Fic: Right Turn and Present (J2, NC-17)
Right Turn and Present
J2, unbeta'd, kinkmeme fill.
Warnings for dubcon and barbed cock.
Original prompt is here:
Js are members of a special forces unit made up of weres (there might be different species involved too, not only wolves, I have a special place in my heart for werecats, as some of you know ;P).
If you want to write a PWP it's cool, if you want some backstory, I'd love a situation where the boys hate each other at first or fiercely compete, but after a brush with death in an adrenaline-filled event finally have rough, brutal, claiming sex, fighting about who's on top :) They feel the need to make sure that the other one is alive, to mark him, as they now understand they could have lost him.
It's from the take_the_knot community, this prompt, but as this actually isn't knot fic (done it once) I thought it was better off over here.
Right Turn and Present
He scrabbles frantically at the gym floor, heaves up under Ackles' weight, knees slipping and bruising, slams his hand down and uses the force of it to push sideways, away, but the Sergeant rolls with him, his teeth still in Jared's neck. It's a numbing, cloudy sensation, that bite: it drags back memories of trust, protection, alien and unwanted. Jared's twenty eight, not six months old. He's not a kit in his mother's mouth, he's on his own, his ass burning, sweat dripping down into his eyes, gasping for breath. Feeling like he's moving so slow his muscles could be candy floss.
"Get the fuck out of me," Jared hisses, but even the words are slow. "Fuck, get off of me, fucker - "
Barbed, stinging, so hot Jared wants to curl up and clutch his stomach against the heat of it, Ackles' dick pulses in his ass. Ackles is still coming, the fucker, Jared can feel the acid slide of come around the thick push of Ackles' dick, oozing down over his own balls and inside his thighs, blood-hot and itching. He's going to stink of the man. He does stink of him, the brand of Ackles' sweat and saliva plastered all over Jared's skin and Jared needs it off, now, needs to be clean, himself. He struggles again, pulling Ackles with him across the polished floor, and when he looks up through the sweat-spiked bangs of his hair his hands are clawed and gouging the wood.
"Don't pull away, you idiot, you'll hurt - " It's a growl, deeper than Jared has ever heard Ackles' voice before, so low the words grumble over his skin. But Ackles has finally got his teeth - sharper than they should be - out of Jared's neck and the dizzy urge to submit is gone. Setting his claws in the floorboards, Jared yanks himself free fast and hard and Jesusfuck, screams with the pain. Ackles tommed out on him, the sadistic, arrogant bastard: the barbs on his dick tear their way out of Jared's ass. It hurts like nothing Jared's ever felt before, not the mine misfire in Chad, not the exploding machine gun in Belize, not the time he fought his way out of the barn fire when he was twelve. Hurts both of them: Ackles curses hard and tries to hump down, thumps Jared's back, tries to knock him back to the floor, but Ackles is still coming and still mazed with heat. He's slower than normal, Jared's desperate, and both of them scream as the last barb comes free.
"You fucking - " Jared's out of words. If he could lick his own ass he would. He scrabbles his way on all four paws and then his feet to the gym wall, swallows around the yowl that's trying to claw its way out of his throat, and swipes at the pain. His hand comes back blood streaked and sticky with Ackles' come. "Goddamn it to hell, you - " He can't keep still, his legs itch, his skin's too tight for him, he feels unfinished and broken. Hurts like his ass has been sand papered. He hits his fist off the wall and bites at the scrape on his knuckles. "Fucking bastard, you - "
"Fucking warned you," Ackles says.
"You fucking - "
Ackles stands up. It's no consolation that the man heaves himself of the floor, hitch to his stride, has to brace himself upright. He's a week out of the infirmary and still too pale, but he'd slammed Jared down and fucked him over as if there'd never been any question over which one of them topped. "Kid, you should have fucking told me," he says. He's still half-hard, Ackles, his dick heavy against the fall of his balls, and that's Jared's blood on his skin.
"Yeah, right," Jared says. "You tommed out on me, you bastard, I didn't sign up for that, you didn't - " he has to move, takes three impatient strides to the wall, kicks off it, shivers. Ackles is still between him and the door, standing still, eyes so steady he could be sighting down his rifle.
"What the fuck did you think was going to happen?" Ackles says. "Between us?"
Jared glares back at him. He's out of words. If he'd had his tail, it would have been lashing.
"Get yourself to the infirmary," Ackles says. "That's an order, boy. You got me?"
"Fuck you," Jared says.
"You want to be hauled up on insubordination?" Ackles says. "March, soldier. Or your ass is in front of the Colonel's desk right now. You wanna explain to the man, huh?"
Jared hits his fist off the wall again. It doesn't help. He wants it to be Ackles under his punch, hurt and cringing, wants to slam him down to the floor and fuck him over real good, permanent, owned and claimed. Payback for every snide comment and every sarcastic word and every fucking sideways glare of his eyes like Jared's too stupid to move, not six foot five inches of competent, honed muscle.
But it's Ackles standing tall and the pain in Jared's ass, the sticky, itching dampness between his thighs, is his Sergeant's.
"Shower first," Ackles says, his voice softening, as if he knows how Jared feels. "Unless you want samples." His voice is as even as if he hasn't just suggested Jared press charges. "Whatever, ask for Michael, at the desk. He'll fix you up. And he won't ask questions if that's the way you want it."
"You do this often?" Jared hisses.
Ackles says nothing. He moves away from the door, far enough for Jared to know he can get there first, and his left leg drags stiff as he walks. It's been six weeks since the fuck up in Kashmir, the moment when the sky was silent and it was Jared's hands pressed down against the surge of blood, holding them both together. Two years since Jared had dropped his duffel down on the cot and said, "Who's in charge?"
"None of your fucking business, soldier," Ackles says. "Git."
Jared gits.
~*~
It is, of course, dress parade in the morning. The colonel keeps them waiting half an hour on the dusty, windswept ground and is still fastening his sash as he ducks out of the office, and behind the mess tent the helicopters send grit stinging across the dirt as they swing into the sky. "Fucking press," the man mutters, and then hits his palm off the microphone as the ranks sway with suppressed laughter and he realizes the switch is set to on.
Jared's not laughing. The stuff Michael gave him numbed his ass, but the claw marks on his back and the bite on his neck sting like fire. When he'd rolled painfully naked out of his cot, Chris had taken one look and catcalled across the barracks. "Padalecki! Who the fuck did you put out for last night, Godzilla?"
Seven years, it had taken him, to fight his way up the ranks to the one unit that was were-only. He'd been signed up three years before he'd even known they existed. The worst moment of his life was the one when he stood in front of the Colonel's desk, rigid with nerves, knowing that this was his only chance.
"Sir," he'd said. "Padalecki. Jared. Reporting for interview." The Colonel had cocked his head on one side, bright and curious, and behind him a voice straight off the Texas badlands had drawled, "Cat. You owe me ten dollars."
"Huh," the Colonel had said, eyes lingering on Jared's hair which was... yeah, maybe half an inch too long to be regulation. "Could have sworn... you're sure you're not a wolf, soldier?"
Jared had blinked and opened his mouth, ten years of don't ask don't tell hobbling his tongue, and behind him the drawl had said, "He's just too damn pretty to be pack. You got a backbone to go with that hair, boy?"
Shoulders stiffening, Jared had bitten out, "Cat. Sir.Lynx."
"I asked you a question. Boy."
"Sir," Jared had said. "Yessir." And it was then that Sergeant Ackles had lounged his way into Jared's space, stared him in the eyes, and launched the first salvo in a campaign that was still going on. "Kid," he'd said, green eyes narrow and hard, "You sign up with us, you'll never get another post. You'll be bumped down to private, you'll take one hell of a pay cut, and," Ackles had smiled then, and his teeth had been whiter and sharper than any human's. "You'll have me on your ass. All day. Every day." Ackles had said. "Maybe you want to think this over again. Door's behind you."
Ackles looked like a fucking movie star. Moved like a tiger, menace and power worn so casually he could have been Alpha. But he was a cat, Jared would have bet his life on the thought. It was the lazy, arrogant stance of the man, the half-lowered eyelashes, the tilt of his head. Cat who thought he was better than Jared. If he'd been furred, Jared would have been bristling. Instead, he spat out, "Every day. You on my ass. Yes, Sir."
Ackles had laughed. Thrown his head back and laughed, and the Colonel had hidden his smile in the paperwork on his desk. Jared had thought he'd blown it until two weeks later, when the transfer arrived.
Two years later, he stands on a parade ground in Afghanistan with Ackles' come still seeping out of his ass and the man's teethmarks burning into his skin. Every fucking wolf within fifty feet will know he'd been fucked last night, and that was after three showers and an antiseptic douche.
He can't lie. He'd known it was going to be one or the other of them. He'd thought it would be him. He'd even planned it, the nights he counted out the extra laps, the disciplinary press-ups, the punishment reports. Every time he'd stripped his rifle down over and over again, every bitten-back retort, every sir, every time he'd moved his ass faster because Ackles was watching his back. Ackles had a hard-on for Jared stiff as a flag pole, and Jared sweated his way through every green-eyed, contemptuous glare to the thought of the man yowling on his dick. He'd never wanted anyone so badly as Ackles, hate and lust and anger knotted up inside him so tight the power of it made him want to howl at the moon.
He had three medals and a note in despatches he'd never have got if Ackles hadn't pushed him that hard. A bond with the unit so tight the wolves thought of him as pack. A reputation that meant his stuff stayed where he put it, the Colonel's rare smile, a body that meant he could have any pussy he wanted. And if Jared had never tommed out on the pretty Arkansas bar girls or the rare fellow were, that was his business. He'd known he'd do it when it was Ackles hissing and spitting, skewered on Jared's dick and stuck there. He knew exactly what he was going to growl into that freckled skin, the day Ackles spread his legs and stuck his ass in the air, begging.
But it had been Jared, helpless, stupid with want, who'd rocked back against Ackles' dick and ducked his head in submission. If it hadn't been for the surgery scars and the cane Ackles dropped by the mats as if he hated it, the lines at the corner of his mouth that hadn't been there six weeks earlier, it would have been different. Jared had pulled his punches. Ackles hadn't.
And now the whole fucking unit knows. Even the Colonel's nose twitches as he walks down the line, and despite every ounce of pride Jared owns, he drops his eyes as the man walks past. The Colonel doesn't say a word. It's Ackles, two paces behind and ram-rod straight despite the limp, who stops.
"Padalecki," he says.
Humiliated, hating, Jared looks up. He can feel the color rise in his cheeks. But Ackles isn't grinning in triumph, he's frowning.
"Should you be here?" he asks.
Jared glares back at him, "Dandy. I'm just not taking a dump for the rest of this year. Sir." He can hear Chris' breath hiss through his teeth from five paces, and so can Ackles. His hand clenches on the cane.
"See me after parade," he says. "That's an order."
"Sir," Jared says.
"He - " Chris yelps, ten minutes later- "You and he - "
"Don't you ever fucking mention this again," Jared hisses.
Hands in the air, Chris says, "It's cool, man, but I had fifty dollars with your name on it - "
"There's a pool?" Jared says.
"Eh, yeah?" Chris says. "You were winning?"
It's no consolation when he walks into the office and Ackles is steaming with rage. Jared's never seen him like this, so angry he's walking up and down in front of the desk, short steps, his eyes brilliant and his face flushed. His hands are twitching.
"You fucking idiot," he yells. "Have you forgotten everything your mama taught you? Never pull off a barbed cock. What did Michael say?"
That... wasn't what Jared was expecting. It's almost like... they're back under the walls of the old fort, the helicopter already vanished into the sky and Ackles bleeding out under Jared's hands. He'd cursed Jared out for doubling back, voice so cracked Jared had had to bend down to hear it, "You fucking idiot, should've gone back, taught you better than this."
It had been a long wait. Nothing to do but watch Ackles' blood seep out over Jared's fingers, no matter how tight his grip. Nothing to do but talk, Ackles' voice fading with his color. "Don't leave me," Jared had said, and then, his hand rubbing so very gently over Jensen's hair. "You live through this, we'll give it a go for real, yeah? See who really comes out on top when it's your ass on the line."
He'd thought Ackles hadn't heard. Things got a bit desperate after that.
In the office, six weeks later, argument made, Jared takes his cap off. "Michael says I got lucky," he says. "Which is not what my ass thinks."
"It's not what my fucking dick thinks either," Ackles says, and spins around, plants his fists on the desk. "You're on desk duty for the next week," he says. "And don't pull that macho bullshit on me, Padalecki. I know you."
Jared, mouth open, says nothing.
Ackles sighs. "If I'd known you hadn't done that before... Jesus, Padalecki, most cubs know... "
"I didn't grow up pride," Jared says gently. He's never seen Ackles like this, as fiercely protective as he is pushy.
"You never said," Ackles says.
"Well," Jared says. "I kinda thought it'd be you riding my dick, y'know? Got no reason to say." It's not the words, it's the stunned look on Ackles' face that makes Jared grin. He looks like someone's hit him over the head with a two by four, his teeth biting his lip and his eyes wide. It makes Jared open his big mouth all over again. "And you know what?" he says, "Sir? I get that was a one time pass. I get it has to be this way on camp. I'm not trying to mess us over. But I get you alone off it and that's the way it's gonna be. You got me?"
And although Ackles' mouth is open, he's not got words. Jared reaches out a hand and closes it, gently. "Might want to remember your own advice when you're hanging off my dick," he says. "Sir." He's still grinning when he puts his cap back on and salutes, and the snapped out about turn and march is as sharp as if they were still on parade.
It's eight weeks to the end of the tour, and Ackles never says another word. After a week of enforced idleness, Jared picks his own punishment details, works out harder than he ever did when Sergeant Ackles was on his back. He turns in his extra reports same as usual - current Russian helicopter specs, black market currency exchange, an assessment of infra-red spectrometry as applied to satellite imaging that makes it to the Review Board - and keeps himself to himself. The teasing dies down, and then some Alpha over in C Company finds herself a mate off the catering crew and it stops altogether.
Jared's finding... he's kind of missing the way Ackles snarled in his face, and the constant challenge of trying to better than the man who's been the Colonel's right hand for the last ten years. By the way Ackles looks at him when he thinks Jared's not looking back, puzzled and cautious, he thinks that makes two of them. He might be finding every excuse he can to hang around outside the office or work out on the gym the same time as Ackles: Ackles is watching him right back. And if Jared's taken up weightlifting shirtless and walking naked through the changing rooms... it's no less of a challenge than the miles he and Ackles pounded out together, neither of them willing to lose.
Ackles stops using the cane too early, and Jared keeps dropping it right back outside his door. Fair's fair: he'd walked into the office the first day and found a cushion on his chair.
But Ackles never, ever lets Jared see him alone. He's always with someone: the Colonel, Michael, the Sergeant from A company with the scar across her forehead, half the unit. No more cosy little chats at midnight, while Jared does push-ups with half a dozen bricks on his back and Ackles does the same right there with him one-handed and counting. No more shouted debates over the reports, as Ackles deconstructs all Jared's arguments and Jared pulls them together again. No more sneaky, half-sanctioned reconnaissance missions as weres, Jared loping half a pace behind Ackles' elegant, silver-tipped fur. All Jared gets is, left in his locker, a printed-out copy of Army Pamphlet 600-35 -- Relationships Between Soldiers Of Different Ranks, which he promptly tears up and drops on Ackles' desk. The were unit does not comply to the general code of conduct, and they both know it.
After that one, he does e-mail home, and Chad sends the parcel to Jared's PO Box on base along with a semi-coherent reply that boils down, it's about time, and, want a hand?
Then the tour end dates come through. They did good, this trip, and the army's throwing them a non-holds-barred regimental dinner with speeches to prove it, in a swanky hotel. Off base. Attendance, in dress uniform, is mandatory.
Jared arranges his leave to start the day after, polishes his boots, books a room, and grins for two days.
But the twenty minutes it takes to find Ackles among the crowd is excruciating. After the first ten, Jared's convinced himself Ackles knows, that he's backed out, fabricated some excuse that means he's not there - and then he catches sight of the man, guarded by wolves. He's sitting at the Colonel's table, which means he's surrounded by pack, and across the room he raises his glass to Jared with an ironic lift to his eyebrows and a glint in his eyes.
Ackles thinks he's safe. Ackles is wrong.
Jared doesn't eat much of the meal and couldn't tell who's making the speeches. His hand is clenched on the plastic-wrapped package in his pocket, his knees twitching under the table, clock watching. It's forever until the Colonel's aide taps his glass nervously and raises it up for the first toast, and only then can Jared unwrap the stuff Chad got for him.
Four toasts. It's the Colonel who raises his voice and his glass for the last, to fallen comrades, and Jared bows his head for that one. Then, he's moving. He stalks past the tables, shoulders through the people beginning to stand, heads straight for Ackles. There's no point hiding, but Ackles, chatting to the colonel with his cap already back on his head, seems oblivious. It's only when Jared arrives at his shoulder and says, low voiced, "Sir... " that he turns around.
By then, it's too late. Jared can see the man's eyes darken and his pupils expand, watch the flush of color along his cheekbones and the way his head goes back. "What the fuck... ?" Ackles manages, and his voice is as low as it was in the gym, and then he reaches out a hand and grabs Jared's shoulder. He's almost kneading it, his fingernails sharpening into claws, and he's started to pant.
In Jared's pocket? Catnip. He's been practicing. Low grade exposure all week has meant Jared's a little dizzy, just a little high: Ackles is practically stumbling on his feet, and even as Jared puts a hand under his elbow Ackles closes his eyes and sways in hard against Jared's chest. "Christ," Ackles whispers, eyes closed, and turns his face into Jared's shoulder. His hips are already starting to move.
"... Sergeant?" the Colonel asks, puzzled.
Jared says smoothly, "I'll get him some fresh air, Sir," while Ackles mouths at his neck under the braided collar.
The Colonel gives him one very sharp look before he nods. "Take care of him," he says, and somehow Jared doesn't just think he means now.
"Sir," Jared says, meaning it, and salutes as best he can with Ackles plastered up against his side.
They manage the dining hall in reasonable order, but by the time Jared gets both of them into the elevator Ackles is moaning into his ear and Jared's so hard he he can't think. He's got his hand on the back of Ackles' neck, pressed in tight, but his teeth are aching. "Fuck," he mutters, "Want you so badly. Gonna fuck you all night, get you hanging off my dick like a queen, you'll be tasting my come into next week, swear to God... "
Dazed, Ackles opens his eyes, green down to nothing more than the edge to his shot to hell pupils. "Jared," he groans, which is new, because it's always been Padalecki before. Or boy. "Fucking... dirty... "
"What the hell did you expect?" Jared says, and heaves Ackles out the elevator and two doors down, fumbles for his key card. "You wouldn't let me near you."
"Wanted," Ackles says, and blinks down as Jared slams the door shut and strips off his uniform jacket. "Wanted you. Wha'... ?"
"Good to know," Jared says. Ackles is down to his dress pants and Jared's pretty well naked. Two minutes showers lend those kind of skills. "C'mon," he says, "Bed."
Splayed, front down and with Jared's dick riding his ass, Ackles moans so prettily Jared's tempted to fuck him high. But it's not fair: he wraps the catnip back up with trembling fingers while Ackles pushes back at him, ass tilted just right, head down, hands kneading the cover. Jared's dreamed of this, wants it so bad he can barely stand the need of it, but he sets his teeth in Ackles' neck and waits. He can feel the moment the haze fades in the bunches of muscles under his chest, the way Ackles drops his head and moans, but Jared's not letting go. He knows what this feels like, the possessive, tender pain of that bite just the way Ackles held him, and like Jared six week ago Ackles shivers and rolls and begs. "C'mon. Jared. C'mon, do it. Fuck me." It's a growl, and Jared grins around the death grip he's got on Ackles' skin, because the man's never going to be a pushover and he's not taking bets on which one of them gets on top next. This time, it's him, and Jared pants happily and opens Ackles up with his thumb and plenty of lube while the man curses and pleads and orders.
By the time he thrusts in, he can already feel his barbs stiffening, but the lube makes it easy. Jared rocks home with one smooth, long thrust, and under him Ackles knocks his head back and yowls. The headboard bangs off the wall, next door, someone yells, and Jared, enthralled, does again. Around his dick Ackles is tight and wet and so fucking hot Jared's never fucking anyone else again, and the feeling seems mutual. Ackles is heaving back up at him, knees pushing against the cover, panting, and sweat stripes his back and springs salted and sweet under Jared's teeth. "You fucker, fuck," Ackles curses, "Gimme all you got, c'mon," and Jared grips his hands right where they belong on Ackles' hips and fucks him hard and fast as he can. Ackles screams when he comes, stiffening, shaking, and it's the way he tightens around Jared's dick that sets the barbs in place. Jared's never felt anything like it, like his dick's superheated, twice as big as usual, pulsing out come, but he can't move. Every twitch fastens him deeper inside, and every barb is so sensitive he could swear he can feel Ackles' heartbeat fifty times over. He rocks both of them instead against the feel of it, tied, every movement a shiver of sensation that makes Ackles gasp in little, breathy moans Jared wants to own.
The way he owns Ackles' ass. Jared grins, realizes he doesn't need to hold the bite any more, and lets go. "Told you," he says affectionately into the short, close-cropped softness of Ackles' hair. "Told you you'd be hanging off my dick. Don't pull off, now," he says, and manages the tiniest thrust that sends a frisson of warning pain through both of them.
Under him, Ackles takes a deep breath. "You wait," he says, threatening, but given the way his hands are clenched around Jared's and the relaxed line of his shoulders, Jared isn't worrying too much.
"Do I get to call you Jensen?" he asks, "Now my dick's in your ass and all?"
"You can call me anything you want next time I fuck you," Jensen mutters. "Off base!" he adds. "And get off of me, I want to shower." There's nothing but tetchy irritation in the words, it's not an order.
Jared says, grinning, "I heard you. Sir." He rocks again against Jensen's ass, his own come sealing warm and wet against his skin and sliding down Jensen's. The barbs are softening, but Jared's still hard. He could do this all over again, rocks deeper to prove it, and under him Jensen catches his breath, shivers and rolls his hips. Freeing up a hand, Jared explores. Says, "Wanna go again then? Sir?" and feels Jensen's dick twitch in his fingers.
Two days? They might need a week.
J2, unbeta'd, kinkmeme fill.
Warnings for dubcon and barbed cock.
Original prompt is here:
Js are members of a special forces unit made up of weres (there might be different species involved too, not only wolves, I have a special place in my heart for werecats, as some of you know ;P).
If you want to write a PWP it's cool, if you want some backstory, I'd love a situation where the boys hate each other at first or fiercely compete, but after a brush with death in an adrenaline-filled event finally have rough, brutal, claiming sex, fighting about who's on top :) They feel the need to make sure that the other one is alive, to mark him, as they now understand they could have lost him.
It's from the take_the_knot community, this prompt, but as this actually isn't knot fic (done it once) I thought it was better off over here.
Right Turn and Present
He scrabbles frantically at the gym floor, heaves up under Ackles' weight, knees slipping and bruising, slams his hand down and uses the force of it to push sideways, away, but the Sergeant rolls with him, his teeth still in Jared's neck. It's a numbing, cloudy sensation, that bite: it drags back memories of trust, protection, alien and unwanted. Jared's twenty eight, not six months old. He's not a kit in his mother's mouth, he's on his own, his ass burning, sweat dripping down into his eyes, gasping for breath. Feeling like he's moving so slow his muscles could be candy floss.
"Get the fuck out of me," Jared hisses, but even the words are slow. "Fuck, get off of me, fucker - "
Barbed, stinging, so hot Jared wants to curl up and clutch his stomach against the heat of it, Ackles' dick pulses in his ass. Ackles is still coming, the fucker, Jared can feel the acid slide of come around the thick push of Ackles' dick, oozing down over his own balls and inside his thighs, blood-hot and itching. He's going to stink of the man. He does stink of him, the brand of Ackles' sweat and saliva plastered all over Jared's skin and Jared needs it off, now, needs to be clean, himself. He struggles again, pulling Ackles with him across the polished floor, and when he looks up through the sweat-spiked bangs of his hair his hands are clawed and gouging the wood.
"Don't pull away, you idiot, you'll hurt - " It's a growl, deeper than Jared has ever heard Ackles' voice before, so low the words grumble over his skin. But Ackles has finally got his teeth - sharper than they should be - out of Jared's neck and the dizzy urge to submit is gone. Setting his claws in the floorboards, Jared yanks himself free fast and hard and Jesusfuck, screams with the pain. Ackles tommed out on him, the sadistic, arrogant bastard: the barbs on his dick tear their way out of Jared's ass. It hurts like nothing Jared's ever felt before, not the mine misfire in Chad, not the exploding machine gun in Belize, not the time he fought his way out of the barn fire when he was twelve. Hurts both of them: Ackles curses hard and tries to hump down, thumps Jared's back, tries to knock him back to the floor, but Ackles is still coming and still mazed with heat. He's slower than normal, Jared's desperate, and both of them scream as the last barb comes free.
"You fucking - " Jared's out of words. If he could lick his own ass he would. He scrabbles his way on all four paws and then his feet to the gym wall, swallows around the yowl that's trying to claw its way out of his throat, and swipes at the pain. His hand comes back blood streaked and sticky with Ackles' come. "Goddamn it to hell, you - " He can't keep still, his legs itch, his skin's too tight for him, he feels unfinished and broken. Hurts like his ass has been sand papered. He hits his fist off the wall and bites at the scrape on his knuckles. "Fucking bastard, you - "
"Fucking warned you," Ackles says.
"You fucking - "
Ackles stands up. It's no consolation that the man heaves himself of the floor, hitch to his stride, has to brace himself upright. He's a week out of the infirmary and still too pale, but he'd slammed Jared down and fucked him over as if there'd never been any question over which one of them topped. "Kid, you should have fucking told me," he says. He's still half-hard, Ackles, his dick heavy against the fall of his balls, and that's Jared's blood on his skin.
"Yeah, right," Jared says. "You tommed out on me, you bastard, I didn't sign up for that, you didn't - " he has to move, takes three impatient strides to the wall, kicks off it, shivers. Ackles is still between him and the door, standing still, eyes so steady he could be sighting down his rifle.
"What the fuck did you think was going to happen?" Ackles says. "Between us?"
Jared glares back at him. He's out of words. If he'd had his tail, it would have been lashing.
"Get yourself to the infirmary," Ackles says. "That's an order, boy. You got me?"
"Fuck you," Jared says.
"You want to be hauled up on insubordination?" Ackles says. "March, soldier. Or your ass is in front of the Colonel's desk right now. You wanna explain to the man, huh?"
Jared hits his fist off the wall again. It doesn't help. He wants it to be Ackles under his punch, hurt and cringing, wants to slam him down to the floor and fuck him over real good, permanent, owned and claimed. Payback for every snide comment and every sarcastic word and every fucking sideways glare of his eyes like Jared's too stupid to move, not six foot five inches of competent, honed muscle.
But it's Ackles standing tall and the pain in Jared's ass, the sticky, itching dampness between his thighs, is his Sergeant's.
"Shower first," Ackles says, his voice softening, as if he knows how Jared feels. "Unless you want samples." His voice is as even as if he hasn't just suggested Jared press charges. "Whatever, ask for Michael, at the desk. He'll fix you up. And he won't ask questions if that's the way you want it."
"You do this often?" Jared hisses.
Ackles says nothing. He moves away from the door, far enough for Jared to know he can get there first, and his left leg drags stiff as he walks. It's been six weeks since the fuck up in Kashmir, the moment when the sky was silent and it was Jared's hands pressed down against the surge of blood, holding them both together. Two years since Jared had dropped his duffel down on the cot and said, "Who's in charge?"
"None of your fucking business, soldier," Ackles says. "Git."
Jared gits.
~*~
It is, of course, dress parade in the morning. The colonel keeps them waiting half an hour on the dusty, windswept ground and is still fastening his sash as he ducks out of the office, and behind the mess tent the helicopters send grit stinging across the dirt as they swing into the sky. "Fucking press," the man mutters, and then hits his palm off the microphone as the ranks sway with suppressed laughter and he realizes the switch is set to on.
Jared's not laughing. The stuff Michael gave him numbed his ass, but the claw marks on his back and the bite on his neck sting like fire. When he'd rolled painfully naked out of his cot, Chris had taken one look and catcalled across the barracks. "Padalecki! Who the fuck did you put out for last night, Godzilla?"
Seven years, it had taken him, to fight his way up the ranks to the one unit that was were-only. He'd been signed up three years before he'd even known they existed. The worst moment of his life was the one when he stood in front of the Colonel's desk, rigid with nerves, knowing that this was his only chance.
"Sir," he'd said. "Padalecki. Jared. Reporting for interview." The Colonel had cocked his head on one side, bright and curious, and behind him a voice straight off the Texas badlands had drawled, "Cat. You owe me ten dollars."
"Huh," the Colonel had said, eyes lingering on Jared's hair which was... yeah, maybe half an inch too long to be regulation. "Could have sworn... you're sure you're not a wolf, soldier?"
Jared had blinked and opened his mouth, ten years of don't ask don't tell hobbling his tongue, and behind him the drawl had said, "He's just too damn pretty to be pack. You got a backbone to go with that hair, boy?"
Shoulders stiffening, Jared had bitten out, "Cat. Sir.Lynx."
"I asked you a question. Boy."
"Sir," Jared had said. "Yessir." And it was then that Sergeant Ackles had lounged his way into Jared's space, stared him in the eyes, and launched the first salvo in a campaign that was still going on. "Kid," he'd said, green eyes narrow and hard, "You sign up with us, you'll never get another post. You'll be bumped down to private, you'll take one hell of a pay cut, and," Ackles had smiled then, and his teeth had been whiter and sharper than any human's. "You'll have me on your ass. All day. Every day." Ackles had said. "Maybe you want to think this over again. Door's behind you."
Ackles looked like a fucking movie star. Moved like a tiger, menace and power worn so casually he could have been Alpha. But he was a cat, Jared would have bet his life on the thought. It was the lazy, arrogant stance of the man, the half-lowered eyelashes, the tilt of his head. Cat who thought he was better than Jared. If he'd been furred, Jared would have been bristling. Instead, he spat out, "Every day. You on my ass. Yes, Sir."
Ackles had laughed. Thrown his head back and laughed, and the Colonel had hidden his smile in the paperwork on his desk. Jared had thought he'd blown it until two weeks later, when the transfer arrived.
Two years later, he stands on a parade ground in Afghanistan with Ackles' come still seeping out of his ass and the man's teethmarks burning into his skin. Every fucking wolf within fifty feet will know he'd been fucked last night, and that was after three showers and an antiseptic douche.
He can't lie. He'd known it was going to be one or the other of them. He'd thought it would be him. He'd even planned it, the nights he counted out the extra laps, the disciplinary press-ups, the punishment reports. Every time he'd stripped his rifle down over and over again, every bitten-back retort, every sir, every time he'd moved his ass faster because Ackles was watching his back. Ackles had a hard-on for Jared stiff as a flag pole, and Jared sweated his way through every green-eyed, contemptuous glare to the thought of the man yowling on his dick. He'd never wanted anyone so badly as Ackles, hate and lust and anger knotted up inside him so tight the power of it made him want to howl at the moon.
He had three medals and a note in despatches he'd never have got if Ackles hadn't pushed him that hard. A bond with the unit so tight the wolves thought of him as pack. A reputation that meant his stuff stayed where he put it, the Colonel's rare smile, a body that meant he could have any pussy he wanted. And if Jared had never tommed out on the pretty Arkansas bar girls or the rare fellow were, that was his business. He'd known he'd do it when it was Ackles hissing and spitting, skewered on Jared's dick and stuck there. He knew exactly what he was going to growl into that freckled skin, the day Ackles spread his legs and stuck his ass in the air, begging.
But it had been Jared, helpless, stupid with want, who'd rocked back against Ackles' dick and ducked his head in submission. If it hadn't been for the surgery scars and the cane Ackles dropped by the mats as if he hated it, the lines at the corner of his mouth that hadn't been there six weeks earlier, it would have been different. Jared had pulled his punches. Ackles hadn't.
And now the whole fucking unit knows. Even the Colonel's nose twitches as he walks down the line, and despite every ounce of pride Jared owns, he drops his eyes as the man walks past. The Colonel doesn't say a word. It's Ackles, two paces behind and ram-rod straight despite the limp, who stops.
"Padalecki," he says.
Humiliated, hating, Jared looks up. He can feel the color rise in his cheeks. But Ackles isn't grinning in triumph, he's frowning.
"Should you be here?" he asks.
Jared glares back at him, "Dandy. I'm just not taking a dump for the rest of this year. Sir." He can hear Chris' breath hiss through his teeth from five paces, and so can Ackles. His hand clenches on the cane.
"See me after parade," he says. "That's an order."
"Sir," Jared says.
"He - " Chris yelps, ten minutes later- "You and he - "
"Don't you ever fucking mention this again," Jared hisses.
Hands in the air, Chris says, "It's cool, man, but I had fifty dollars with your name on it - "
"There's a pool?" Jared says.
"Eh, yeah?" Chris says. "You were winning?"
It's no consolation when he walks into the office and Ackles is steaming with rage. Jared's never seen him like this, so angry he's walking up and down in front of the desk, short steps, his eyes brilliant and his face flushed. His hands are twitching.
"You fucking idiot," he yells. "Have you forgotten everything your mama taught you? Never pull off a barbed cock. What did Michael say?"
That... wasn't what Jared was expecting. It's almost like... they're back under the walls of the old fort, the helicopter already vanished into the sky and Ackles bleeding out under Jared's hands. He'd cursed Jared out for doubling back, voice so cracked Jared had had to bend down to hear it, "You fucking idiot, should've gone back, taught you better than this."
It had been a long wait. Nothing to do but watch Ackles' blood seep out over Jared's fingers, no matter how tight his grip. Nothing to do but talk, Ackles' voice fading with his color. "Don't leave me," Jared had said, and then, his hand rubbing so very gently over Jensen's hair. "You live through this, we'll give it a go for real, yeah? See who really comes out on top when it's your ass on the line."
He'd thought Ackles hadn't heard. Things got a bit desperate after that.
In the office, six weeks later, argument made, Jared takes his cap off. "Michael says I got lucky," he says. "Which is not what my ass thinks."
"It's not what my fucking dick thinks either," Ackles says, and spins around, plants his fists on the desk. "You're on desk duty for the next week," he says. "And don't pull that macho bullshit on me, Padalecki. I know you."
Jared, mouth open, says nothing.
Ackles sighs. "If I'd known you hadn't done that before... Jesus, Padalecki, most cubs know... "
"I didn't grow up pride," Jared says gently. He's never seen Ackles like this, as fiercely protective as he is pushy.
"You never said," Ackles says.
"Well," Jared says. "I kinda thought it'd be you riding my dick, y'know? Got no reason to say." It's not the words, it's the stunned look on Ackles' face that makes Jared grin. He looks like someone's hit him over the head with a two by four, his teeth biting his lip and his eyes wide. It makes Jared open his big mouth all over again. "And you know what?" he says, "Sir? I get that was a one time pass. I get it has to be this way on camp. I'm not trying to mess us over. But I get you alone off it and that's the way it's gonna be. You got me?"
And although Ackles' mouth is open, he's not got words. Jared reaches out a hand and closes it, gently. "Might want to remember your own advice when you're hanging off my dick," he says. "Sir." He's still grinning when he puts his cap back on and salutes, and the snapped out about turn and march is as sharp as if they were still on parade.
It's eight weeks to the end of the tour, and Ackles never says another word. After a week of enforced idleness, Jared picks his own punishment details, works out harder than he ever did when Sergeant Ackles was on his back. He turns in his extra reports same as usual - current Russian helicopter specs, black market currency exchange, an assessment of infra-red spectrometry as applied to satellite imaging that makes it to the Review Board - and keeps himself to himself. The teasing dies down, and then some Alpha over in C Company finds herself a mate off the catering crew and it stops altogether.
Jared's finding... he's kind of missing the way Ackles snarled in his face, and the constant challenge of trying to better than the man who's been the Colonel's right hand for the last ten years. By the way Ackles looks at him when he thinks Jared's not looking back, puzzled and cautious, he thinks that makes two of them. He might be finding every excuse he can to hang around outside the office or work out on the gym the same time as Ackles: Ackles is watching him right back. And if Jared's taken up weightlifting shirtless and walking naked through the changing rooms... it's no less of a challenge than the miles he and Ackles pounded out together, neither of them willing to lose.
Ackles stops using the cane too early, and Jared keeps dropping it right back outside his door. Fair's fair: he'd walked into the office the first day and found a cushion on his chair.
But Ackles never, ever lets Jared see him alone. He's always with someone: the Colonel, Michael, the Sergeant from A company with the scar across her forehead, half the unit. No more cosy little chats at midnight, while Jared does push-ups with half a dozen bricks on his back and Ackles does the same right there with him one-handed and counting. No more shouted debates over the reports, as Ackles deconstructs all Jared's arguments and Jared pulls them together again. No more sneaky, half-sanctioned reconnaissance missions as weres, Jared loping half a pace behind Ackles' elegant, silver-tipped fur. All Jared gets is, left in his locker, a printed-out copy of Army Pamphlet 600-35 -- Relationships Between Soldiers Of Different Ranks, which he promptly tears up and drops on Ackles' desk. The were unit does not comply to the general code of conduct, and they both know it.
After that one, he does e-mail home, and Chad sends the parcel to Jared's PO Box on base along with a semi-coherent reply that boils down, it's about time, and, want a hand?
Then the tour end dates come through. They did good, this trip, and the army's throwing them a non-holds-barred regimental dinner with speeches to prove it, in a swanky hotel. Off base. Attendance, in dress uniform, is mandatory.
Jared arranges his leave to start the day after, polishes his boots, books a room, and grins for two days.
But the twenty minutes it takes to find Ackles among the crowd is excruciating. After the first ten, Jared's convinced himself Ackles knows, that he's backed out, fabricated some excuse that means he's not there - and then he catches sight of the man, guarded by wolves. He's sitting at the Colonel's table, which means he's surrounded by pack, and across the room he raises his glass to Jared with an ironic lift to his eyebrows and a glint in his eyes.
Ackles thinks he's safe. Ackles is wrong.
Jared doesn't eat much of the meal and couldn't tell who's making the speeches. His hand is clenched on the plastic-wrapped package in his pocket, his knees twitching under the table, clock watching. It's forever until the Colonel's aide taps his glass nervously and raises it up for the first toast, and only then can Jared unwrap the stuff Chad got for him.
Four toasts. It's the Colonel who raises his voice and his glass for the last, to fallen comrades, and Jared bows his head for that one. Then, he's moving. He stalks past the tables, shoulders through the people beginning to stand, heads straight for Ackles. There's no point hiding, but Ackles, chatting to the colonel with his cap already back on his head, seems oblivious. It's only when Jared arrives at his shoulder and says, low voiced, "Sir... " that he turns around.
By then, it's too late. Jared can see the man's eyes darken and his pupils expand, watch the flush of color along his cheekbones and the way his head goes back. "What the fuck... ?" Ackles manages, and his voice is as low as it was in the gym, and then he reaches out a hand and grabs Jared's shoulder. He's almost kneading it, his fingernails sharpening into claws, and he's started to pant.
In Jared's pocket? Catnip. He's been practicing. Low grade exposure all week has meant Jared's a little dizzy, just a little high: Ackles is practically stumbling on his feet, and even as Jared puts a hand under his elbow Ackles closes his eyes and sways in hard against Jared's chest. "Christ," Ackles whispers, eyes closed, and turns his face into Jared's shoulder. His hips are already starting to move.
"... Sergeant?" the Colonel asks, puzzled.
Jared says smoothly, "I'll get him some fresh air, Sir," while Ackles mouths at his neck under the braided collar.
The Colonel gives him one very sharp look before he nods. "Take care of him," he says, and somehow Jared doesn't just think he means now.
"Sir," Jared says, meaning it, and salutes as best he can with Ackles plastered up against his side.
They manage the dining hall in reasonable order, but by the time Jared gets both of them into the elevator Ackles is moaning into his ear and Jared's so hard he he can't think. He's got his hand on the back of Ackles' neck, pressed in tight, but his teeth are aching. "Fuck," he mutters, "Want you so badly. Gonna fuck you all night, get you hanging off my dick like a queen, you'll be tasting my come into next week, swear to God... "
Dazed, Ackles opens his eyes, green down to nothing more than the edge to his shot to hell pupils. "Jared," he groans, which is new, because it's always been Padalecki before. Or boy. "Fucking... dirty... "
"What the hell did you expect?" Jared says, and heaves Ackles out the elevator and two doors down, fumbles for his key card. "You wouldn't let me near you."
"Wanted," Ackles says, and blinks down as Jared slams the door shut and strips off his uniform jacket. "Wanted you. Wha'... ?"
"Good to know," Jared says. Ackles is down to his dress pants and Jared's pretty well naked. Two minutes showers lend those kind of skills. "C'mon," he says, "Bed."
Splayed, front down and with Jared's dick riding his ass, Ackles moans so prettily Jared's tempted to fuck him high. But it's not fair: he wraps the catnip back up with trembling fingers while Ackles pushes back at him, ass tilted just right, head down, hands kneading the cover. Jared's dreamed of this, wants it so bad he can barely stand the need of it, but he sets his teeth in Ackles' neck and waits. He can feel the moment the haze fades in the bunches of muscles under his chest, the way Ackles drops his head and moans, but Jared's not letting go. He knows what this feels like, the possessive, tender pain of that bite just the way Ackles held him, and like Jared six week ago Ackles shivers and rolls and begs. "C'mon. Jared. C'mon, do it. Fuck me." It's a growl, and Jared grins around the death grip he's got on Ackles' skin, because the man's never going to be a pushover and he's not taking bets on which one of them gets on top next. This time, it's him, and Jared pants happily and opens Ackles up with his thumb and plenty of lube while the man curses and pleads and orders.
By the time he thrusts in, he can already feel his barbs stiffening, but the lube makes it easy. Jared rocks home with one smooth, long thrust, and under him Ackles knocks his head back and yowls. The headboard bangs off the wall, next door, someone yells, and Jared, enthralled, does again. Around his dick Ackles is tight and wet and so fucking hot Jared's never fucking anyone else again, and the feeling seems mutual. Ackles is heaving back up at him, knees pushing against the cover, panting, and sweat stripes his back and springs salted and sweet under Jared's teeth. "You fucker, fuck," Ackles curses, "Gimme all you got, c'mon," and Jared grips his hands right where they belong on Ackles' hips and fucks him hard and fast as he can. Ackles screams when he comes, stiffening, shaking, and it's the way he tightens around Jared's dick that sets the barbs in place. Jared's never felt anything like it, like his dick's superheated, twice as big as usual, pulsing out come, but he can't move. Every twitch fastens him deeper inside, and every barb is so sensitive he could swear he can feel Ackles' heartbeat fifty times over. He rocks both of them instead against the feel of it, tied, every movement a shiver of sensation that makes Ackles gasp in little, breathy moans Jared wants to own.
The way he owns Ackles' ass. Jared grins, realizes he doesn't need to hold the bite any more, and lets go. "Told you," he says affectionately into the short, close-cropped softness of Ackles' hair. "Told you you'd be hanging off my dick. Don't pull off, now," he says, and manages the tiniest thrust that sends a frisson of warning pain through both of them.
Under him, Ackles takes a deep breath. "You wait," he says, threatening, but given the way his hands are clenched around Jared's and the relaxed line of his shoulders, Jared isn't worrying too much.
"Do I get to call you Jensen?" he asks, "Now my dick's in your ass and all?"
"You can call me anything you want next time I fuck you," Jensen mutters. "Off base!" he adds. "And get off of me, I want to shower." There's nothing but tetchy irritation in the words, it's not an order.
Jared says, grinning, "I heard you. Sir." He rocks again against Jensen's ass, his own come sealing warm and wet against his skin and sliding down Jensen's. The barbs are softening, but Jared's still hard. He could do this all over again, rocks deeper to prove it, and under him Jensen catches his breath, shivers and rolls his hips. Freeing up a hand, Jared explores. Says, "Wanna go again then? Sir?" and feels Jensen's dick twitch in his fingers.
Two days? They might need a week.