Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11544000.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural_RPF
  Relationship:
      Jensen_Ackles/Jared_Padalecki
  Additional Tags:
      Sounding, Object_Insertion, Voodoo
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-07-19 Words: 2582
****** Black Magic, Old Magic ******
by blackrabbit42
Summary
     Jared sets the photo in front of the doll, and lights two candles on
     either side
Notes
     Cross posting to wish a certain someone a happy birthday and welcome
     home from NOLA
Jared’s stomach quivers, and he swallows hard to keep down the nervous bile. 
Hopes his hands aren’t shaking as bad as he thinks they are.  Doesn’t look down
to check, because that might draw attention to them if they are shaking. The
lady customer at the register barely glances at him as she hands over a couple
of wrinkled bills and takes her bag full of trinkets.  Tourist stuff, nothing
dangerous.
He’s waited a long time for this day.  All the work and prep was done a long
time ago, and it wasn’t easy, so he hadn’t wanted to waste it on the wrong
person.  He was willing to take his time.  It looks like it’s going to be worth
the wait. He carefully pulls out a length of tape from the dispenser he stashed
under the counter, rolls it into a loop and sticks it down low on the leg of
his jeans.
“It” being tall and sort of blonde, green eyes that could put the bayou to
shame.  Graceful, despite his bowed legs as he prowls through the aisles,
haphazardly grabbing the sort of touristy crap that people bring back home to
their nieces and nephews for souvenirs; beads and shot glasses, sugar skulls
and a bottle or two of hot sauce.  Not that he has much choice, they keep the
real stuff out back, where it can’t harm anyone.
Deep breaths, deep breaths.  “Will that be all, sir?” he asks when the customer
approaches the counter. He hates the way his voice cracks.  Hates the way he
can feel his face reddening.  The customer looks up, looks right into his eyes,
and after a whole day of customers who rarely look up from their phones and
never give Jared a second glance, it’s overwhelming.  Or maybe it’s just the
thought of what he’s going to do that has Jared’s breath coming too fast.
“You okay, buddy?” the customer says.  His voice registers low on Jared’s
spine, rather than in his ears.  Yup, right about dick-level.
This is it.  Jared sees what he needs.  A single hair on the shoulder of the
customer’s suit coat.  Yes, it’s weird for him to reach out and pluck it off. 
The customer gives him a funny look.  So what.  Right?  So what?  It’s weird,
but not illegal.
“Just a hair,” Jared says, and feels ridiculous as he sneaks it out of the
customer’s sight, saves it on the piece of tape.  His mouth is dry, and his
stomach is worse than ever. He tells himself he won’t get caught, can’t get
caught, and even if something really crazy happens and he does get caught, no
one can prove anything.  Right?  Right.
Deep breaths.  Only one more thing has to fall into place and then he can
relax.  He wills his fingers to be steady as he rings up the purchases, but
there’s nothing he can do about his voice.  His throat is as tight as a black
cat’s ass.  Not that he would know.  It’s just an expression, jeez.
“Will that be cash or credit?”  He does a little push.  Something he’s not
extremely good at, but hey, nothing ventured, nothing gained.  Maybe it works,
or maybe the customer was going to use a card anyway, but either way, same
result, and now Jared knows his name.
Jensen.
Jensen.  It feels like Jared should have known it already, because in his mind,
when he puts the name to the doll he has prepared, it’s like that was its name
all along.
He waits until Jensen is well down the street before he turns the sign on the
storefront from “open” to “closed.” He might get in trouble, but he won’t get
fired.  There aren’t many teenagers willing to work for minimum wage in a
crappy shop like this these days, they all want to work at Best Buy or
Applebee’s at the mall, and Jared’s boss knows it.
It’s probably still a couple of hours until Jensen will return to his hotel
room, plenty of time for Jared to get ready.
++++++++
He selects the photo carefully, even though he’s not sure this part will work. 
The voodoo doll with Jensen’s hair carefully woven into the fabric in a
vertical line over the spine? That’s standard stuff, and even the special
modifications Jared made aren’t really that far off the map.   But he’s never
heard of anyone doing the photo part before, so maybe it won’t work.  Still, he
agonizes over it, shifting through the dozens of photographs he’s taken of
himself posing in front of the mirror.
He looks too skinny in this one.
This one, too young.
What the hell is his face doing in that one?
In the end, he settles on the one that makes him feel sexiest, even if it’s not
the most flattering.  He’s wearing his sister’s panties that his pa threw in
the trash because he said they were slutty when he found them in the laundry. 
They’re not really; they’re cotton, a sort of reddish purple with white polka
dots, but they definitely look slutty on Jared in the photo, and that’s what
counts.
He sets the photo in front of the doll, and lights two candles on either side. 
A pink candle for self-love, and a blue candle to waken the psychic mind.
The time settles into place, Jared can sense it even across the city, Jensen
readying himself for bed in his hotel somewhere, so he burns a feather over
each candle, and then gently strokes the doll with the burnt tips, leaving
streaks of ash across the face, across the heart, and across the rough-spun
penis he had sewn on.  He feels the strokes over his own flesh, shivery and
light, loosening his spine.
Now that it’s happening, now that he’s kneeling before his little altar with
his precious seed leaking out onto the floor in front of him, he’s not sure
where to start.  In all his planning, he’s thought of plenty of things to do,
but not what to start with.  He closes his eyes, and picks up the doll. 
Fondles it. Runs his shaking fingers over the little sex organ, then turns it
over and runs the very tips of his fingers up the backs of the legs.
The words that fall from his lips are crooning and possessive.  Filthy promises
that he would never dare speak in the light of day, but only here, in private,
with his little Jensen.  Things his pa would skin him alive for if he even
suspected Jared thought such things.  But Jensen would understand, wouldn’t
he?  Oh, yes.
He dips his index finger into the little jar of sandalwood oil, then paints the
place between the doll’s legs with the fragrant oil.  It stains the fabric
around the small hole he’d fashioned there, but he continues to massage the
area in small circles while he reaches behind himself with his other hand to do
the same.
On the altar, there’s a small bone.  Just the right size.  But not yet.
Deep breaths.  He doesn’t want this to end too soon.
Jared squeezes the base of his cock, because just the thought of what he wants
to do next threatens to push him over the edge.  Deep breaths.  He cradles the
Jensen doll against his stomach, legs spread and straddling each side of
Jared’s protruding cock. Leans back, picks up one of other candles, the ones
that live in jars, waiting to be melted, waiting to be poured—
The scream Jensen makes in his head is exactly like the one that would have
ripped from his own mouth if he hadn’t been trying to keep quiet.  As it is,
his jaw strains wide, his eyes slammed shut as the exquisite heat of the wax
trickles over his stomach, over the doll, over his thighs.  He finds himself
gripping Jensen tight against his cock, and then relaxes his fingers, 
adjusting Jensen so he can still see Jared’s picture.  So the image of Jared,
pale, skinny Jared, with his hand shoved into his panties is forever seared
into his mind and tied with the feeling of hot wax.
And later, when Jared is carefully, oh, so carefully inserting the delicate
silver rod into the weave of Jensen’s fabric penis, he makes sure he’s looking
at the photo then, too.
And when he teases the hole between Jensen’s legs with the tip of the finely
shaped bone, when he presses it in and pulls it out as slowly as he can before
pushing it back in again, he makes sure the doll is looking at the photo then,
too.
And when at last, hours later, he comes, letting his seed smear all up and down
the back of the doll, which by then is tarnished with ash and reddened with
blood and torn in places, you can definitely believe that Jared was making it
look at the photograph then, too.
++++++++
Jared should have called in.  He can hardly walk.  There are red, splotchy
burns peeking out the collar of his tee-shirt, and six bloody one-inch slits
showing on the pale skin of his inner forearm.  But he’d closed early the night
before, he couldn’t get away with a no-show today.  Besides, it would titillate
the tourists.  He puts on his purple crushed velvet top hat just to get into
character.
He sits on the stool behind the counter, wincing as his tender ass touches down
on the wood.  He really had gotten carried away, hadn’t he?
But totally worth it. He has months worth of jerk-off material burned into his
brain; the memory of each time he’d come last night, and the filthy sounds
Jensen had made in his head, and the begging noises and the way he could
literally feel his tongue slipping into Jensen’s open asshole when he—
Click.
The sound of the bolt on the shop door sliding into its sheath.
Silence.
The sound of Jared’s heart not beating, because Jensen is standing in the
doorway of the shop, calmly switching the sign from “open” to “closed.”
Jensen’s hair is disarranged wildly in crazy directions, his lips look bruised,
dark circles ring his eyes and threaten to eclipse the spray of freckles on his
cheeks.  Red, angry welts spill across his neck.
“Did you think that was fun?” he asks.  Low, calm.  “Did you have yourself a
good little time?”  He’s at the counter, and then up and over it before Jared
can understand what’s happening.  “Did you think I wouldn’t remember where I
saw that face?  Where I’d heard that voice before?
He’s got Jared by the front of his tee-shirt.  “Look at this shit,” Jensen
says, holding Jared’s lacerated wrist right up in his face.  “You didn’t even
bother to try hiding it.”
“I… I’m…” Jared doesn’t know what he is.  Deep down, had he really believed it
was working?  Sure, he could pull off a few psychic parlor tricks, but he’d
just been playing around, right?  His mouth opens and closes around words that
he can’t find.
It seems Jensen doesn’t really want answers to his questions though. He looks
around towards the back of the store, finds what he wants, and drags Jared by
the shirt towards the little alcove set aside for psychic readings during the
height of the season.
“Just tell me one thing,” Jensen says as he pushes Jared through the flimsy
curtain.  “Tell me you’re wearing them now.  You better be fucking wearing them
now or—” but he doesn’t bother telling Jared or what. He just pushes him back
against the wall and thrusts a hand down the front of Jared’s jeans, curls his
fingers around the fabric he finds in there, and yanks it up to see.
Jared yelps as the seam of his panties suddenly crushes his balls.  Not the
panties he’d been wearing in that picture.  He didn’t think he’d be able to
make it through the day if he’d worn those, so he’d chosen another pair, one of
his own this time, baby blue satin.  He’d thought they’d be soothing against
his tortured backside.
Jensen lets out a low, wavering moan, dragging his hand across his face, and
then down to cradle his own balls, wincing.  “Oh, fuck you,” he says, and then
“you fucking raped me.”
Everything is happening too fast, and Jared doesn’t have two words to bring
together to save his life, and Jensen is saying “fuck, fuck fuck” under his
breath and shoving Jared’s jeans down around his ankles and pushing him over
onto the table. A deck of tarot cards goes flying, the five of swords landing
face up on top of the scatter.
The heel of Jensen’s palm digs painfully into the back of Jared’s neck, and the
ashy scent of incense tickles his nose where his face is mashed against the
table.  He wants to tell Jensen, you don’t need to hold me down,but it’s
happening too fast.  An awkward shuffle of legs and clothes around their ankles
and then hot crush of Jensen against his back, the head of his dick jabbing
desperately, trying to find the way into Jared.
Deep breaths.  He’s hyperventilating.  He’s just a stupid kid, he didn’t mean
to—
And then Jensen slides home, through the leftover slick of oil and Jared’s own
come that he’d pushed into himself with needy fingers only hours ago. They both
groan with relief.  Jared had thought he’d satisfied himself the night before,
but now he realizes he’s been a walking mess of need, sick with it.
“You promised this was mine,” Jensen hisses in his ear.  “You said this ass was
mine. When you were sliding god knows what up my dick, and raping my ass with a
christly alligator bone, you said that you were going to be my personal
plaything for life.  You promised.”
Jared nods, not sure if Jensen sees, and not altogether sure what he’s nodding
about.  Maybe, yes whatever, Jensen, just keep fucking me and never stop.
His knees buckle under Jensen’s weight and rhythm, and Jensen shifts his hand
from the back of Jared’s neck to hoist him up under his waist.  When his wrist
brushes Jared’s cock, it’s all over for Jared, he’s shooting onto the floor and
over Jensen’s hand and it’s not stopping, feels like he’s turning inside out to
come.  Feels like he might start pissing himself when he runs out of come
because there isn’t any end to the sucking spasms that wrack his body.
Jensen doesn’t pause or pull out, just locks in tight and digs his fingers into
Jared’s flesh, and Jared can feel it pulsing into him as Jensen holds on.
And then, it’s quiet.
Breath and heartbeats and small wet sounds as Jensen pulls out.  A cracking
noise as Jared takes his own weight on his knees when Jensen lets go.  A thunk
as Jensen lets himself fall back against the wall, pants still around his
knees. Jared slides to the floor, supporting himself on his hands and knees,
catching his breath.
Jensen is the first to speak.  “I’d say we’re even.”
Jared thinks about how he hadn’t been sure any of it would work.  How he didn’t
believe, then, with his whole heart, but now he does, and what that might mean.
He nods, all he can manage right then, but he thinks, we might be even, but
we’re not done.  Not by a long shot.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!