customer.

"Hello, may I help you with anything? Finding a particular outfit, perhaps?" She batted her eyes, and Jared almost threw up in his mouth a little. She clearly didn't recognize him from the previous day at all, as she was busy oozing fake charm at him now.

"Yes, I was just wondering--do you work on commission? I know shops like this often do." Jared gave her a crocodile smile with extra dimple.

She looked faintly puzzled. "Why yes, yes we do. Why . . .?"

He curled his lip at her. "You don't remember me, do you? I was here yesterday, but I was dressed a little differently. You wouldn't wait on me." He lifted his shopping bags and shook them, making the heavy contents rustle. "Big mistake. Big. Huge."

Giving one more wide, toothy smile, Jared turned to the door, singing, "Oh my, more shopping to do!" as he swept out of the shop, completely satisfied at the shocked look on her vapid face.

Onto Part 2