[Fic] What You've Got is Gold | J2AU | NC17
WHAT YOU'VE GOT IS GOLD
Jared Padalecki/Jensen Ackles.
Olympics!AU. NC17. 13400 words.
Working as a lifeguard at the Dallas Aquatic Center, Jared deals with obnoxious kids, tends to scrapes and bruises, gets plenty of exercise hauling equipment in and out every day, and rescues world champion swimmers from drowning. Yeah, not even Jared saw that last one coming.
a.n. Beta by matalinolukaret ♥ Remaining mistakes are mine. It's sappy in places, cheesy in others, with fine threads of angst to keep it all tied together. Generally, just a story to make you smile. PDF and other formats available at AO3, so let me know if you're snagging that!
It’s not Jared’s job to watch Jensen Ackles.
Technically it is, because Jared’s a lifeguard working at the Dallas Aquatic Center’s 50 meter pool, and the safety of everyone in and around the massive, blue well of chlorine is his responsibility. But Jensen’s different; he’s been swimming for as long as Jared’s been alive and the chances are scanter than some of the bikinis worn during the pool’s rec sessions that someone like Jensen will need Jared’s services.
So Jared doesn’t need to keep an eye on Jensen, but he does it anyway.
Like a renowned dancer, Jensen is compelling to watch when he’s in the water, fluid and graceful, and Jared’s gaze is constantly drifting over to the near lanes where Jensen and the rest of Jeff Morgan’s Aquatic Club are practicing.
Jensen had raced out of obscurity and into stardom at last year’s World Championships in China where the twenty-five year old swept the breaststroke races. Ever since, with the games of the 30th Olympiad looming, Jensen had become one of the swimming’s fresh faces even though his age suggested his career ought to be tapering off. A handsome boy from Texas, he’d charmed his fans and the media, throwing plenty of ‘y’alls’ and good humor into his interviews. After his headlining performance in China, Jensen made it crystal clear to competitors around the world that his sights were set on double Olympic gold in London; he’d come home to Dallas to train hard towards that goal. And Jared had the privilege of watching-every lap, every whip-fast, two-handed turn, and every start-during his lifeguarding shifts.
But nothing, not even his training, could prepare him for what happens this afternoon.
With club swimmers in the water for the majority of the afternoon, Jared becomes more of a spectator. When he’s not watching Jensen dolphin-kick through the water, he’s scanning the far lanes where a handful of barely-teens are goofing off under the blocks, their instructor oblivious at the other end of the pool. Closer to the lifeguard stand, the elite swimmers from Morgan’s club are in the middle of their warm-downs-constant, easy laps of the pool meant to drain lactic acid from their muscles and prevent injury-and Jared spots Jensen again ten or so yards away from his chair. The star swimmer is leaning on the side of the pool, caught beneath the narrow shadow cast by the starting block. Jensen’s fingers maintain a loose grip on the wall, his feet barely treading water.
Jensen’s alone, his amber-colored Swedes pushed up on his forehead, staring at something on the deck only he can see. For a moment he floats loose-limbed, appearing relaxed, but in the next instant he sinks below the water, fingers falling away from the wall. Jared immediately begins the descent from his perch a few yards above the deck, eyes on the ripple where Jensen went under. Halfway down the ladder, Jensen pops back to the surface and takes a breath, but Jared doesn’t stop.
By the time Jared’s feet hit the deck, Jensen has disappeared again, and yet no one but Jared seems to have noticed. Jared blows a lungful of air through his whistle, sees a dozen pairs of eyes turn his way. Katie, the other lifeguard, begins moving around the pool but Jared’s closer, diving into the water ten meters from where he last saw Jensen’s upper body. Jared’s half-expecting Jensen to surface by the time he closes the distance-this is a world-class swimmer, after all-but Jared’s gut keeps him moving. He never ignores instinct.
Jared’s training tells him to swallow his panic, push it down where it can’t interfere with what he needs to do to save a life, but a small amount escapes and burns at the back of his throat when he swims up and finds Jensen limp in the water. The swimmer’s head is a foot below the surface, facial muscles slack. Jared’s used to seeing struggling swimmers flail and sputter, trying to claw their way towards oxygen as their fingers fail to find purchase in the water. The way Jensen just seems to drop without a fight is much more alarming, as if the swimmer’s body is beyond his control.
But that’s where Jared comes in-his strong strokes carry him quickly to Jensen’s side where he hooks his arms beneath Jensen’s shoulders and kicks up with his legs until they both break the surface. Adrenaline’s coursing through Jared’s body, supplying his muscles with an extra push that allows him to pull Jensen to the side of the pool. And through the madness and shouting (needless to say, people are paying attention now), Jared sends a silent thanks up into the clear, blue sky that he can feel a heartbeat where his arms are locked across Jensen’s chest.
“Jared!” Katie’s shouting, her bronzed arms flung wide trying to keep other swimmers and gawkers from crowding too close. “CPR?”
Jared manages to sputter out, “I can feel a pulse!” as he and Katie work to pull and lift Jensen out of the water, a task made even more strenuous as Jensen spasms and starts coughing. “Help me get him sitting up,” he adds, letting Katie support Jensen’s weight as Jared hauls himself onto the deck. Jensen’s body is wracked with tremors as his lungs suck in air, Jared pressed against his back to prevent him from collapsing and hurting himself on the rough deck. Jared knows he’s saying something to the swimmer-nervous babble to prevent panic on both their parts-but he’ll never be able to recall the exact words.
“Let me through. Jensen!”
Jared recognizes Jeff Morgan’s voice and the sound of the coach elbowing his way through the gathered crowd. His shadow blanks Jared and Jensen, fear tightening his scruffy features.
“What the hell happened?” Jeff demands, shouldering past Katie and dropping right next to Jensen. “Did he hit his head?”
“Sir-” Katie tries to corral him, but Jeff refuses to be moved. “Mr. Morgan?”
“Someone needs to tell me why my best swimmer nearly drowned just now!”
With his palm spread on Jensen’s chest to encourage steady, even breathing, Jared whips around to face the coach. “Give him some space! He’s gonna be okay, he just needs to catch his breath.” As he says it, he can feel the pace of Jensen’s begin to settle. Jared takes one deep breath after another, hoping Jensen can feel the rhythm and match it unconsciously.
Jeff isn’t discouraged; Jared imagines that if he were a coach with so much riding on one swimmer, he’d be beyond calming, too.
“Did you see what happened?” Jeff tries again, voice on a more even keel.
Jared relays what he saw in short, to-the-point sentences. Jensen looked lightheaded; no trauma to his head; underwater for less than thirty seconds. Jared is already working on a theory, but Jeff doesn’t give him a chance to share.
“Jensen? Jen?” Jeff crouches closer. “Can you look at me?”
Jared is surprised that when Jensen finally responds, he doesn’t look at his coach. Instead, he sinks back into Jared’s supposed-to-be-clinical hold and lets out a long breath. Jared winces at the wet rattle of it, but composes a quick prayer of gratitude in his mind.
Katie, who’s been waving the other swimmers away since Jeff muscled past her, speaks up and asks, “Should I call an ambulance?” She gets echoing ‘no’s from Jensen and Jeff.
“Are you getting enough sleep?” Jeff fires off, and Jared is tempted to shove him into the pool. “Did you push too hard in the weight room this morning? What about your muscles-did they seize up?”
“No,” Jensen wheezes. “I just-”
Jared brings his mouth to Jensen’s ear. “Have you eaten today?” he asks, and isn’t all that surprised when Jensen glances back over his shoulders and shakes his head. All muscle, and without a spare ounce of fat, Jensen’s capable of burning thousands of calories during his workouts; with no fuel in his system, it was only a matter of time before his body reached critical levels.
“Of all the…” Jeff groans. “You haven’t eaten?”
“Guess I forgot,” Jensen mutters, trying to shrug. Jared lets up on his hold, helping Jensen sit up more fully.
“How could you forget?” Jeff asks. “You should be living your routine by now! The trials are less than a month away, and you’re forgetting that you need to eat? That’s fucking ridiculous, Jensen.”
Jared’s shocked at the vehemence of Jeff’s frustration. Yeah, the coach isn’t famous for giving off warm fuzzies, but Jensen’s an adult, and Jared’s not used to seeing people his age be torn down like this. So he butts in.
“I’ve got some oranges and Gatorade in the break-room,” Jared offers. “Probably a good idea to get you into the shade, too, Jensen. Take it easy for a little while.”
“I can take care-”
Jensen interrupts his coach and turns towards Jared. “Snacks sound great. Help me up, dude?”
~~~
The break-room is a corner carved out from the larger pool equipment space. Katie had donated a mini-fridge and Jared found seven pieces of patio furniture at a yard sale. Bit by bit, with the other lifeguards adding cushions, a stereo, and a microwave, it’s surprisingly comfortable, and gives them a wide view of the pool through a tinted window.
“Sit anywhere you want,” Jared says, cleaning magazines off the two-seater. He hands Jensen a bottle of Gatorade and a Power Bar grabbed from his cubby in the staff cabinet.
“Thanks, Jared.”
It’s the first time Jensen’s used his name, and Jared stumbles a step as he’s heading towards the fridge for oranges. He sets the whole pile on the table by Jensen’s knee.
“Do you want another towel?” Jared asks. They’re both sporting bright, extra-large towels around their shoulders, but there’s a stack of clean spares on one of the chairs.
“I’m used to being wet.” Jensen’s voice remains on the weak side. Halfway through the Gatorade, Jensen stops for a breath and picks up an orange, peeling the fruit with water-pruned fingers. He eats slowly, juice smearing over his lips as he relaxes into the second-hand cushions.
“So, you know my name,” Jensen comments after finishing half the orange.
“Come on, you know you’re pretty famous,” Jared says. “Especially around here. I actually follow you on Twitter,” he admits, face red enough to cover the blush he feels creeping up. “I’m surprised you know my name.”
“Why wouldn’t I? You’re the guy who always sets out my equipment. Plus you’re here every day and I’ve heard your name enough times for it to stick.”
“I didn’t think you’d noticed.”
“I’ve seen a lot of lifeguards come and go at this pool, but you’re the first one who’s ever cared to learn the way I like things, and then to actually do it for me…” Jensen shakes his head, hair spiked and dripping. “That’s pretty cool of you.”
The flush is fighting to cover Jared’s entire face now, so he covers by tossing back a little flirtation of his own. “I bet I’m also the first guard to drag your ass out of the pool.”
Jensen smirks. “Nope. Back when I was seven, I hit my head on the side of the pool and went all woozy. The guard got to me before my dad could jump in the water.” Eyeing Jared from the arch of his tanned feet to the damp mop of messy waves around his face, Jensen adds, “But he was nowhere near as hot as you, so this rescue’s gonna stand out in my mind a lot more.”
Jensen takes another sip of Gatorade as if nothing out of the ordinary was said. The press has been dogging Jensen with questions about his sexuality since the World Championship meet, and there’s been no shortage of childhood friends or college acquaintances willing to weigh in with speculation. But as soon as an article surfaces claiming Jensen Ackles is gay, another makes a splash giving the opposite opinion. But it seems like Jared’s been handed insider information from the man himself. And since Jensen put it out there…
“You’re gay?”
Jensen grins, color coming back to his cheeks. “I can swim more than one stroke, dude.”
“Cute,” Jared scoffs.
“Think so?”
“I’m downgrading you like a bad credit rating right now.”
“Fancy talk,” Jensen says before he pops another orange slice. “So the lifeguarding’s just a part-time thing?”
“Summer thing,” Jared supplies. “It pays more than some internship would.”
“I’d say you’re pretty good at it, considering what just happened.”
Before Jared can censor himself, he asks, “Did you really forget to eat?”
The swimmer’s expression flips from open to closed, undoubtedly hearing echoes of his coach’s ire. “I guess so,” he says, “not that I meant to, or anything. But between the routine Jeff’s got me on, my family asking about the trials, and my training…I don’t know, something was bound to fall through the cracks.” Jensen looks over. “Good thing you were there to catch me.”
“I could never forget to eat,” Jared quickly responds, trying to cover his embarrassment. “I love food, like, so freaking much. I mean, all day I’ve been thinking about going out to dinner tonight and getting some classic barbecue. Brisket, pulled pork, cornbread, cinnamon apples”-Jared moans-“the works.”
“Dude,” Jensen cuts into Jared’s food pornography, “that sounds amazing. What time are we going?”
Jared stammers, his brain swimming to catch up. “Um…”
“What? Is your date gonna mind?” Jensen asks, grinning as Jared stumbles through his explanation of how, no, he doesn’t have a date, he was just planning on going by himself. Because he’s been craving barbecue. A lot. Which probably sounds stupid, but sometimes Jared’s lifeguard shifts are so boring that he only makes it through by thinking about what he’s going to eat for dinner.
At that point, Jared’s relieved when Jensen interrupts his ramble. “Then what’s the issue?”
“None, I guess,” Jared admits. “If you want to go…”
“Didn’t I just sit through a lecture and a half from Jeff about eating and my routine?”
“Somehow I don’t think he’d approve of beef brisket.”
“Screw Jeff,” Jensen scoffs, leaning back on the patio furniture and, hello! Now that Jared’s brain has disengaged from life-saving mode and entered standby-for-a-potential-date mode, he finally notices what Jensen’s wearing. Nothing. Or practically nothing, because the emerald Speedo suit he’s sporting covers as much as a postage stamp. A scrap of fabric over his crotch, toned thighs spread out and enticing Jared’s gaze down towards that green swell. Skimpy compared to Jared’s blindingly red trunks. Jared’s brain also registers that neither of them are wearing shirts, just towels that have wicked away the water from their shoulders and backs, and that this is the most naked he’s been with another man since he broke up with Dylan during the fall semester. (Jared tends not to stick around his hookups long enough to care about getting them entirely naked.)
“I mean”-right, Jensen is in the middle of a rant-“Jeff’s plan sucks. His routine is supposed to be improving my times, but I’ve actually gotten slower. So if I want to derail myself, gorge on some fucking ribs, and flirt with the guy who saved my life, I’m damn well gonna!”
There’s no question that Jensen has recovered from his episode, but Jared doesn’t anticipate the swimmer getting back in the pool anytime today. He says as much, and Jensen confirms it, muttering something about heading back to his apartment for more food, a nap, and video games. Silence ensues for a few seconds-the splashes and calls from beyond the window barely seem to matter-before Jared clears his throat.
He thinks, why not go for it?
“So, do you want to meet me at Alvin’s or should I pick you up?”
~~~
Jensen pushes his macaroni and cheese across the table where Jared’s ready with his fork.
“Seriously, where are you putting all that?” he asks, watching Jared spear a mound of cheesy elbow noodles.
“Takes a lot to fill this body,” Jared teases, rubbing a hand over his nearly-full stomach. He clears the macaroni in three bites, ignoring Jensen’s brow-peaked stare. “I think I’m good.”
“Awesome, because if you needed any more food, they’d have to go out and slaughter another cow.”
Belly sated for the time being, Jared stretches out along his side of the booth, eyeing their empty plates. The employees of the order-and-sit BBQ joint are all behind the counter, not doing much to earn their hourly wages, but only a handful of tables are occupied and no one’s walked in for almost half an hour. Jared thought there was a chance Jensen would be recognized, but so far their meal’s gone uninterrupted.
And he’s not surprised that he is having a great time hanging out with Jensen. Swimming talk (and talk of Jensen’s rescue, by extension) is kept to a minimum, but their conversation never lacks substance. Jared dishes on some of the lifeguard gossip that hasn’t reached Jensen’s ears and they both reminisce about growing up as true Texas boys. Once the last crumbs of sweet cornbread have been gathered up and licked from tangy fingers, Jensen brings up the events of that afternoon.
“I hope no one recorded it on their phones or anything,” Jensen says. “I’d look pretty stupid, right? Drowning when I’m supposed to be a gold medal threat.”
“I didn’t notice, but I was kinda distracted,” Jared teases, “hauling your ass out of the water.”
“And I’ve been told it’s an awesome ass, so thank you for saving it.”
Jared laughs, doubly glad that Jensen isn’t famous enough to draw attention. That anonymity won’t survive beyond the Olympic trials though. Swimming is one of those sports where the stars are featured everywhere during coverage: commercials, feel-good documentary segments, magazine spreads, and interviews. Jensen will be a household name soon enough. But tonight he’s all Jared’s and advantage will be taken.
“Back to practice as usual tomorrow?”
Jensen groans. “Jeff would never let me get away with skipping. Not that I’d want to, really.”
“Because you pretty much live in that pool.”
“Yeah, and I love it,” Jensen says. “But Jeff’s routine is like being on lockdown. Pool, gym, rest-that’s all I get. Everything’s restricted down to the last details. How much I can sleep, what I can eat, how many reps I do in the gym. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if the guy told me how many times I’m allowed to jack off every week.”
Jared barely avoids spraying his Coke out of his nose. It’s close; his nostrils are burning.
“The thing is,” Jensen continues after pausing to make sure Jared can breathe, “I think it’s hurting my times. I didn’t control myself nearly as much before this year, but I used to feel better. I mean, Jeff would flip if he knew I was here, eating this, instead of, I don’t know, meditating on my stroke count or something. I’ve been going crazy. And this”-he gestures across the table-“feels really good.”
The way Jensen’s looking at him lights a fire under Jared’s skin. He feels the heat in his cheeks and all the way down the back of his neck.
“Enough about that, though,” Jensen says, pushing his empty tray towards the center of the table. “You ready to get out of here?”
Jensen had taken Jared up on his earlier offer of a ride, and they make it back to the swimmer’s apartment in less than ten minutes. On the verge of thanking Jensen for a surreal day, the words stick in Jared’s throat when Jensen asks him up for a drink.
“You’ll have to settle for root beer or Gatorade,” he adds with a smirk. “Jeff would slaughter me if I even thought about alcohol.”
“This isn’t some bizarre way of thanking me for pulling you out today, is it?” Jared asks once they’re inside, angled towards each other on the couch in Jensen’s living room. The swimmer had grabbed them each a root beer-the classy kind in bottles-before sitting down, and Jared finds himself fidgeting with the thick, cold glass.
“Buying dinner was the ‘thank you,’” Jensen tells him. “This is my way of telling Jeff to fuck his routine, because this is something I want.”
Before Jared can ask what ‘this’ implies, Jensen pops the bubble of personal space and leans in, so close his features begin to blur. Sensing the imminent kiss, Jared’s instincts outpace his thoughts and his eyes close; the last thing he sees is a set of full lips poised in a perfect tilt.
Jensen is eager-like, crazy eager, Jared thinks-plunging his tongue into Jared’s mouth as soon as there’s a gap to get through. Wet, warm, and moving so quickly his tongue might create a whirlpool; the kiss remains fierce until Jared’s brain screams, first kiss, moron, and attempts to rein things in. Jensen appears to enjoy the slower, more thorough exploration, and before Jared knows it, Jensen’s practically in his lap pinning the cold bottle of root beer against Jared’s chest. He gasps.
“What?” Jensen mutters. “No?”
“Yeah-I mean yes,” Jared says as soon as his mouth is free to form words. “Just gotta set this down.”
The flash of panic washes out of Jensen’s expression and Jared enthusiastically gathers the swimmer back into his arms. And he laughs, a short burst of sound, because he’s making out with Jensen Ackles, international breaststroke phenomenon.
Jensen rolls his eyes. “Now what?”
“Nothing. It’s just crazy because I’ve kinda-”
“You’ve ‘kinda’ jerked off while thinking about me?” Jensen teases. “Oh my god, you have! Haven’t you?”
Jared has; he’d retrieved an image of Jensen from his fantasy file between the end of his lifeguard shift and dinner, needing something to work out the extra adrenaline. He’d pictured Jensen in that green Speedo suit, flexing muscle-wrapped arms as he pulled himself out of the pool-the homoerotic version of the infamous Fast Times scene. Water pouring from sculpted shoulders, fat drops running fast and frictionless down Jensen’s smooth, hairless torso…
Jensen laughs, slapping Jared’s chest. “You’re totally picturing me naked right now.”
“Well, not entirely naked.”
“Still,” Jensen pouts, “it’s not fair to drift when you have me right here. If you can’t figure out what to do with a real boy, I guess I can just-ah!”
Jared bowls Jensen over onto the cushions, effectively sticking a cork in his back-sass.
“Much better,” Jensen says with the only breath Jared permits him before they’re kissing again.
Jared tastes chlorine on Jensen’s skin (permanently soaked in at this point, he imagines) as he skims his mouth down Jensen’s throat. Jensen moves beneath him like a wave-confident as if he’s following a game plan and wants to keep Jared on course. Not that Jared intends on straying; he’s discovering that reality far exceeds fantasy. Jensen’s body is pulse-stopping, easily the most spectacular of any man Jared’s hooked up with. He’s fucked a number of good-lookers, guys whose muscles outnumbered their brain cells, but nothing about the cut of Jensen’s body is for show. Primed, not a spare ounce of fat, and every inch of flesh and sinew toned for a purpose.
Jared had admired the fit of Jensen’s jeans when he picked him up for dinner, but he barely spares them a thought as he strips them from Jensen’s legs.
“Fuck yeah,” Jensen moans when Jared gets a hand between his legs. “That’s what I wanted.”
“Yeah?” Jared doesn’t know why he’s asking; Jensen’s body telegraphs everything he feels, wants. Flush spreading to where he wants Jared’s touch. Hand flexing at the small of Jared’s back, guiding him into a gentle rut. Spine locking for a split-second when Jared’s fingers play teasingly behind his balls-a silent warning. “That’s not part of your routine?” He means it as a joke, but Jensen growls out a few less-than-flattering words about his coach. Jared laughs in the face of his irritation. “Don’t worry, there are plenty of other things I can do to you.”
“To me?” Jensen snorts. “You want me to just lie here and take it?”
“It’d be a hell of a disappointment if you did.” Jared smirks, but he means it. Nights come where he’s in the mood for a no-strings, no-effort (and no-conversation if he’s lucky) encounter, but this isn’t one of those occasions. And Jensen is not that kind of guy, energy sparking as soon as they’re both naked, sliding against one another. Jared’s unwilling to vacate his spot between Jensen’s thighs, already addicted to the long lines of muscle. Tempted to bite, mark, own that sun-bathed skin, but doubting Jensen would want to wear the evidence to practice tomorrow. So he touches, shapes, and kneads with his hands, cups one palm around Jensen’s cock and drowns him in friction. Between getting Jensen off and listening to what Jensen has to say about his body, Jared’s grinning like an idiot (albeit a very turned-on idiot).
“Jesus,” Jensen praises. “I love your arms. So fuckin’ tight and strong. Bet you could hold me up while-” The rest is smothered under the pressure of his orgasm. Driving his hips into Jared’s grip as if he’s driving into the wall at practice-hard and unrelenting until he just stops and lets his body melt. Jared’s too close for Jensen’s sudden immobility to matter, thrusting against the chiseled cut of Jensen’s hip-line one more time before he comes.
That was amazing.
“Tens for execution,” Jensen mutters, sinking into the cushions and pulling Jared down with him, “but a few deductions for difficulty.” If Jensen weren’t basically giggling at his own joke, Jared would be offended. “I mean hand jobs and grinding? That’s for teenagers.”
“I’ve got all night,” Jared says, lips already finding their way back up Jensen’s throat, “if you wanna graduate to something a little more mature.” He kisses Jensen silent, drawing warmth from his responsive mouth. “That is if your ‘routine’ allows it.”
Jensen scoffs, squirming and pushing to reverse their positions. “I don’t give a fuck what Jeff thinks,” he says from atop Jared’s chest, “sex is good for me.”
Jared likes hearing that and he shows Jensen just how much with his next kiss, breaking out techniques he’d put into mental storage months ago when Dylan left; he hadn’t bothered making an effort with his glittery strand of club boys. Jensen, he wants to impress. He wants more than tonight, and his heart thumps happily in behind his ribs when Jensen breaks away from the kiss and whispers, “I think I need to add you to my routine.”
~~~
‘Routine’ or not, their hook-ups don’t follow a pattern. As a result of having so much on his mind, there’s no telling when the urge will take Jensen, but since Jared’s primed for him just about all the time, the arrangement works.
The first time they end up together at the aquatic center, Jared’s in the break-room reapplying his sunblock when Jensen sneaks in. There’s no lock, but Jared figures Katie wouldn’t have missed Jensen going in so he figures they’ve got fifteen minutes, tops, before she comes a knockin’.
Several details hit Jared at once: they’re alone-Katie, the coaches and assistants are all out on the deck; it’s been a solid thirty-six hours since they’ve been able to do so much as make out and Jared is dying for something; fifteen minutes is plenty to work with. But the most important detail is that Jensen is dripping wet, fat drops making his skin shine in the light from the window. Jensen’s panting as if he’d stopped mid-workout to corner Jared in the break-room, lips open and moist, hair slicked back and sporting furrows from his fingers running through it. Only a few square inches of soaking wet fabric stand between Jared and that God-given masterpiece of a body, and there’s no time to waste.
“Gonna stare all day?” Jensen is brazen, standing without shame while water pools around his feet. Voice strong unlike the last time Jared and Jensen were in here together. Jared can only sputter, replacing the sunblock in his bag before he squeezes the dumb thing to death.
“Um…”
“Did the sun fry your brain?”
Jared shakes his thoughts back into place. Damn, Jensen’s thighs-hips-waist-shoulders-lips are lethal to his brain cells. “If you walked in here just to insult me, feel free to turn around,” Jared says, and he can feel how deep his dimples are.
Jensen’s suddenly a lot closer, cornering Jared behind the two-seater. “A little sensitive, huh? And here I thought we could have some fun before your break’s over.”
Curving his palms over Jensen’s shoulders, Jared pushes him down to the floor. “If you don’t stop running your mouth-”
“Someone’s gonna come along and stick their dick in it?” Jensen winks.
“Exactly.”
Jared’s had the pleasure of sucking Jensen off twice now, but this is the first time the swimmer has returned the favor. Jensen makes short work of Jared’s red trunks, wrangling them just low enough to let his cock swing out. Flailing a bit at the first touch of cool lips to heated skin, Jared barely manages to grab the towel he’d slung over the back of the loveseat, tossing it down to serve as a mat between Jensen’s knees and the concrete floor. (Aside from tugging Jared’s hair into a freakish mess, Jensen’s a considerate receiver, and Jared intends to behave the same way.)
Randomly, Jared thinks it’s a good thing Jensen hasn’t sucked him off before now; if he’d experienced Jensen’s mouth earlier, he wouldn’t have been able to focus on anything else. He’d always assumed blowjobs were blowjobs, but what Jensen’s doing requires a different classification altogether. On enthusiasm alone, Jensen’s technique outstrips that of Jared’s exes and one-night encounters.
Jensen gives head the same way he kisses, engines revved and no possibility of holding back. Maybe it’s the constraint of time, but Jensen doesn’t bother teasing Jared with coy kitten licks or lowered lashes; his mouth is open and wet, warm exhales from his nose hitting Jared’s skin. It’s easy to drown in the spit-thick, choking sounds Jensen’s making, roll over his tongue and press deep. The entire encounter is more pleasure-spiking than if Jensen had taken his cock like a polished pro; he struggles but is intent on swallowing Jared down to his short-hairs. When he finally does-Jared’s dick claiming virgin territory at the back of Jensen’s throat-fucking anthems start playing in Jared’s head. Frankly, Jared’s embarrassed at how little it takes before his cock is over-filled and heavy, and he’s begging like crazy for Jensen to have mercy and finish him off.
Which Jensen does, and not even the white-hot strike of orgasm blinds Jared to the smirk on Jensen’s face. God damn bastard. Jensen tightens his lips again and Jared’s inner cursing is lost to another full-body quake.
Jared’s knees are the consistency of Jello and he has to lean his hip against the two-seater while he refastens his shorts. The canary is nowhere to be seen but the feline satisfaction is all over Jensen’s face as he stands and swipes his tongue over the divot in his bottom lip. Jared had (unconsciously) done a number on the swimmer’s short hair leaving the strands half-dry and tousled, raised in rows the width of Jared’s fingers.
And apparently the blowjob had been to Jensen’s satisfaction as well, Jared notes while looking down. “You can’t go out there with that in your Speedo.”
Jensen palms himself, middle and pointer fingers pressing up behind his balls through the Lycra, and says, “We still have five minutes.”
~~~
They christen Jared’s apartment a week after their barbecue date. Going to Jensen’s place is easier, but Jared has imagined more than one scenario involving Jensen and his furniture/shower/living room rug, so he eventually insists on a change of scenery. Of course, he hadn’t figured on Jensen picking up pictures, snooping through desk drawers, and scrutinizing his DVD shelves as soon as they’d polished off the Italian subs Jared stopped for on his way back from the pool. (He’d made it his personal mission to ensure Jensen was as well-fed and non-fainty as possible.)
“I never pegged you as the nosy type,” Jared says, eyes stuck on Jensen as he’s disturbing dust bunnies around Jared’s DVDs.
Jensen doesn’t turn around when he replies, “I’m getting to know you. Or should I only want you for your body?”
“My body wouldn’t mind.”
“Shocking,” Jensen laughs. “Who’d have thought the freakin’ male swimsuit model could be so shallow?”
“Wait,” Jared says, “are you calling me the model?”
“No, I’m talking about the other bronzed God who walks around all day in swim trunks and uses expensive conditioner.”
Fine, Jared can admit that he budgets for certain salon products, but look at the results! “I thought you liked my hair.”
Jensen tosses a grin over his shoulder and continues prying. Not all that worried about what the swimmer might find, Jared throws away the pile of wax paper and napkins left over from dinner and grabs two bottles of water from the fridge. There’s a crack on Jared’s tongue about making sure Jensen’s good and hydrated before the sex commences, but he swallows it when he sees the DVD Jensen’s holding. The barely-decent smirk on his face, lips bitten to keep from laughing, tells the story.
Jensen shakes the case. “Seriously?”
“Dude,” Jared scoffs, “you can’t tell me you’ve never done yoga.”
“Yes, Jared. Yes I can. Yoga’s for chicks-”
“There are guys in all my classes-”
“-and for people who are too lazy to do real exercise-”
“-it’s a great way to elongate your muscles and stay flexible-”
“-and what’s with all the people doing yoga in parks?”
“Okay,” Jared says, plucking the DVD from Jensen’s fingers. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ll just have to show you.”
“Come on, you can’t tell me you actually do this stuff.”
Jared’s jeans are loose around his waist, fibers soft from years of summer wear. Not the most comfortable yoga attire, but it’ll pass in the short term; Jared doesn’t imagine this will be a long demonstration. At least he’s wearing a tight v-neck-that’ll give Jensen a show.
“Show me the downward dog,” Jensen teases. “That one sounds pretty interesting.”
Without responding, Jared takes a deep breath through his nose and begins his own routine, one he’d developed between classes. Instructors were great and all, but Jared knew his body-knew what it needed-and he’d pieced together a few sessions for optimal reward. He’s even taught one or two classes when the instructors were unavailable.
Jared opens his chest, ignores Jensen’s pin-prick comments, and shifts his weight to his right leg. So used to the movements, he visualizes the pull in his muscles, adjusts until he’s perfectly balanced. And then he bends over, grin already in place when he hears Jensen’s quickly drawn breath.
“Damn.” The rest is garble coming out of Jensen’s mouth as Jared executes a handful of his most provocative (and ridiculously flexible) moves. “Okay, okay, you win,” he admits breathlessly as Jared’s bent in half, palms out and heels digging into the floor, demonstrating exactly how interesting downward dog can be. “Yoga can definitely be awesome.”
Jensen all but tackles Jared as soon as he’s standing on two feet again. Keyed up and panting, his hands grope Jared in a frenzy. Considering this is Jensen’s inaugural visit to his apartment, they’re lucky to make it to the couch with Jensen steering blind. Jared’s mouth is on top of Jensen’s, adding pressure until his tongue slips through and comes away with the taste of sweet peppers and olive oil. They kiss as the tumble in a clumsy heap onto the cushions, breaking apart only to seek each other’s lips as soon as they’re down.
Getting naked would take too long and Jensen’s not exactly swimming in patience, so they focus on the essentials: pants off, underwear shoved aside for the moment. Jared’s hungry for another taste of Jensen’s cock, and he’s perfectly willing to get on his knees, but as soon as he tries to scoot down, his forehead collides painfully with Jensen’s.
“What the hell, Jared? Trying to kill me?” Jensen shakes off the knock. “Did Kitajima put you up to this?”
“Right,” Jared says, wincing as the throb intensifies and recedes in waves. “Your competition told me to blow you to death.”
Jensen stares. “Huh, I was about to suck you off.”
“Flip a coin for it?” Jared jokes, swallowing at the suddenly sharp gleam in Jensen’s eyes.
“I’ve got a better idea.”
It’s been years since Jared sixty-nined with a guy, and for the life of him, he can’t figure out why it’s been so damn long. Sure there are extra limbs to coordinate (it’s like a threesome; you’ve gotta remember whose leg is where), and his mind can’t wander around boner-town while Jensen does all the work, but it crams the best of everything into one shared act. There’s a cock in Jared’s mouth-Jensen keeps his thrusts shallow because he’s too busy pleasuring Jared to ride his face-and his own dick is racking up some serious frequent flyer miles as it glides over Jensen’s tongue.
And this way, with Jared flat-backing it underneath Jensen, he’s treated to a spectacular view of Jensen’s ass. He’s seen it in a Speedo countless times, naked and pale on a few occasions since these extracurricular activities began, but never like this: taut, freckled cheeks just begging to be marked up. With teeth, tongue, hands, come-whatever Jensen’s willing to take. Jared might be getting ahead of himself imagining things like that given the aqueous nature of their arrangement, but faced with an ass like Jensen’s (literally), he can’t help it. He can, however, get his hands all over it. Knead those cheeks together as he pushes Jensen’s dick further into his mouth at the same time. No question Jensen appreciates his effort given the way he’s moaning, every little reverberation sent straight down to Jared’s balls.
Jared uses the pads of his fingers to pry at Jensen’s hole, thumbs tapping over the tight muscle. A coded message saying he wants to go further, but won’t until Jensen gives him the verbal green light. That go-ahead never comes while they’re both orally occupied and so close to coming. At least Jared is; it’s as if Jensen’s pulling strings in his hips, tightening everything to the point where there’s no escape, only explosion. His own mouth goes slack at the same time he’s shooting into Jensen’s, and it’s nearly a full minute before he gathers himself enough to re-engage Jensen’s cock, coaxing the swimmer’s orgasm to the surface with a few thorough swirls of his tongue.
“Oh my stars,” Jensen says as he folds down onto Jared’s thighs, both chuckling at his exaggerated drawl. “That needs to become part of our routine.” That earns him a light slap on the ass (Jared could only resist for so long, honestly) before he wriggles and rolls, tucking himself between Jared and the back of the couch.
“And maybe you’ll give yoga a shot one of these days,” Jared says.
“I’m not bendy enough for you?”
Jared pretends to consider the idea even as the majority of his brain is dealing with the sensation of Jensen’s fingers curling into his t-shirt and remaining there. Nothing on the agenda for the rest of the night, and Jared’s fine with that, even if it means lying here with Jensen, his hand warm over Jared’s heart. Especially if that’s what it means.
Jared turns his smile on Jensen. “Eh, you’ll do.”
~~~
In between hook-ups, Jared and Jensen date. Well, Jared assumes they’re dating (there has been no confirmation from either side). Jensen starts cooking dinner whenever Jared stops by his apartment after a shift at the pool, which is a welcome relief from takeout and the sparse provisions in Jared’s kitchen. They’ve seen two new releases in theaters and Jared’s learned that nothing takes Jensen out of his competition-driven mindset and helps him relax faster than a Pixar movie.
They’ve been getting together for nearly two-and-a-half weeks when the idea really connects with Jared. He hasn’t seen Jensen in three days, but he’s supposed to be on his way over with a calzone from Andretti’s (for Jared) and a spinach salad from Delilah’s Deli (for Jensen). Preparations for the Olympic Trials in Omaha have sliced into their time together, and Jared’s feeling antsy. Nervous and twitchy-fingered in a way he hasn’t felt since he and Dylan swung into the ‘serious’ phase in their relationship.
Jared’s wading deep into that thought when Jensen knocks once on the door and walks in. The swimmer’s expression is so thunderous, it’s a wonder his entrance isn’t preceded by lightning.
“Hey, you made it,” Jared says once Jensen’s dumped his bag on the floor. He takes more care when he sets two bags of food on the counter.
“Almost didn’t,” Jensen grumbles. “I’m surprised Jeff let me leave tonight.” His jaw tightens, words sharpened on his teeth. “If he had his way, I’d be chained to a cot in his office when I’m not swimming.”
“Sounds kinky.”
“Ugh, just no.” Jensen shakes his head and sighs. “Jeff doesn’t think I’m taking my training seriously enough.”
“It’s practically all you think about!” The pitch of Jared’s voice reflects how preposterous he considers the idea to be.
Jensen deflates. “I know. Can we just eat? I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”
Implying there could be a ‘later,’ Jared imagines. He nods and grabs plates from the cabinet, setting the counter for two while Jensen stomps into the bathroom.
Conversation is kept in the shallow end throughout dinner, but Jared doesn’t mind so long as every minute that passes drains some of the tension from Jensen’s expression. It’s been three days and he wants to catch up with Jensen; if that means sticking to small talk and avoiding the dark fin circling around them, he’s fine. He likes talking to Jensen as much as any other activity involving their mouths.
Leaving plates and take-away containers on the counter, Jared and Jensen shift to the couch where, like a dam under pressure, Jensen finally cracks.
“I don’t know if I’m gonna make it ‘til the trials.”
That surprises Jared. “What are you talking about? There’s only a week and a half left until Omaha. Is the pressure getting to be too much?”
“I’ve dealt with the pressure all my life,” Jensen says. He’s been swimming since he was four, so Jared imagines that’s basically true. “I think Jeff’s more worked up about the trials than I am, and he’s been riding me harder and harder. And this week-God-I can barely catch my breath. It’s like Jeff suddenly decided that whatever I was doing wasn’t good enough, that I’m not good enough. I just need him to back off.”
“Did he say something to you this afternoon?” Jared asks. “Is that why you’re upset now?”
“It’s like I told you before-if Jeff could, he’d lock me up to make sure I don’t do anything stupid to ruin my shot at a medal.” Jensen throws his arm over his eyes, head making a dent in the cushion behind him. “No time off, no doing my own thing, no hanging out with you.”
Jared swallows. “Jeff knows about us?”
“I didn’t tell him, but he knows. I swear he’s having me followed,” Jensen adds with muted sarcasm.
“Look,” Jared says, “I don’t want to get between you and your coach-”
“Now that sounds kinky,” Jensen interjects, but then his smile sours. “Oh, gross. Why did I even think that?”
They share a laugh, but Jared’s intent on getting his thoughts out. “Seriously”-it’s hard for Jared to speak around the knot in his throat-“if seeing me is affecting your training…” He can’t finish; maybe this ‘thing’ between them is casual, but that doesn’t mean Jared needs to kick it off a cliff.
Craning his neck, Jensen looks over. Jared’s face is warm; his feelings must be written all over it. Finally, Jensen says, “Nah, it’s got nothing to do with you. Well, not really, but seeing you is, like, one of the only things that’s mine right now, and there’s no way I’m giving that up.”
“As long as you’re not giving up on the Olympics either, man,” Jared tells him. “Because that would be so stupid, you don’t even know.” He nudges Jensen, smile on his face, so that the barb falls softly. He just wants Jensen to relax.
“I’m not. I guess I just need a break, no matter how small it is. And maybe Jeff will lay off me if I make the US team,” Jensen speculates. “At the very least, I’ll be training with the rest of the team somewhere else, with different coaches.”
That’s not exactly something Jared wants to think about so he goes for Plan C (Plan A was getting Jensen to talk about their relationship; Plan B was kissing him to distraction, although that option’s still on the table) and pulls a DVD from the drawer in his coffee table.
“How about a movie?” Jared suggests. “I stole ‘Finding Nemo’ from my niece’s collection.” That’s a lie; this is Jared’s personal copy.
“I’m twenty-five years old,” Jensen says, “and you’re asking me to watch a cartoon?” Poor Jensen, always in denial. Jared holds out the metallic blue case and watches Jensen’s scowl flatten out. Not into a smile, but into something between exhaustion and peace. He waits for the Power of Pixar to cast its spell, rewarded when Jensen slouches back. “Fine, put it in.”
They do not cuddle during the movie, but by the time Nemo’s making friends in the aquarium, Jared and Jensen are sharing the same cushion, aligned from shoulder to hip, each of them turned inward. And Jared feels better than he has in days, weeks, months. Since the last time he floated in a space so easily with another guy. But in less than two weeks, Jensen’s life is going to change forever (unlike Jensen, Jared has no doubt he’ll make the Olympic team), and Jared still has no idea where he ranks. Before tonight, Jared figured he’d be out of the picture for good once Jensen left for Omaha. Now, Jared can’t help thinking he might have a shot at the podium.
On to PART TWO.
Jared Padalecki/Jensen Ackles.
Olympics!AU. NC17. 13400 words.
Working as a lifeguard at the Dallas Aquatic Center, Jared deals with obnoxious kids, tends to scrapes and bruises, gets plenty of exercise hauling equipment in and out every day, and rescues world champion swimmers from drowning. Yeah, not even Jared saw that last one coming.
a.n. Beta by matalinolukaret ♥ Remaining mistakes are mine. It's sappy in places, cheesy in others, with fine threads of angst to keep it all tied together. Generally, just a story to make you smile. PDF and other formats available at AO3, so let me know if you're snagging that!
It’s not Jared’s job to watch Jensen Ackles.
Technically it is, because Jared’s a lifeguard working at the Dallas Aquatic Center’s 50 meter pool, and the safety of everyone in and around the massive, blue well of chlorine is his responsibility. But Jensen’s different; he’s been swimming for as long as Jared’s been alive and the chances are scanter than some of the bikinis worn during the pool’s rec sessions that someone like Jensen will need Jared’s services.
So Jared doesn’t need to keep an eye on Jensen, but he does it anyway.
Like a renowned dancer, Jensen is compelling to watch when he’s in the water, fluid and graceful, and Jared’s gaze is constantly drifting over to the near lanes where Jensen and the rest of Jeff Morgan’s Aquatic Club are practicing.
Jensen had raced out of obscurity and into stardom at last year’s World Championships in China where the twenty-five year old swept the breaststroke races. Ever since, with the games of the 30th Olympiad looming, Jensen had become one of the swimming’s fresh faces even though his age suggested his career ought to be tapering off. A handsome boy from Texas, he’d charmed his fans and the media, throwing plenty of ‘y’alls’ and good humor into his interviews. After his headlining performance in China, Jensen made it crystal clear to competitors around the world that his sights were set on double Olympic gold in London; he’d come home to Dallas to train hard towards that goal. And Jared had the privilege of watching-every lap, every whip-fast, two-handed turn, and every start-during his lifeguarding shifts.
But nothing, not even his training, could prepare him for what happens this afternoon.
With club swimmers in the water for the majority of the afternoon, Jared becomes more of a spectator. When he’s not watching Jensen dolphin-kick through the water, he’s scanning the far lanes where a handful of barely-teens are goofing off under the blocks, their instructor oblivious at the other end of the pool. Closer to the lifeguard stand, the elite swimmers from Morgan’s club are in the middle of their warm-downs-constant, easy laps of the pool meant to drain lactic acid from their muscles and prevent injury-and Jared spots Jensen again ten or so yards away from his chair. The star swimmer is leaning on the side of the pool, caught beneath the narrow shadow cast by the starting block. Jensen’s fingers maintain a loose grip on the wall, his feet barely treading water.
Jensen’s alone, his amber-colored Swedes pushed up on his forehead, staring at something on the deck only he can see. For a moment he floats loose-limbed, appearing relaxed, but in the next instant he sinks below the water, fingers falling away from the wall. Jared immediately begins the descent from his perch a few yards above the deck, eyes on the ripple where Jensen went under. Halfway down the ladder, Jensen pops back to the surface and takes a breath, but Jared doesn’t stop.
By the time Jared’s feet hit the deck, Jensen has disappeared again, and yet no one but Jared seems to have noticed. Jared blows a lungful of air through his whistle, sees a dozen pairs of eyes turn his way. Katie, the other lifeguard, begins moving around the pool but Jared’s closer, diving into the water ten meters from where he last saw Jensen’s upper body. Jared’s half-expecting Jensen to surface by the time he closes the distance-this is a world-class swimmer, after all-but Jared’s gut keeps him moving. He never ignores instinct.
Jared’s training tells him to swallow his panic, push it down where it can’t interfere with what he needs to do to save a life, but a small amount escapes and burns at the back of his throat when he swims up and finds Jensen limp in the water. The swimmer’s head is a foot below the surface, facial muscles slack. Jared’s used to seeing struggling swimmers flail and sputter, trying to claw their way towards oxygen as their fingers fail to find purchase in the water. The way Jensen just seems to drop without a fight is much more alarming, as if the swimmer’s body is beyond his control.
But that’s where Jared comes in-his strong strokes carry him quickly to Jensen’s side where he hooks his arms beneath Jensen’s shoulders and kicks up with his legs until they both break the surface. Adrenaline’s coursing through Jared’s body, supplying his muscles with an extra push that allows him to pull Jensen to the side of the pool. And through the madness and shouting (needless to say, people are paying attention now), Jared sends a silent thanks up into the clear, blue sky that he can feel a heartbeat where his arms are locked across Jensen’s chest.
“Jared!” Katie’s shouting, her bronzed arms flung wide trying to keep other swimmers and gawkers from crowding too close. “CPR?”
Jared manages to sputter out, “I can feel a pulse!” as he and Katie work to pull and lift Jensen out of the water, a task made even more strenuous as Jensen spasms and starts coughing. “Help me get him sitting up,” he adds, letting Katie support Jensen’s weight as Jared hauls himself onto the deck. Jensen’s body is wracked with tremors as his lungs suck in air, Jared pressed against his back to prevent him from collapsing and hurting himself on the rough deck. Jared knows he’s saying something to the swimmer-nervous babble to prevent panic on both their parts-but he’ll never be able to recall the exact words.
“Let me through. Jensen!”
Jared recognizes Jeff Morgan’s voice and the sound of the coach elbowing his way through the gathered crowd. His shadow blanks Jared and Jensen, fear tightening his scruffy features.
“What the hell happened?” Jeff demands, shouldering past Katie and dropping right next to Jensen. “Did he hit his head?”
“Sir-” Katie tries to corral him, but Jeff refuses to be moved. “Mr. Morgan?”
“Someone needs to tell me why my best swimmer nearly drowned just now!”
With his palm spread on Jensen’s chest to encourage steady, even breathing, Jared whips around to face the coach. “Give him some space! He’s gonna be okay, he just needs to catch his breath.” As he says it, he can feel the pace of Jensen’s begin to settle. Jared takes one deep breath after another, hoping Jensen can feel the rhythm and match it unconsciously.
Jeff isn’t discouraged; Jared imagines that if he were a coach with so much riding on one swimmer, he’d be beyond calming, too.
“Did you see what happened?” Jeff tries again, voice on a more even keel.
Jared relays what he saw in short, to-the-point sentences. Jensen looked lightheaded; no trauma to his head; underwater for less than thirty seconds. Jared is already working on a theory, but Jeff doesn’t give him a chance to share.
“Jensen? Jen?” Jeff crouches closer. “Can you look at me?”
Jared is surprised that when Jensen finally responds, he doesn’t look at his coach. Instead, he sinks back into Jared’s supposed-to-be-clinical hold and lets out a long breath. Jared winces at the wet rattle of it, but composes a quick prayer of gratitude in his mind.
Katie, who’s been waving the other swimmers away since Jeff muscled past her, speaks up and asks, “Should I call an ambulance?” She gets echoing ‘no’s from Jensen and Jeff.
“Are you getting enough sleep?” Jeff fires off, and Jared is tempted to shove him into the pool. “Did you push too hard in the weight room this morning? What about your muscles-did they seize up?”
“No,” Jensen wheezes. “I just-”
Jared brings his mouth to Jensen’s ear. “Have you eaten today?” he asks, and isn’t all that surprised when Jensen glances back over his shoulders and shakes his head. All muscle, and without a spare ounce of fat, Jensen’s capable of burning thousands of calories during his workouts; with no fuel in his system, it was only a matter of time before his body reached critical levels.
“Of all the…” Jeff groans. “You haven’t eaten?”
“Guess I forgot,” Jensen mutters, trying to shrug. Jared lets up on his hold, helping Jensen sit up more fully.
“How could you forget?” Jeff asks. “You should be living your routine by now! The trials are less than a month away, and you’re forgetting that you need to eat? That’s fucking ridiculous, Jensen.”
Jared’s shocked at the vehemence of Jeff’s frustration. Yeah, the coach isn’t famous for giving off warm fuzzies, but Jensen’s an adult, and Jared’s not used to seeing people his age be torn down like this. So he butts in.
“I’ve got some oranges and Gatorade in the break-room,” Jared offers. “Probably a good idea to get you into the shade, too, Jensen. Take it easy for a little while.”
“I can take care-”
Jensen interrupts his coach and turns towards Jared. “Snacks sound great. Help me up, dude?”
~~~
The break-room is a corner carved out from the larger pool equipment space. Katie had donated a mini-fridge and Jared found seven pieces of patio furniture at a yard sale. Bit by bit, with the other lifeguards adding cushions, a stereo, and a microwave, it’s surprisingly comfortable, and gives them a wide view of the pool through a tinted window.
“Sit anywhere you want,” Jared says, cleaning magazines off the two-seater. He hands Jensen a bottle of Gatorade and a Power Bar grabbed from his cubby in the staff cabinet.
“Thanks, Jared.”
It’s the first time Jensen’s used his name, and Jared stumbles a step as he’s heading towards the fridge for oranges. He sets the whole pile on the table by Jensen’s knee.
“Do you want another towel?” Jared asks. They’re both sporting bright, extra-large towels around their shoulders, but there’s a stack of clean spares on one of the chairs.
“I’m used to being wet.” Jensen’s voice remains on the weak side. Halfway through the Gatorade, Jensen stops for a breath and picks up an orange, peeling the fruit with water-pruned fingers. He eats slowly, juice smearing over his lips as he relaxes into the second-hand cushions.
“So, you know my name,” Jensen comments after finishing half the orange.
“Come on, you know you’re pretty famous,” Jared says. “Especially around here. I actually follow you on Twitter,” he admits, face red enough to cover the blush he feels creeping up. “I’m surprised you know my name.”
“Why wouldn’t I? You’re the guy who always sets out my equipment. Plus you’re here every day and I’ve heard your name enough times for it to stick.”
“I didn’t think you’d noticed.”
“I’ve seen a lot of lifeguards come and go at this pool, but you’re the first one who’s ever cared to learn the way I like things, and then to actually do it for me…” Jensen shakes his head, hair spiked and dripping. “That’s pretty cool of you.”
The flush is fighting to cover Jared’s entire face now, so he covers by tossing back a little flirtation of his own. “I bet I’m also the first guard to drag your ass out of the pool.”
Jensen smirks. “Nope. Back when I was seven, I hit my head on the side of the pool and went all woozy. The guard got to me before my dad could jump in the water.” Eyeing Jared from the arch of his tanned feet to the damp mop of messy waves around his face, Jensen adds, “But he was nowhere near as hot as you, so this rescue’s gonna stand out in my mind a lot more.”
Jensen takes another sip of Gatorade as if nothing out of the ordinary was said. The press has been dogging Jensen with questions about his sexuality since the World Championship meet, and there’s been no shortage of childhood friends or college acquaintances willing to weigh in with speculation. But as soon as an article surfaces claiming Jensen Ackles is gay, another makes a splash giving the opposite opinion. But it seems like Jared’s been handed insider information from the man himself. And since Jensen put it out there…
“You’re gay?”
Jensen grins, color coming back to his cheeks. “I can swim more than one stroke, dude.”
“Cute,” Jared scoffs.
“Think so?”
“I’m downgrading you like a bad credit rating right now.”
“Fancy talk,” Jensen says before he pops another orange slice. “So the lifeguarding’s just a part-time thing?”
“Summer thing,” Jared supplies. “It pays more than some internship would.”
“I’d say you’re pretty good at it, considering what just happened.”
Before Jared can censor himself, he asks, “Did you really forget to eat?”
The swimmer’s expression flips from open to closed, undoubtedly hearing echoes of his coach’s ire. “I guess so,” he says, “not that I meant to, or anything. But between the routine Jeff’s got me on, my family asking about the trials, and my training…I don’t know, something was bound to fall through the cracks.” Jensen looks over. “Good thing you were there to catch me.”
“I could never forget to eat,” Jared quickly responds, trying to cover his embarrassment. “I love food, like, so freaking much. I mean, all day I’ve been thinking about going out to dinner tonight and getting some classic barbecue. Brisket, pulled pork, cornbread, cinnamon apples”-Jared moans-“the works.”
“Dude,” Jensen cuts into Jared’s food pornography, “that sounds amazing. What time are we going?”
Jared stammers, his brain swimming to catch up. “Um…”
“What? Is your date gonna mind?” Jensen asks, grinning as Jared stumbles through his explanation of how, no, he doesn’t have a date, he was just planning on going by himself. Because he’s been craving barbecue. A lot. Which probably sounds stupid, but sometimes Jared’s lifeguard shifts are so boring that he only makes it through by thinking about what he’s going to eat for dinner.
At that point, Jared’s relieved when Jensen interrupts his ramble. “Then what’s the issue?”
“None, I guess,” Jared admits. “If you want to go…”
“Didn’t I just sit through a lecture and a half from Jeff about eating and my routine?”
“Somehow I don’t think he’d approve of beef brisket.”
“Screw Jeff,” Jensen scoffs, leaning back on the patio furniture and, hello! Now that Jared’s brain has disengaged from life-saving mode and entered standby-for-a-potential-date mode, he finally notices what Jensen’s wearing. Nothing. Or practically nothing, because the emerald Speedo suit he’s sporting covers as much as a postage stamp. A scrap of fabric over his crotch, toned thighs spread out and enticing Jared’s gaze down towards that green swell. Skimpy compared to Jared’s blindingly red trunks. Jared’s brain also registers that neither of them are wearing shirts, just towels that have wicked away the water from their shoulders and backs, and that this is the most naked he’s been with another man since he broke up with Dylan during the fall semester. (Jared tends not to stick around his hookups long enough to care about getting them entirely naked.)
“I mean”-right, Jensen is in the middle of a rant-“Jeff’s plan sucks. His routine is supposed to be improving my times, but I’ve actually gotten slower. So if I want to derail myself, gorge on some fucking ribs, and flirt with the guy who saved my life, I’m damn well gonna!”
There’s no question that Jensen has recovered from his episode, but Jared doesn’t anticipate the swimmer getting back in the pool anytime today. He says as much, and Jensen confirms it, muttering something about heading back to his apartment for more food, a nap, and video games. Silence ensues for a few seconds-the splashes and calls from beyond the window barely seem to matter-before Jared clears his throat.
He thinks, why not go for it?
“So, do you want to meet me at Alvin’s or should I pick you up?”
~~~
Jensen pushes his macaroni and cheese across the table where Jared’s ready with his fork.
“Seriously, where are you putting all that?” he asks, watching Jared spear a mound of cheesy elbow noodles.
“Takes a lot to fill this body,” Jared teases, rubbing a hand over his nearly-full stomach. He clears the macaroni in three bites, ignoring Jensen’s brow-peaked stare. “I think I’m good.”
“Awesome, because if you needed any more food, they’d have to go out and slaughter another cow.”
Belly sated for the time being, Jared stretches out along his side of the booth, eyeing their empty plates. The employees of the order-and-sit BBQ joint are all behind the counter, not doing much to earn their hourly wages, but only a handful of tables are occupied and no one’s walked in for almost half an hour. Jared thought there was a chance Jensen would be recognized, but so far their meal’s gone uninterrupted.
And he’s not surprised that he is having a great time hanging out with Jensen. Swimming talk (and talk of Jensen’s rescue, by extension) is kept to a minimum, but their conversation never lacks substance. Jared dishes on some of the lifeguard gossip that hasn’t reached Jensen’s ears and they both reminisce about growing up as true Texas boys. Once the last crumbs of sweet cornbread have been gathered up and licked from tangy fingers, Jensen brings up the events of that afternoon.
“I hope no one recorded it on their phones or anything,” Jensen says. “I’d look pretty stupid, right? Drowning when I’m supposed to be a gold medal threat.”
“I didn’t notice, but I was kinda distracted,” Jared teases, “hauling your ass out of the water.”
“And I’ve been told it’s an awesome ass, so thank you for saving it.”
Jared laughs, doubly glad that Jensen isn’t famous enough to draw attention. That anonymity won’t survive beyond the Olympic trials though. Swimming is one of those sports where the stars are featured everywhere during coverage: commercials, feel-good documentary segments, magazine spreads, and interviews. Jensen will be a household name soon enough. But tonight he’s all Jared’s and advantage will be taken.
“Back to practice as usual tomorrow?”
Jensen groans. “Jeff would never let me get away with skipping. Not that I’d want to, really.”
“Because you pretty much live in that pool.”
“Yeah, and I love it,” Jensen says. “But Jeff’s routine is like being on lockdown. Pool, gym, rest-that’s all I get. Everything’s restricted down to the last details. How much I can sleep, what I can eat, how many reps I do in the gym. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if the guy told me how many times I’m allowed to jack off every week.”
Jared barely avoids spraying his Coke out of his nose. It’s close; his nostrils are burning.
“The thing is,” Jensen continues after pausing to make sure Jared can breathe, “I think it’s hurting my times. I didn’t control myself nearly as much before this year, but I used to feel better. I mean, Jeff would flip if he knew I was here, eating this, instead of, I don’t know, meditating on my stroke count or something. I’ve been going crazy. And this”-he gestures across the table-“feels really good.”
The way Jensen’s looking at him lights a fire under Jared’s skin. He feels the heat in his cheeks and all the way down the back of his neck.
“Enough about that, though,” Jensen says, pushing his empty tray towards the center of the table. “You ready to get out of here?”
Jensen had taken Jared up on his earlier offer of a ride, and they make it back to the swimmer’s apartment in less than ten minutes. On the verge of thanking Jensen for a surreal day, the words stick in Jared’s throat when Jensen asks him up for a drink.
“You’ll have to settle for root beer or Gatorade,” he adds with a smirk. “Jeff would slaughter me if I even thought about alcohol.”
“This isn’t some bizarre way of thanking me for pulling you out today, is it?” Jared asks once they’re inside, angled towards each other on the couch in Jensen’s living room. The swimmer had grabbed them each a root beer-the classy kind in bottles-before sitting down, and Jared finds himself fidgeting with the thick, cold glass.
“Buying dinner was the ‘thank you,’” Jensen tells him. “This is my way of telling Jeff to fuck his routine, because this is something I want.”
Before Jared can ask what ‘this’ implies, Jensen pops the bubble of personal space and leans in, so close his features begin to blur. Sensing the imminent kiss, Jared’s instincts outpace his thoughts and his eyes close; the last thing he sees is a set of full lips poised in a perfect tilt.
Jensen is eager-like, crazy eager, Jared thinks-plunging his tongue into Jared’s mouth as soon as there’s a gap to get through. Wet, warm, and moving so quickly his tongue might create a whirlpool; the kiss remains fierce until Jared’s brain screams, first kiss, moron, and attempts to rein things in. Jensen appears to enjoy the slower, more thorough exploration, and before Jared knows it, Jensen’s practically in his lap pinning the cold bottle of root beer against Jared’s chest. He gasps.
“What?” Jensen mutters. “No?”
“Yeah-I mean yes,” Jared says as soon as his mouth is free to form words. “Just gotta set this down.”
The flash of panic washes out of Jensen’s expression and Jared enthusiastically gathers the swimmer back into his arms. And he laughs, a short burst of sound, because he’s making out with Jensen Ackles, international breaststroke phenomenon.
Jensen rolls his eyes. “Now what?”
“Nothing. It’s just crazy because I’ve kinda-”
“You’ve ‘kinda’ jerked off while thinking about me?” Jensen teases. “Oh my god, you have! Haven’t you?”
Jared has; he’d retrieved an image of Jensen from his fantasy file between the end of his lifeguard shift and dinner, needing something to work out the extra adrenaline. He’d pictured Jensen in that green Speedo suit, flexing muscle-wrapped arms as he pulled himself out of the pool-the homoerotic version of the infamous Fast Times scene. Water pouring from sculpted shoulders, fat drops running fast and frictionless down Jensen’s smooth, hairless torso…
Jensen laughs, slapping Jared’s chest. “You’re totally picturing me naked right now.”
“Well, not entirely naked.”
“Still,” Jensen pouts, “it’s not fair to drift when you have me right here. If you can’t figure out what to do with a real boy, I guess I can just-ah!”
Jared bowls Jensen over onto the cushions, effectively sticking a cork in his back-sass.
“Much better,” Jensen says with the only breath Jared permits him before they’re kissing again.
Jared tastes chlorine on Jensen’s skin (permanently soaked in at this point, he imagines) as he skims his mouth down Jensen’s throat. Jensen moves beneath him like a wave-confident as if he’s following a game plan and wants to keep Jared on course. Not that Jared intends on straying; he’s discovering that reality far exceeds fantasy. Jensen’s body is pulse-stopping, easily the most spectacular of any man Jared’s hooked up with. He’s fucked a number of good-lookers, guys whose muscles outnumbered their brain cells, but nothing about the cut of Jensen’s body is for show. Primed, not a spare ounce of fat, and every inch of flesh and sinew toned for a purpose.
Jared had admired the fit of Jensen’s jeans when he picked him up for dinner, but he barely spares them a thought as he strips them from Jensen’s legs.
“Fuck yeah,” Jensen moans when Jared gets a hand between his legs. “That’s what I wanted.”
“Yeah?” Jared doesn’t know why he’s asking; Jensen’s body telegraphs everything he feels, wants. Flush spreading to where he wants Jared’s touch. Hand flexing at the small of Jared’s back, guiding him into a gentle rut. Spine locking for a split-second when Jared’s fingers play teasingly behind his balls-a silent warning. “That’s not part of your routine?” He means it as a joke, but Jensen growls out a few less-than-flattering words about his coach. Jared laughs in the face of his irritation. “Don’t worry, there are plenty of other things I can do to you.”
“To me?” Jensen snorts. “You want me to just lie here and take it?”
“It’d be a hell of a disappointment if you did.” Jared smirks, but he means it. Nights come where he’s in the mood for a no-strings, no-effort (and no-conversation if he’s lucky) encounter, but this isn’t one of those occasions. And Jensen is not that kind of guy, energy sparking as soon as they’re both naked, sliding against one another. Jared’s unwilling to vacate his spot between Jensen’s thighs, already addicted to the long lines of muscle. Tempted to bite, mark, own that sun-bathed skin, but doubting Jensen would want to wear the evidence to practice tomorrow. So he touches, shapes, and kneads with his hands, cups one palm around Jensen’s cock and drowns him in friction. Between getting Jensen off and listening to what Jensen has to say about his body, Jared’s grinning like an idiot (albeit a very turned-on idiot).
“Jesus,” Jensen praises. “I love your arms. So fuckin’ tight and strong. Bet you could hold me up while-” The rest is smothered under the pressure of his orgasm. Driving his hips into Jared’s grip as if he’s driving into the wall at practice-hard and unrelenting until he just stops and lets his body melt. Jared’s too close for Jensen’s sudden immobility to matter, thrusting against the chiseled cut of Jensen’s hip-line one more time before he comes.
That was amazing.
“Tens for execution,” Jensen mutters, sinking into the cushions and pulling Jared down with him, “but a few deductions for difficulty.” If Jensen weren’t basically giggling at his own joke, Jared would be offended. “I mean hand jobs and grinding? That’s for teenagers.”
“I’ve got all night,” Jared says, lips already finding their way back up Jensen’s throat, “if you wanna graduate to something a little more mature.” He kisses Jensen silent, drawing warmth from his responsive mouth. “That is if your ‘routine’ allows it.”
Jensen scoffs, squirming and pushing to reverse their positions. “I don’t give a fuck what Jeff thinks,” he says from atop Jared’s chest, “sex is good for me.”
Jared likes hearing that and he shows Jensen just how much with his next kiss, breaking out techniques he’d put into mental storage months ago when Dylan left; he hadn’t bothered making an effort with his glittery strand of club boys. Jensen, he wants to impress. He wants more than tonight, and his heart thumps happily in behind his ribs when Jensen breaks away from the kiss and whispers, “I think I need to add you to my routine.”
~~~
‘Routine’ or not, their hook-ups don’t follow a pattern. As a result of having so much on his mind, there’s no telling when the urge will take Jensen, but since Jared’s primed for him just about all the time, the arrangement works.
The first time they end up together at the aquatic center, Jared’s in the break-room reapplying his sunblock when Jensen sneaks in. There’s no lock, but Jared figures Katie wouldn’t have missed Jensen going in so he figures they’ve got fifteen minutes, tops, before she comes a knockin’.
Several details hit Jared at once: they’re alone-Katie, the coaches and assistants are all out on the deck; it’s been a solid thirty-six hours since they’ve been able to do so much as make out and Jared is dying for something; fifteen minutes is plenty to work with. But the most important detail is that Jensen is dripping wet, fat drops making his skin shine in the light from the window. Jensen’s panting as if he’d stopped mid-workout to corner Jared in the break-room, lips open and moist, hair slicked back and sporting furrows from his fingers running through it. Only a few square inches of soaking wet fabric stand between Jared and that God-given masterpiece of a body, and there’s no time to waste.
“Gonna stare all day?” Jensen is brazen, standing without shame while water pools around his feet. Voice strong unlike the last time Jared and Jensen were in here together. Jared can only sputter, replacing the sunblock in his bag before he squeezes the dumb thing to death.
“Um…”
“Did the sun fry your brain?”
Jared shakes his thoughts back into place. Damn, Jensen’s thighs-hips-waist-shoulders-lips are lethal to his brain cells. “If you walked in here just to insult me, feel free to turn around,” Jared says, and he can feel how deep his dimples are.
Jensen’s suddenly a lot closer, cornering Jared behind the two-seater. “A little sensitive, huh? And here I thought we could have some fun before your break’s over.”
Curving his palms over Jensen’s shoulders, Jared pushes him down to the floor. “If you don’t stop running your mouth-”
“Someone’s gonna come along and stick their dick in it?” Jensen winks.
“Exactly.”
Jared’s had the pleasure of sucking Jensen off twice now, but this is the first time the swimmer has returned the favor. Jensen makes short work of Jared’s red trunks, wrangling them just low enough to let his cock swing out. Flailing a bit at the first touch of cool lips to heated skin, Jared barely manages to grab the towel he’d slung over the back of the loveseat, tossing it down to serve as a mat between Jensen’s knees and the concrete floor. (Aside from tugging Jared’s hair into a freakish mess, Jensen’s a considerate receiver, and Jared intends to behave the same way.)
Randomly, Jared thinks it’s a good thing Jensen hasn’t sucked him off before now; if he’d experienced Jensen’s mouth earlier, he wouldn’t have been able to focus on anything else. He’d always assumed blowjobs were blowjobs, but what Jensen’s doing requires a different classification altogether. On enthusiasm alone, Jensen’s technique outstrips that of Jared’s exes and one-night encounters.
Jensen gives head the same way he kisses, engines revved and no possibility of holding back. Maybe it’s the constraint of time, but Jensen doesn’t bother teasing Jared with coy kitten licks or lowered lashes; his mouth is open and wet, warm exhales from his nose hitting Jared’s skin. It’s easy to drown in the spit-thick, choking sounds Jensen’s making, roll over his tongue and press deep. The entire encounter is more pleasure-spiking than if Jensen had taken his cock like a polished pro; he struggles but is intent on swallowing Jared down to his short-hairs. When he finally does-Jared’s dick claiming virgin territory at the back of Jensen’s throat-fucking anthems start playing in Jared’s head. Frankly, Jared’s embarrassed at how little it takes before his cock is over-filled and heavy, and he’s begging like crazy for Jensen to have mercy and finish him off.
Which Jensen does, and not even the white-hot strike of orgasm blinds Jared to the smirk on Jensen’s face. God damn bastard. Jensen tightens his lips again and Jared’s inner cursing is lost to another full-body quake.
Jared’s knees are the consistency of Jello and he has to lean his hip against the two-seater while he refastens his shorts. The canary is nowhere to be seen but the feline satisfaction is all over Jensen’s face as he stands and swipes his tongue over the divot in his bottom lip. Jared had (unconsciously) done a number on the swimmer’s short hair leaving the strands half-dry and tousled, raised in rows the width of Jared’s fingers.
And apparently the blowjob had been to Jensen’s satisfaction as well, Jared notes while looking down. “You can’t go out there with that in your Speedo.”
Jensen palms himself, middle and pointer fingers pressing up behind his balls through the Lycra, and says, “We still have five minutes.”
~~~
They christen Jared’s apartment a week after their barbecue date. Going to Jensen’s place is easier, but Jared has imagined more than one scenario involving Jensen and his furniture/shower/living room rug, so he eventually insists on a change of scenery. Of course, he hadn’t figured on Jensen picking up pictures, snooping through desk drawers, and scrutinizing his DVD shelves as soon as they’d polished off the Italian subs Jared stopped for on his way back from the pool. (He’d made it his personal mission to ensure Jensen was as well-fed and non-fainty as possible.)
“I never pegged you as the nosy type,” Jared says, eyes stuck on Jensen as he’s disturbing dust bunnies around Jared’s DVDs.
Jensen doesn’t turn around when he replies, “I’m getting to know you. Or should I only want you for your body?”
“My body wouldn’t mind.”
“Shocking,” Jensen laughs. “Who’d have thought the freakin’ male swimsuit model could be so shallow?”
“Wait,” Jared says, “are you calling me the model?”
“No, I’m talking about the other bronzed God who walks around all day in swim trunks and uses expensive conditioner.”
Fine, Jared can admit that he budgets for certain salon products, but look at the results! “I thought you liked my hair.”
Jensen tosses a grin over his shoulder and continues prying. Not all that worried about what the swimmer might find, Jared throws away the pile of wax paper and napkins left over from dinner and grabs two bottles of water from the fridge. There’s a crack on Jared’s tongue about making sure Jensen’s good and hydrated before the sex commences, but he swallows it when he sees the DVD Jensen’s holding. The barely-decent smirk on his face, lips bitten to keep from laughing, tells the story.
Jensen shakes the case. “Seriously?”
“Dude,” Jared scoffs, “you can’t tell me you’ve never done yoga.”
“Yes, Jared. Yes I can. Yoga’s for chicks-”
“There are guys in all my classes-”
“-and for people who are too lazy to do real exercise-”
“-it’s a great way to elongate your muscles and stay flexible-”
“-and what’s with all the people doing yoga in parks?”
“Okay,” Jared says, plucking the DVD from Jensen’s fingers. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ll just have to show you.”
“Come on, you can’t tell me you actually do this stuff.”
Jared’s jeans are loose around his waist, fibers soft from years of summer wear. Not the most comfortable yoga attire, but it’ll pass in the short term; Jared doesn’t imagine this will be a long demonstration. At least he’s wearing a tight v-neck-that’ll give Jensen a show.
“Show me the downward dog,” Jensen teases. “That one sounds pretty interesting.”
Without responding, Jared takes a deep breath through his nose and begins his own routine, one he’d developed between classes. Instructors were great and all, but Jared knew his body-knew what it needed-and he’d pieced together a few sessions for optimal reward. He’s even taught one or two classes when the instructors were unavailable.
Jared opens his chest, ignores Jensen’s pin-prick comments, and shifts his weight to his right leg. So used to the movements, he visualizes the pull in his muscles, adjusts until he’s perfectly balanced. And then he bends over, grin already in place when he hears Jensen’s quickly drawn breath.
“Damn.” The rest is garble coming out of Jensen’s mouth as Jared executes a handful of his most provocative (and ridiculously flexible) moves. “Okay, okay, you win,” he admits breathlessly as Jared’s bent in half, palms out and heels digging into the floor, demonstrating exactly how interesting downward dog can be. “Yoga can definitely be awesome.”
Jensen all but tackles Jared as soon as he’s standing on two feet again. Keyed up and panting, his hands grope Jared in a frenzy. Considering this is Jensen’s inaugural visit to his apartment, they’re lucky to make it to the couch with Jensen steering blind. Jared’s mouth is on top of Jensen’s, adding pressure until his tongue slips through and comes away with the taste of sweet peppers and olive oil. They kiss as the tumble in a clumsy heap onto the cushions, breaking apart only to seek each other’s lips as soon as they’re down.
Getting naked would take too long and Jensen’s not exactly swimming in patience, so they focus on the essentials: pants off, underwear shoved aside for the moment. Jared’s hungry for another taste of Jensen’s cock, and he’s perfectly willing to get on his knees, but as soon as he tries to scoot down, his forehead collides painfully with Jensen’s.
“What the hell, Jared? Trying to kill me?” Jensen shakes off the knock. “Did Kitajima put you up to this?”
“Right,” Jared says, wincing as the throb intensifies and recedes in waves. “Your competition told me to blow you to death.”
Jensen stares. “Huh, I was about to suck you off.”
“Flip a coin for it?” Jared jokes, swallowing at the suddenly sharp gleam in Jensen’s eyes.
“I’ve got a better idea.”
It’s been years since Jared sixty-nined with a guy, and for the life of him, he can’t figure out why it’s been so damn long. Sure there are extra limbs to coordinate (it’s like a threesome; you’ve gotta remember whose leg is where), and his mind can’t wander around boner-town while Jensen does all the work, but it crams the best of everything into one shared act. There’s a cock in Jared’s mouth-Jensen keeps his thrusts shallow because he’s too busy pleasuring Jared to ride his face-and his own dick is racking up some serious frequent flyer miles as it glides over Jensen’s tongue.
And this way, with Jared flat-backing it underneath Jensen, he’s treated to a spectacular view of Jensen’s ass. He’s seen it in a Speedo countless times, naked and pale on a few occasions since these extracurricular activities began, but never like this: taut, freckled cheeks just begging to be marked up. With teeth, tongue, hands, come-whatever Jensen’s willing to take. Jared might be getting ahead of himself imagining things like that given the aqueous nature of their arrangement, but faced with an ass like Jensen’s (literally), he can’t help it. He can, however, get his hands all over it. Knead those cheeks together as he pushes Jensen’s dick further into his mouth at the same time. No question Jensen appreciates his effort given the way he’s moaning, every little reverberation sent straight down to Jared’s balls.
Jared uses the pads of his fingers to pry at Jensen’s hole, thumbs tapping over the tight muscle. A coded message saying he wants to go further, but won’t until Jensen gives him the verbal green light. That go-ahead never comes while they’re both orally occupied and so close to coming. At least Jared is; it’s as if Jensen’s pulling strings in his hips, tightening everything to the point where there’s no escape, only explosion. His own mouth goes slack at the same time he’s shooting into Jensen’s, and it’s nearly a full minute before he gathers himself enough to re-engage Jensen’s cock, coaxing the swimmer’s orgasm to the surface with a few thorough swirls of his tongue.
“Oh my stars,” Jensen says as he folds down onto Jared’s thighs, both chuckling at his exaggerated drawl. “That needs to become part of our routine.” That earns him a light slap on the ass (Jared could only resist for so long, honestly) before he wriggles and rolls, tucking himself between Jared and the back of the couch.
“And maybe you’ll give yoga a shot one of these days,” Jared says.
“I’m not bendy enough for you?”
Jared pretends to consider the idea even as the majority of his brain is dealing with the sensation of Jensen’s fingers curling into his t-shirt and remaining there. Nothing on the agenda for the rest of the night, and Jared’s fine with that, even if it means lying here with Jensen, his hand warm over Jared’s heart. Especially if that’s what it means.
Jared turns his smile on Jensen. “Eh, you’ll do.”
~~~
In between hook-ups, Jared and Jensen date. Well, Jared assumes they’re dating (there has been no confirmation from either side). Jensen starts cooking dinner whenever Jared stops by his apartment after a shift at the pool, which is a welcome relief from takeout and the sparse provisions in Jared’s kitchen. They’ve seen two new releases in theaters and Jared’s learned that nothing takes Jensen out of his competition-driven mindset and helps him relax faster than a Pixar movie.
They’ve been getting together for nearly two-and-a-half weeks when the idea really connects with Jared. He hasn’t seen Jensen in three days, but he’s supposed to be on his way over with a calzone from Andretti’s (for Jared) and a spinach salad from Delilah’s Deli (for Jensen). Preparations for the Olympic Trials in Omaha have sliced into their time together, and Jared’s feeling antsy. Nervous and twitchy-fingered in a way he hasn’t felt since he and Dylan swung into the ‘serious’ phase in their relationship.
Jared’s wading deep into that thought when Jensen knocks once on the door and walks in. The swimmer’s expression is so thunderous, it’s a wonder his entrance isn’t preceded by lightning.
“Hey, you made it,” Jared says once Jensen’s dumped his bag on the floor. He takes more care when he sets two bags of food on the counter.
“Almost didn’t,” Jensen grumbles. “I’m surprised Jeff let me leave tonight.” His jaw tightens, words sharpened on his teeth. “If he had his way, I’d be chained to a cot in his office when I’m not swimming.”
“Sounds kinky.”
“Ugh, just no.” Jensen shakes his head and sighs. “Jeff doesn’t think I’m taking my training seriously enough.”
“It’s practically all you think about!” The pitch of Jared’s voice reflects how preposterous he considers the idea to be.
Jensen deflates. “I know. Can we just eat? I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”
Implying there could be a ‘later,’ Jared imagines. He nods and grabs plates from the cabinet, setting the counter for two while Jensen stomps into the bathroom.
Conversation is kept in the shallow end throughout dinner, but Jared doesn’t mind so long as every minute that passes drains some of the tension from Jensen’s expression. It’s been three days and he wants to catch up with Jensen; if that means sticking to small talk and avoiding the dark fin circling around them, he’s fine. He likes talking to Jensen as much as any other activity involving their mouths.
Leaving plates and take-away containers on the counter, Jared and Jensen shift to the couch where, like a dam under pressure, Jensen finally cracks.
“I don’t know if I’m gonna make it ‘til the trials.”
That surprises Jared. “What are you talking about? There’s only a week and a half left until Omaha. Is the pressure getting to be too much?”
“I’ve dealt with the pressure all my life,” Jensen says. He’s been swimming since he was four, so Jared imagines that’s basically true. “I think Jeff’s more worked up about the trials than I am, and he’s been riding me harder and harder. And this week-God-I can barely catch my breath. It’s like Jeff suddenly decided that whatever I was doing wasn’t good enough, that I’m not good enough. I just need him to back off.”
“Did he say something to you this afternoon?” Jared asks. “Is that why you’re upset now?”
“It’s like I told you before-if Jeff could, he’d lock me up to make sure I don’t do anything stupid to ruin my shot at a medal.” Jensen throws his arm over his eyes, head making a dent in the cushion behind him. “No time off, no doing my own thing, no hanging out with you.”
Jared swallows. “Jeff knows about us?”
“I didn’t tell him, but he knows. I swear he’s having me followed,” Jensen adds with muted sarcasm.
“Look,” Jared says, “I don’t want to get between you and your coach-”
“Now that sounds kinky,” Jensen interjects, but then his smile sours. “Oh, gross. Why did I even think that?”
They share a laugh, but Jared’s intent on getting his thoughts out. “Seriously”-it’s hard for Jared to speak around the knot in his throat-“if seeing me is affecting your training…” He can’t finish; maybe this ‘thing’ between them is casual, but that doesn’t mean Jared needs to kick it off a cliff.
Craning his neck, Jensen looks over. Jared’s face is warm; his feelings must be written all over it. Finally, Jensen says, “Nah, it’s got nothing to do with you. Well, not really, but seeing you is, like, one of the only things that’s mine right now, and there’s no way I’m giving that up.”
“As long as you’re not giving up on the Olympics either, man,” Jared tells him. “Because that would be so stupid, you don’t even know.” He nudges Jensen, smile on his face, so that the barb falls softly. He just wants Jensen to relax.
“I’m not. I guess I just need a break, no matter how small it is. And maybe Jeff will lay off me if I make the US team,” Jensen speculates. “At the very least, I’ll be training with the rest of the team somewhere else, with different coaches.”
That’s not exactly something Jared wants to think about so he goes for Plan C (Plan A was getting Jensen to talk about their relationship; Plan B was kissing him to distraction, although that option’s still on the table) and pulls a DVD from the drawer in his coffee table.
“How about a movie?” Jared suggests. “I stole ‘Finding Nemo’ from my niece’s collection.” That’s a lie; this is Jared’s personal copy.
“I’m twenty-five years old,” Jensen says, “and you’re asking me to watch a cartoon?” Poor Jensen, always in denial. Jared holds out the metallic blue case and watches Jensen’s scowl flatten out. Not into a smile, but into something between exhaustion and peace. He waits for the Power of Pixar to cast its spell, rewarded when Jensen slouches back. “Fine, put it in.”
They do not cuddle during the movie, but by the time Nemo’s making friends in the aquarium, Jared and Jensen are sharing the same cushion, aligned from shoulder to hip, each of them turned inward. And Jared feels better than he has in days, weeks, months. Since the last time he floated in a space so easily with another guy. But in less than two weeks, Jensen’s life is going to change forever (unlike Jensen, Jared has no doubt he’ll make the Olympic team), and Jared still has no idea where he ranks. Before tonight, Jared figured he’d be out of the picture for good once Jensen left for Omaha. Now, Jared can’t help thinking he might have a shot at the podium.
On to PART TWO.