Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12468348.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural_RPF
  Relationship:
      Jensen_Ackles/Jared_Padalecki, Jensen_Ackles/Original_Female_Character(s)
  Character:
      Jared_Padalecki, Jensen_Ackles, Original_Female_Character(s), Original
      Male_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_19th_Century, Pedophilia, Grooming, Age_Difference,
      Violence, Nipple_Piercings, Bottom_Jensen, Top_Jared, Dark_Jared, Plot
      What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-10-23 Words: 3691
****** Devil On My Heels ******
by hellhoundsprey
Summary
     P is a well-respected man. With the family estate at the ledge of
     bankruptcy, the Ackles are in no position to deny him a single wish.
     (Caution: NSFW illustrations.)
Notes
     No ages specified, but we're talking bad shit here. Jensen grows from
     grade school child to young man over the course of the story and the
     abuse spans over all of it.
     All bits and pieces of the beautiful Polish language are straight
     from GoogleTranslate, so: 1) sorry and 2) feel free to correct me
     about them.
“Are you scared?”
There has always been, and will only ever be, one reply to that.
Jensen shakes his head. Pulls his shoulders closer to his ears. Remembers that
he felt his heart racing like crazy, heat pooling bright in his cheeks.
Remembers that he knew. That something was not quite right. That what was
happening shouldn't be happening.
Jensen has yet to tell anyone.
Nobody ever tries to ask him about it.
                                       ~
Everybody just calls him P. It's been so long since Jensen heard his real name
that he's forgotten what it might sound like. Foreign, complicated, that's all
he knows.
Jensen's supposed to call him Sir. Says Mother.
Jared, he says to call him Jared. When they're alone. His first name, and
American, and easy to pronounce. And only Jensen is to use it.
It used to make him feel warm in his belly, to be so privileged. Speaking a
secret language, like the Baker twins at school.
Secrets are special. You only hide the very worst or the very best.
Mother exclaims, behind the fan of her hand, how dirty he always is. How
unkempt. If they don't have baths where he's from.
P wears his hair and beard long, and wild. He's not dirty at all. Jensen's
dirtier than him, most times.
Father squares his shoulders when they shake hands on the welcomes and
goodbyes. P has a hard grip, he says. You really have to squeeze back, or
you're done for.
The maids turn their heads for P, and giggle when he's passed them, or bows his
head for them, smiles shy like a school boy.
“Polish,” Jared hums. “Polskie.”
Jensen tries the word, careful not to let it out wrong.
                                       ~
“Jensen.”
He gets a clap on his head the instant he hears his name, and rubs the spot as
he hurries to take his leave before he gets another.
Jeremy kicks after him, cajoles, “Hurry!” and takes over the grindstone and
blades Jensen left behind to finish.
The orchard is very much alive. Full bloom has just about passed. Now comes the
too much, too heavy—first petals flowing through the air, like feathers. Jensen
runs.
Once nearing the main house, he slows down. Careful not to be in full sight of
the windows, he hurries from tree to tree; baskets, corners. Presses along
walls and eventually slips inside the still-ajar door.
They're in the ballroom; George and P and Father. Father is hollering the kind
of laughter he does when he's had a drink too much, or really wants somebody to
think he likes them.
Jensen sneaks up the stairs until there is a corner to sit and hide behind. He
can still hear them from here. Peaks through the slits of the railing, and
waits.
When it gets quiet, that's when Jensen has to be alert.
Listens for footfalls. But the carpet is thick and P is silent like a cat
preying on a mouse.
P doesn't look his way. Takes the stairs in long, lazy steps, his arms swinging
with his movements.
Once he's just about to turn left for the remaining staircase, that's when
Jensen—
“BOO!”
P jolts but doesn't stumble, and starts laughing. Jensen joins in; slings his
arm around P's hips when he's pulled under his arm, squeezed to his side.
“You got me there.”
“I did?”
“Yes. Good job.”
Jared is a little like P. But P is never like Jared.
Jensen never remembers to ask if he's any different, in or outside their room,
too.
P's hands are warm. Worked-flat fingertips, rough edges, short nails.
Jared puts them on Jensen's face. Rubs at the corner of his mouth, and that
always has Jensen swallow.
Jared's free hand pulls the door shut behind them and only then joins to cup
Jensen's face, tip it up just a little (just so much that it doesn't hurt
Jensen's neck), so he doesn't have to bend as low.
Jared's mouth usually taste like their peaches. Sometimes like garlic with meat
and onions.
Jensen knows what their homemade schnapps tastes like even though he's not
allowed near it yet.
“How have you been while I was away?”
“Good.”
Jensen never knows why Jared wants him to talk when he's got his tongue in his
mouth.
It sounds stupid. Like he can't talk right. Like a little baby.
Jared keeps licking into his mouth. Walks them over to the bed and shrugs out
of his jacket.
No, he really never smells bad. Not worse than Father. Father is a very cleanly
fella.
Jensen fights the urge to wipe his hand over his mouth. Stands good and still
while Jared plucks the buttons of his shirt loose.
“An' how're you?”
“Can't complain.”
Jensen gets raspberries blown on his chest, the nape of his neck, and squeals
his giggle. Laughs more and then huffs when he's hiked up, laid out on the
bedding. Jared climbs after him, presses along Jensen's side. Noses around
Jensen's ear; makes him laugh again.
Jensen can feel him smiling against his cheek.
                                       ~
In the summer, Jared stays until the sun is just about to set. Until the golden
light from outside is turning fiery pink. In the winters, Jensen can't tell how
long they're in here. He's fallen asleep in Jared's arms before. If he does,
Jared wakes him before he leaves.
Jensen would never admit that he is scared. It would make Jared mad, probably.
Because he always says: you don't have to be scared. I'm not gonna hurt you.
It doesn't exactly...hurt.
It feels weird. Like something that's not supposed to happen.
The feeling always makes Jensen's guts clench up. Makes him throb weird, and
turns his head red.
Jared is huge, and strong like five men. He can climb up and handle their cold
bloods like it's nothing.
He never, ever, squeezes Jensen too hard.
But then he tells Jensen to touch him in places Father Timothy and Sister Irene
told all of them to never, ever, touch.
It was the first time Jensen had cried, and that Jared got angry with him. When
Jensen sobbed, “No,” for the first time. “No! I don't wanna go to Hell!”
“Kochanie. You won't. Jensen. Listen to me: you won't.”
“How can you know? You can't know that!”
Jared kept insisting that he does, and that Jensen won't. Jensen still bawled
when he tugged at his arm and made him do it.
That was the first of a total of three times he's hit Jensen. Right in the
face, and it had hurt bad, but still Jensen could tell he hadn't done it as
hard as he could have.
Mother had stared at his face for a short moment, that night. And Jensen had
almost said something, that night. But the moment passed, and never returned.
“Touch it.”
Jensen does. Curls his little hand around it and tugs, like Jared's shown him
before.
Makes a face, at it and Jared.
Maybe Mother meant this smell.
Jensen doesn't hate it, but it smells weird.
Jared's staring into Jensen's face like he's trying to figure something out.
“Keep going.”
Jensen does.
Jared is hairy all over—from below his nose all the way down to his toes.
Jensen is fascinated by the swirl of it around his navel. Like the drawing of a
tornado. A fuzzy tornado but a tornado nevertheless.
The smell gets worse. Jensen's hand is turning sticky.
He huffs, frowns. Brings his free hand up to take over because his arm is
getting tired, and Jared shudders at that.
“Don't stop. Don't stop.”
Jensen always does his best to do as he's told. Nobody likes a naughty boy.
He doesn't understand, at first. How it happens and why. Jared doesn't explain
it, but he seems happy once it's over. Holds Jensen close like always, and
kisses him head to toe.
Once raspberries, all Jared does to Jensen's belly now is kiss it.
Or, sometimes, suck on it. Nibble; but not too hard. It doesn't hurt.
He does it all over, until Jensen's all red-faced and feels like he has to pee
(he doesn't say that, the last part; it's embarrassing) and Jared tells him to
touch his thing, again.
Jared rubs it over Jensen's belly, sometimes. Crouches over him and tells
Jensen to lift his legs so he can fold them over his thighs, while Jensen rubs
at him.
He's getting good at it, he thinks.
Jared sweats a lot. His mouth gets wetter when Jensen is doing real good.
Jensen is too shy to ask for another bath once Jared has left. Eventually
starts to just splash the sticky spots with water and soap, rubs them dry
again. He doesn't want to bother anyone.
                                       ~
Jared brings candy whenever he wants something Jensen knows he's not supposed
to do.
So, when he spreads them out on the sheets, Jensen's stomach flips a little. He
folds his arms in front of his chest, and glares at the fella.
“Like a moody broad,” Jared would laugh, but Jensen knows that, secretly, Jared
likes it when he does it.
Jared has all these sweet little smiles that Jensen never sees outside their
room.
“Is it gonna hurt?”
Jared thinks for a moment. Then nods.
Jensen's eyes widen, and his stomach drops.
Jared's face splits into a huge laugh.
“I'm kidding! It won't. Kochanie. Of course not. Sweetheart.”
“Don't touch me!”
“Kochanie.”
“No!”
Jensen slaps at Jared who leans in for a kiss, and gasps in shock before Jared
grabs his wrist, forces his mouth on Jensen's temples, cheeks, jaw.
Jensen writhes, and whines, in fear. Because he just—slapped P in the face.
P, never make him angry, boys I want you at your best behavior today you hear
me, I don't trust him either darling but it's him or we're on the streets, you
don't understand.
“I'msowwy, msowwy—” (Jared's mouth is big, and he's heavy like a mountain.)
Sometimes, it feels like Jared wants to eat his mouth. Stuffs his tongue so far
down that Jensen can't breathe right, and pushes so hard their teeth grind
against each other. Like he wants to climb into Jensen.
“It's not gonna hurt. Obiecuję. I promise.”
Jensen nods, and doesn't dare wipe at his now overflowing eyes.
Jared lets go of him so he can push his pants down, can worm his long long legs
out of them completely.
He grabs a handful of candy, and moves until he's straddling Jensen's naked
belly.
Jensen's hands flutter to the center of the wide-spread V of thighs. Where
Jared's hard and long and seemingly straining towards Jensen. Jared doesn't
stop him.
He unwraps two candies at once. Puts one in his own mouth, and brings the other
to Jensen's mouth. Jensen parts his lips, hesitantly, eyes on Jared's face,
what he's doing, what's happening, and huffs a relieved breath when Jared's
thumb pops the candy into his mouth.
Jared smiles down at him with his own cheek fat with the candy.
“Good, huh?”
Jensen nods, and eats.
Jared unwraps another, and sits up. Holds the treat just in front of Jensen's
mouth, hovering with one arm steadying him above Jensen's head, against the
wall.
“Open your mouth.”
Jensen blinks, and does. Hasn't looked away from Jared's eyes for a moment, and
isn't planning to.
Jared's expression doesn't change when he shoves his hips forward so his thing
pushes the candy—and itself—into Jensen's mouth.
Jensen almost inhales the new candy, and stops his hands halfway through
pushing at Jared's thighs.
Jared pulls back. Thumbs at his chin.
“Keep it open.”
Jensen manages to swirl his tongue around his lips before Jared is pushing back
inside.
He huffs through his nose, and feels sick.
“Good. Stick your tongue out. Yes. Just like that.”
The taste of the candy covers the other one a lot, but not completely.
Jared sighs. The bed creaks under his weight.
“That's it,” he murmurs, and closes his eyes. Puts both hands on the wall.
“That's a good boy. That's my good boy.”
It doesn't hurt. Not really.
Just like with kissing, Jared puts it so deep Jensen can't breathe right—and
then even deeper.
Jensen's stomach lurches, and so does Jensen.
Jared pulls back, groans, puts one hand on Jensen's forehead, and pushes in
again.
Jensen's legs squirm. He's not pushing hard at Jared, but he is. Jared doesn't
seem to notice. It doesn't stop him.
So, a little pushing is okay.
Jensen can't keep still. Bucks, like a fish, and squeezes his eyes shut when it
happens.
He gets some of it into his nose, but most of it spills over his tongue, his
lips.
Jensen spits the mouthful back at Jared, and yelps when Jared slaps him across
the mouth with it. Shakes his head, helplessly, and whimpers, but Jared rubs
insistently until he opens again. Shoves the mess back in.
He makes Jensen swallow it, but not before he's holding out another candy for
him, to make it better.
                                       ~
The older Ackles boys (all eight of them) range from five foot five to six two.
Connor has three children, fourth on its way. Brian lost his first wife, and
Maddy, the second, is what everyone would call a sweetheart.
Jensen likes her a lot.
She shows him how to braid flower crowns. Makes one for him, and he makes one
for her.
Maddy has soft, small hands, and tastes like wild honey, like a smokehouse.
She makes him feel a lot like Jared does. Is hastier, though, and despite being
a girl: rougher.
Jensen's reached five foot five; that mark in the door frame he's been
feverishly obsessing with for months now. One of them, now. They don't seem to
notice him any more than before.
Jared hasn't brought candy in ages. Which Jensen won't complain about, as long
as Jared mouths and licks at him like only he seems to want to. Be able to.
Jared doesn't think it's dirty back there, he says. Jensen still cleans
himself, sometimes. When he's brave enough to, and the bathroom seems idle
enough for another five more minutes.
It's an autumn day. All gold and orange, and the air is rich with smoke and
caramel.
Jensen is sore from helping with the stable all morning, and Jared's grooming
and licking and stroking only makes his eyes droop even more. He hums, dozing
off, hitching his hips so that maybe Jared will take him into his mouth again
instead of swirling his insanely long tongue into his ass.
Jared comes up for a chuckle, and noses at Jensen's balls.
“You're impatient.”
“M'bout to fall 'sleep.”
“This looks very much awake.”
Jensen groans. Is buried in Jared's throat as far as he'll go; still rolls his
hips. Can't stand the suction, how Jared swallows around him.
A finger slips into his spit-slick ass, and his lashes flutter.
It keeps pushing. Then pumps. Off-key with Jared's efforts on his cock.
Jensen grunts. Shifts his hips, and Jared's finger slides deeper when he does.
“Mh.”
Jensen licks his lip. Puts his hands in front of his face, so he has somewhere
to hide.
It always comes sudden, for him. Today, it's different. Creeps up, slowly, so
Jensen is aware it's there, almost, almost.
He seizes, perfectly quiet as always, but shudders a pained gasp when another
finger wedges itself into him, through the throb-clench of his climax. He can
feel it: can feel his insides sucking at Jared's fingers just like Jared's
throat is sucking at his cock, and throws his head back in a sob that he can
feel in his teeth.
When Jared is done swallowing his load, he lets him slip out of his mouth. But
he doesn't stop moving his hand.
Jensen can feel his knuckles bumping at his tailbone, and rolls his lips
between his teeth so he doesn't make another sound.
Jared's breathing hard, and harder as he's picking up the pace.
It's too much. It's too fast. Jensen's still not down from his high, and
whines. Mouths at the heels of his palms, and tries to relax.
“Let me see you.”
“Ah.”
Jensen feels himself vibrating, heating up. Slips his hands up to only cover
his eyes now, lets Jared watch the red of his mouth and lets him finger him, so
fast it must look blurry, and burns with friction.
He sobs, “Hurts,” a resentful tone to it like he's still a child and which he
immediately wants to take back, jolts in shock when Jared spits at him, loud,
hits bulls-eye.
He keeps hammering his hand into Jensen while he scoots up, pulls Jensen onto
his side. Lines up behind him, and Jensen's reaching behind himself to grab at
hair, beard, face; anything.
Jared kisses him, and Jensen cranes his neck as far as it will go to meet him
for it. Bites at Jensen's tongue and then lip and uses three fingers now, so
rough that for a horrible few seconds Jensen thinks he's bleeding. But Jared
brings his fingers up to spit on them once more, and miraculously they're clear
of red.
Jensen turns his head into the pillow to stifle the noise clawing itself up his
throat when Jared spears him again, so deep and wide Jensen feels like telling
him to stop, lie that it hurts, hurts bad.
He goes slower, this time. Has Jensen sobbing with exhaustion, overload. Pulls
at his ear to turn him until he's not breathing cotton anymore.
Jensen feels like burning from the inside. Like Jared is ripping him up. Is
prodded in places nobody should have, or should have touched by someone,
anyone.
“I'm not—don't!”
Jared's laugh rumbles low.
“Stop, stop, please.”
“Kochanie, trzęsiesz się.”
Jared rubs all three fingers over that one weird spot, and Jensen keens so loud
Jared forces his face back into the pillow. Doesn't stop fucking into the spot.
Jensen kicks his legs out.
“Jensen. Let me. Hold still.”
He shakes with his sobs. With the impact his muscles are seizing in.
Jared rolls them over. Lies atop of Jensen now, so heavy there is no way for
Jensen to breathe.
Jared's mouthing at his ear. Jensen can feel his erection stabbing him in the
kidney.
“Relax,” he hears. “If you let me, I'll stop. But you gotta give this to me.”
He tries. He tries.
He drops his limbs (didn't know he'd still been trying to flail) and—feels it.
Like a rush. Like urinating.
Warm and overwhelming, and he might be blacking out from lack of oxygen.
The next clear thing he knows is being kissed, by Jared. Hot, and too much.
Shifts his leg, weakly, when Jared thumbs the head of his cock into his blown-
out ass, and moves his mouth like he wants to object to this. Like anything
could make it stop.
Jared enters him slow, and rocks even slower once he passes the point his
fingers could stretch out.
Jensen is too weak to do much more than accept. Be lifeless in Jared's
controlling hands, be shoved and rearranged until the man is satisfied.
Jensen draws a pained breath when Jared first pulls back, stabs right back in.
“It hurts. You're hurting me.”
Jared curls his hand around Jensen's throat and squeezes, hard.
Harder than he's ever touched him, or hit him, before.
“Jensen,” he murmurs, so low it feels like an earthquake against Jensen's back.
“Sweetheart, I need you to be very good for me now. Can you do that?”
Jensen nods as quick and far as the pressure on his throat will possibly let
him.
Jared lets him breathe again eventually. It doesn't feel like a favor.
                                       ~
He doesn't let the needle out of focus. Doesn't even blink.
“They'll see.”
“I don't mind. You do neither, don't you?”
Jensen curls his lips inwards, and breathes. Blinks.
He wants to watch it, but ends up squeezing his eyes shut the moment the needle
enters his flesh.
Jared has a tattoo on his ankle. Says he's got it in a Tolowa camp, back in the
day, and says he can probably do it too, it didn't look difficult. Could do it
on Jensen, if he wants.
But Jared had, with a much fonder tone of voice, whispered tales of pierced
prostitutes in his favorites cities, favorite havens all over the U.S. That,
Jensen, you wouldn't know. Beautiful. Very beautiful.
It aches with the kind of pain that makes him cross his legs. That boils his
blood just right, and makes him light-headed.
He falls back into the pillows once it's done, and stares at the ring dangling
from his nipple in fascination.
Doesn't dare lay a finger on it, but Jared goes for it with his mouth.
Jensen cusses, and Jared laughs around his tit.
“I hate you. I hate you, bastard.”
Feels right to say it. To curl two fists into Jared's mane and pull, wrap his
legs over-around his shoulders, once Jared's prodding at his ass. Like he's
drawn to it, just cannot help it.
Jared's kiss doesn't taste like blood for long.
                                       ~
They all grow blond in the summer. Sprout freckles that spread over noses,
ears, below the collar of any shirt.
Phil and Ophelia are learning how to wash the peaches without damage. Jensen
has one toddler on each knee, and talks quietly, breathing the milk scent of
their heads.
They are careful, and reverent.
Benny at last did something right.
Jensen doesn't pay attention to the growing chatter until he hears P.
Not a word, just a hum. Not particularly pleased. Yeah, the spring was a tad
too long.
“Still,” Father mumbles, passing and aged and exhausted, “we should be fine.
There will be enough. I promise you. You—you have my word.”
The children crane their heads. Jensen keeps his still, bowed. Keeps washing
the peaches with a smile, watches his fingers underwater while P runs his
fingers through his hair, along his ear.
Goes to do the same to Phil, and pinches Ophelia in the cheek.
“It is a beautiful orchard. That it is.”
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