Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11093103.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural_RPF
  Relationship:
      Jensen_Ackles/Jared_Padalecki
  Character:
      Jensen_Ackles, Jared_Padalecki
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Student/Teacher, Teacher_Jensen, Lolita_Jared,
      Genderfluid_Jared, Age_Difference, Crossdressing, Secret_Relationship,
      Sex_Toys, First_Time, Consensual_Underage_Sex, ALL_THE_ANGST, Jealous
      Jensen
  Series:
      Part 9 of fullofsugar!verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-04 Words: 6182
****** Mouths Full Of Sugar ******
by hellhoundsprey
Summary
     Jensen is conflicted. Jared isn't.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Jared doesn’t intend to cause pains. Jensen can’t bring himself to continue the
sentence beginning with a ‘but’.
Jensen is torn over this child and the many results are his goddamn own fault.
Like bulk-buying ice cream and sweets and fish-shaped crackers will buy him out
of sin.
Like using this body part instead of that onewill make—as she said—any
difference.
Pitiful, really, that the only times the coil of Jensen’s guts untangles is
when he’s with him.
“Jensen.”
Soft mammal mouth, baby-furred.
Jensen thumb-rubs beginnings of a mustache.
Jensen hums a noise meant for approval despite the fact that Jared hasn’t posed
his question yet. It never fails to make Jared smile. (Dimples to fit tips of
fingers in.)
Jensen smiles back.
“I’m hungry.”
“Breakfast?”
“Uh-huh.”
Wife-kiss. “Gimme ten.”
                                       ~
The quiet moments are the worst. The ones where the world is spinning despite
Jensen being stuck with himself.
Scrubbing boy-spunk out of girl-underwear. The bathroom is the bright-white
kind of clean reserved for places guests will see.
Jensen’s brain supplies that if Zoe Letterman hadn’t gotten her hands on
emergency contraception that one night, Jensen might have a kid two years older
than Jared. Would have been cleaning Ninja Turtles shorts or Elsa panties for
years now.
Jensen is getting good at this. The cleaning, that is.
                                       ~
Pavlov-training himself. Classic conditioning.
Jared, in school, just being another one of the many many students—it sends a
rush of relief unlike any other.
That Jared is up and about. Functioning.
It’s such a different rush, different relief, to get to hold him. As if Jensen
is not alone. As if Jensen is—in some obscure way (probably)—safe.
There’s these two sides he feels for Jared. They do meet somewhere in the
middle, where Jensen can be clean and respectful, where he’s a caretaker, where
neither of them said the L word out loud: dishing out food, helping with
homework, listening to woes and worries. Peeling hairs out of eyes, pulling
covers over a shoulder, making coffee for two in the mornings.
Jared is Jared in the hall, with his friends, discussing and plotting whichever
teenage dream plans Jensen lacks the youth to be passionate about anymore.
Jared is Jared in Jensen’s garden, or bathroom, or bedroom, playing wife and
girlfriend and grown-up all at once, slowly accepting that porn isn’t reality
but god is it a nice dream every now and then, just come back to something soft
and warm-mouthed.
Jared is Jared, probably, at home with his parents, family, siblings, arguing
with his brother and big-brothering his little sister, taking out trash,
studying his second-last year of high school material.
To think either of them belongs to the other seems absurd. There’s no one else,
though. Some friends started voicing their worries: is Jensen okay, is he still
broken over the Danni issue, because Jensen is someone who needs another
someone, someone to look after and be strong for, and they have no idea, they
don’t.
How childish is it to be happy with what he has?
                                       ~
Up to here, Jared’s persistence didn’t get them any farther. Call Jensen a
hypocrite, but he’s mourning about as much as kitten.
Jared’s been voicing wishes ever since, even prior to Jensen giving his final
okay to go all the way. Has been whisper-sweating words into Jensen’s neck
whilst grinding them together. Drove Jensen halfway out of his skin and back
but every goddamn time something somehow ended up stopping them, postponing It.
He gets Jared off on every opportunity he can, but it’s never enough. An
endless well, and Jensen contemplates he might drown here soon.
It’s been a taboo ever since he kissed this kid on the mouth for the first
time, but now it’s not far from reach, and it feels—okay? Like the world won’t
end if they do It. Like Jensen won’t combust in flames during or after. Like
they’ll be, in fact, okay.
He can’t possibly tell Jared about these things, these thoughts. He’s the
responsible one. He should be the one in control. The cool to Jared’s heat,
smothering just enough to stop a potential fire.
But there’s kitten, hollowing him out, breaking him down with every shared
secret, every unthinking sentence. Rubbing Jensen’s body just right, like she’s
got a manual to it, like Jensen’s all hers to have and God, he wants that, he
does.
Sweetest when lying down, letting her have her fill. Pushing her hard-warm
hands over him, rutting against his cock or belly. Smoothed limbs and hitched
breath and dreaming out loud how It’ll be, how she wants It, I love you so
much, you can have whatever you want, Mister, you’re so hard, I can feel you,
you want It too, tell me you want me.
There’s either too much or too little time, or Jared complains about belly
aches or digestive complications, so much stress lately and yeah, Jensen
sympathizes. He’s so nervous he’s surprised he’s waking up in the mornings
anymore.
Jared, despite his own words, is scared. That It won’t be to Jensen’s likings,
that he’ll not perform as promised. He doesn’t have to say that. Jensen’s been
there.
And Jensen does not tire of telling him that, saying, “We’ll take it slow,” and
promise how, “We can stop and change anything at anytime.” Pampers and sweet-
talks with his dick so frustrated it’s close to making him cry being confronted
with the treat in question right in front of it, playing him so out-of-tune. So
fickle, his baby, calling for stops now abruptly and halfway-there, suddenly in
tears or withdrawn and Jensen is no animal, he’d never.
So, Jensen, as he looks up from the current stack of papers in his fresh
sophomore class room, left behind and it’s late summer, apple blossoms long
gone and ripening into fruits on trees not far from the window, and there’s
Jared, who’s in ridiculous layers of tulle and boy-sneakers and fearlessness,
and Jensen, just.
“What’re you doin’?”
Jared leans his back up against the door so it clicks closed, sound like a
falling guillotine.
Jared repeats, “What’re you doin’, huh?” and Jensen’s forgotten absolutely
everything he’s ever done.
Jensen puts his pen down, runs hands over his face, notices the sudden sweat.
Says, “Hey,” and that’s all the cue Jared’s ever needed to waddle over to him.
Little lost duck.
Hand reaching out for Jared’s, but Jensen’s being left alone, and feels teary.
“What’re you still doin’ here, hm?”
“I asked first.”
“I’m working,” croaks Jensen in half-laughed desperation, and close-up now
catches glimpse of sheer stockings, the low-cut V peppered with sequins and he
did not buy this one. “What’re you wearing. Jesus.”
“Marsha got into the theatre club, so. Props.”
“Jesus.”
“You like it?”
Jensen has to close his eyes before they learn to see him from the outside;
nods, hard, hands and lips slippery and he says, “We shouldn’t, not, not at
school. Jesus. Jesus.”
Jared says nothing, takes a few steps back until he can support his hands on a
desk behind him, front row. Leans back, a little, so his hips push out,
insatiable dick probably candy-wet underneath all the creme frills, and Jensen
shudders a sound.
“There’s nobody around,” confides kitten, “I checked.”
Luxury of three-four-five deep breaths, sour and ugly, panic and worry but so
so much that he wants.
Until Jensen gets up to lock the door, Jared hasn’t been flushing this pink.
Jensen doesn’t look at him as he closes in, can’t stand the view, not right
now, just hears those quietly gasped ohs, chanted like Jensen’s name, wobbly
mouth falling right open for a tongue and kisses and it’s so so easy to guide
him belly-down, over the tiny table.
A quickly frantic shuffle to get to skin, digging through so so much tulle, and
Jared doesn’t interfere with Jensen’s strangled curse word when he finds what
he stupidly didn’t expect, ever, is too busy not shaking apart as it is.
“Did anyone see you like this?”
Jared shakes his sweaty head, curls his ass up-out for Jensen to pet his slick-
bare gash more, deeper, trip his fingers over the plug nestled in the darling
middle and yeah Jensen bought that.
Jensen breathes, “Y’gonna kill me,” and Jared beds his cheek onto the tabletop
in response. Hitched-up naked shoulders, one spaghetti-strap sliding down and
away, offering a fresh sunburn, a hickey from one of his girlfriends that
Jensen knows has nothing to do with what he does to Jared’s inner thighs when
nobody’s looking.
Jensen has to come up for air, feels so huge, so predatory over the splayed
open body that’s offering itself up. Jared’s on his tip-toes, ass so high all
Jensen’d have to do is slide his dick out and then in, it’s not fair, it’s not
fair.
“Please. Please.”
Trippy-trip of feet, more balance, tighter together, tailbone tilted even more,
hot-pink crystal cluster catching light like that asshole is magical and sacred
and yeah, you can have it.
“Mr. Ackles, now, please. I want it. No one’s gonna know, I promise. I’ll never
tell a soul. Just—please.”
Jared’s body shudders with that sigh cued on Jensen sliding the zipper of his
pants down. Has a lonely tear in those lashes, blinking up at Jensen over his
shoulder, looks so fucking young and breakable Jensen’s hand almost stops in
the reach-around to this wallet, the lil foil packages he’s carried for weeks.
(Thought it would happen in their upcoming beach vacation, the motel there, or
in the car, on the way. Thought he’d stop in the middle of a poppy field or
something, prop the boy up in all that red and do this.)
“I love you so much. Jared. You hear me?”
Jared tries really hard now not to break into tears, nods.
“If it hurts, you gotta tell me.”
“Yeah, yeah, yes. I love you too, Mr. Ackles.”
Jensen drapes low while he slides on the condom one-handed, the other arm his
support so he can hold himself over her, can kiss her and lick at the roof of
her mouth. He wants her to feel his heart stutter when he tugs at the plug, can
feel his breath on the realization of just how soft she is, how she’s made of
butter and warmth and he’s nudged the very tip of his cock inside before he’s
ready himself.
Jensen hears himself whisper, “I love you, I love you,” and he hears the birds
in the trees, faint cicadas and the football team hollering from across the
yard; someone aced something and Jensen puts one hand to Jared’s sequined
ribcage.
The push in is so easy, so painless that it rips some weak part of Jensen to
shreds, because he’s done this. He’s made this.
Jared is endless. One long, perfect line, custom-cut, custom-fit, and the first
breath he takes with Jensen’s dick in him stirs the two of them so tight
Jensen’s mouth twists.
Slide of shiver-hand from ribs to flank to belly, hips, holding on there,
helping to step feet out some more, then pull him back, pack some more inches
home, and Jared’s breath stumbles.
“Oh, oh—”
“Easy, wait—”
“I’m, I’m—”
Jared bucks up and slams them together, and Jensen’s body folds in half without
his say-so.
Jared whines, then, shooting with all of his body tense and quaking, with
Jensen rooted so deep he can feel everything, loses sight and hearing for a
second or five and just holds on, clasps one hand over Jared’s and Jared grasps
back with more strength than either of them anticipated.
Aborted dry-humps back-up, uneven like Jared’s voice that sobs, “Do it, do it,
fuck me, fuck me,” and Jensen’s so shaken that for a second he doesn’t know if
he can.
Slow-grind, Jared still clinging/shuddering and there’s nowhere to go, really,
Venus flytrap strangling Jensen dick-first, and he’s not crying, that’s sweat.
Jensen can’t hold out much longer than what it takes to actually snap his hips
once; probably the skin-skin smack that undoes him, the babygirl-gasp it knocks
out of Jared.
It’s whole-body and nothing he could have steeled himself for.
Jensen comes with his heels lifting, toes curling in too-warm leather slippers,
forgetting everything and even the fact of being double the weight of what he’s
crushing underneath himself, weak little bug still wriggling on his dick in
confusion and Jensen actually has to call for him to stop, hold still, oh my
God, oh fuck.
Jared doesn’t scold but studies, closely, over his shoulder, still out of
breath and Jensen notices he’s getting his knuckles rubbed by something pink-
glittered. Blinks, lost, slowly coming down and not ready at all to hit rock
bottom of reality yet. Maybe he’s squinting weird or Jared just knows what’s
going on in his head, maybe even feels the same, because he says, “Stay in me,”
doesn’t add ’please’ or any other play-words because they both need this.
Slow-kissing, no words. The drag-out is unglamorous and last-minute, slow
despite Jared not complaining at all about discomfort or pain or any of the
things Jensen just inflicted.
Jared’s asshole is love-sigh open, too violated to even attempt to close just
yet, and Jensen starts to cry because he doesn’t have any idea what to do with
the used condom.
                                       ~
After his first time, Jensen couldn’t exactly look his then-girlfriend in the
eye. Things had gone weird and embarrassing and he hadn’t meant to.
Jared doesn’t seem to be bothered. Jensen isn’t sure if that’s good or bad.
What’s unquestionably good is that Jared’s neither scared nor prohibited; that
he’s not changed, period, that Jensen didn’t break him. (At least not in a
newer, more devastating way than what he’s already done.)
Jensen doesn’t have to ask if it’s okay, and Jared doesn’t have to ask if they
can.
Quiet kisses from the doorway on, still-tender on Jensen’s side and it’s
Friday, Jared can’t spend the night because there’s a family gathering of some
sort his parents want him to be present at tomorrow and Sunday, too, and all
Jensen can think about is how much he forgot about what it’s like to be in
love.
An even ratio of getting pushed and doing the pulling, of getting undressed and
peeling at waistbands, un-lace size eight sneakers.
They still haven’t spoken a word by the time Jensen’s pressing dick and tongue
into respectable ends, has teen-knees in his hands and flutter-fingers tickling
up his ribs; like nothing ever was not-this. Stutter of two heartbeats, faster
than anyone would like, but Jensen can’t feel that when he’s looking at Jared,
when he’s invading what he’s irrevocably made his.
Jared’s looking right back, eyes half-hooded and dreamy, lips apart just so.
It’s Jensen who whispers, “I love you,” and Jared who beds himself in it.
It hurts. It hurts.
                                       ~
“Does it feel like a girl’s?”
Jensen laughs so he doesn’t cry. “Yeah. Yeah, pretty much.”
Jared rolls over some more, big-blinking little spoon. “Did you do a lot of
anal before? With them?”
“Not as much, no.” Jensen’s thumb swipes an astray hair out of Jared’s
forehead. “Never was with anyone as into it as you.”
“But do you like it?”
“Of course.”
“Do you like it as much as pussy?”
Jensen blinks, still smiling. “Baby.”
“Well, do you?”
“I love you. I love sleeping with you. I wouldn’t even know where to begin to
compare this here to anything.”
Open-eyed kiss to that hair; the best to watch the doubt fall away from
kitten’s face, even if only bit by little bit.
                                       ~
Her skin is still cool from the shower, slightly damp (Jensen couldn’t wait). A
tired mouth, more tired eyes—no, relaxed.
Jensen shifts a little deeper.
“Mh.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah, yeah. Keep going.”
Fingertips, then entire hands over Jensen’s. Fluttering where he’s holding that
small span of hips, tight, so it won’t slip away. Fluffed the pillow before he
pushed it under her butt.
Her head droops to the side with a sleepy sigh. She’s still hard, but Jensen is
the one with his heart in his mouth.
“Can I?”
She smiles and, “Yeah,” keeps a soft grip on his hands and he wonders if she
can see him through her lashes.
Jensen rolls his hips. She squirms into it, wobbly on the pillow.
Jensen can feel everything.
Every clench. Every tremor. Every breath.
He runs his hands up her sides, ribs. Spans them over that little belly.
Tumbles, stays here. Bows his head, lips parting in wonder.
“What?”
He doesn’t answer. He takes her hand, cups it under his own. He barely has to
press down.
He can feel her surprise.
She gasps, “Oh,” and Jensen can feel that, presses her palm down harder and
Jensen can feel that.
Jensen is about to cry. “How can you still be so small?”
“I’m sorry.” She squirms again, with more intent now. “I’m sorry. You wanna
stop?”
Jensen shakes his head, sniffles. Rocks up into her, all the way now and she’s
so soft, she’s warm and gentle and her hands are heating up fast, just like her
face; always so fast with that blood rush.
She keeps looking into his eyes as he builds up a steady (but slow) rhythm.
She’s ragdoll-limp but for her hands; one on top of Jensen’s again. Follows
when he steadies her hips once more. He can pull her back onto himself without
much effort at all.
“Is this okay?” he asks.
“You can go faster.”
“Can we do it like this? For now?”
“Okay.” She sighs it (not annoyed but contended, treasured). Her legs fall more
open, as if Jensen just cut another set of her strings.
She lets him.
                                       ~
“Lookin’ good.”
Jensen eye-rolls at the water cooler, keeps his arms crossed. “Thanks. Leyla.”
She’s pushing into his field of vision so he can watch her ogling him,
unabashedly, like kitten does and Jensen doesn’t appreciate it. Not a bit.
“Have you been working out or something?”
He just wants his liquid life support, thanks. “Not really, no.”
“But you’re glowing! Wait, did you find yourself a girlfriend?”
“No. Now if you’ll excuse me...”
“Jensen, you can’t do that to me, to all of us! Hey! Wait!”
Jensen rushes out of the kitchen, passes endless students and absolutely not-
intentionally Jared’s locker. Spots him, right there, laughing and happy and
not seeing Jensen at all.
That Nathan kid’s got an arm around kitten’s hip, fingers spanned where Jensen
had peppered kisses half a week before.
Jensen just-so doesn’t run coffee-first into the cheerleaders.
                                       ~
“Do you wanna watch a movie or something?”
Jared pouts into his smirk. Jensen can’t stop staring where his top is cut way
too low in the front. “Uh-huh. ‘Or something’.”
“What? I was just askin’.”
“Uh-huh.”
Jared’s kisses taste like toffee flavored ice cream and he climbs into Jensen’s
lap; Jensen doesn’t have to ask for either.
Bare legs—Jensen slips his hand from the knees upwards, dips under dress-hem
straight to ass, cups and pulls and she’s not bare underneath. Jensen kisses
her mouth and tugs her panties out of the way with one finger, rubs over her
hole with another. Jared squirms in his lap, tits pressed up against Jensen’s,
dick smothered between them but he doesn’t seem to mind.
Jensen finds the decency to turn on the TV in front of them. Jared laughs for
that, tosses his hair and bites his lip. Lays his head onto Jensen’s shoulder
when Jensen begins to finger him. Blind fumble for the lube between the sofa
pillows; kiss behind her ear. Somewhere, someone started a fire in a wildlife
park.
“Ah—”
She’s tight today. “Relax.”
“Mh.” Pout, weak arms. Eyes closed, forehead in creases.
Jensen, throbbing with horror over how much he needs this, slips the condom on,
strokes once before he lines up. One hand on her hip, he’s urging her to squat
down on it.
She’s resistant. Jared hisses.
“Easy.”
“Ah…”
Jensen pulls until the head is in. Baby-twitches to get deeper, but. It just
won’t.
Jared sobs, “Mr. Ackles,” and Jensen spends all his air in one huff, feels the
sweat on his upper lip.
Backpedaling, big time.
“Okay, wait. Stop.”
He squeezes her to his chest, tiny bare ass displayed for the TV lights. His
dick, still in latex and The Mood, twitches uselessly against the inside of her
thigh.
“I’m sorry,” she tries, but he assures her immediately that it’s okay. It is.
That bodies aren’t machines, et cetera, et cetera. Tissue, condom off. Still
hard, Jensen tucks himself back into his jeans. He pulls her back onto his lap
so they can choose and watch a movie.
Jared has been doing that thing for as long as Jensen can remember. It can’t be
unintended—that persistent rocking in Jensen’s lap, all the while acting like
he isn’t. Like he can’t feel Jensen’s dick poking at his ass.
Jensen slicked through his underwear by the time Jared turns to look over his
shoulder, bitten mouth and careful, “Can we try again?”
God, yeah, they can.
Jensen has him facing the TV, all weight on his hands on Jensen’s thighs,
peachy-bony boy-ass balanced in one and then two hands as soon as Jensen’s got
another condom, has his dick pointing where he needs it to be.
He can see the knob of Jared’s tailbone, and pulls.
Jared is the kind of tight that’s just as worrisome as it is awesome (perfect,
blinding), and he’s quivering and there’s a gasp but Jensen slides just about
halfway in before there’s an unmistakable stop.
Jared whimpers as he rocks Jensen deeper into his guts, and Jensen rubs the
small of his back with one hand.
The dress keeps slipping down. Jared rucks it up under his armpits before even
that doesn’t work anymore. Jensen feels his dick digging odd-angled as Jared
sits back, trembles for what must be pain but shucks his dress off as fast as
he can, regains his balance on both hands, and Jensen thinks he is gonna blow
in another few seconds.
He has her by the waist, both hands, soft skin shifting. She’s moaning weird.
Lick of lips, “Is that good for you?”
Jared mumbles something that’s neither a yes nor no.
Jensen keeps fucking him.
Jensen wraps his hand around Jared’s dick when he’s just about to come, thrusts
up in addition to pulling her down; she’s louder but her insides milk him just
right, almost-closed flutter and Jensen loses it.
It’s an afterthought that he just jerked Jared off over the carpet.
“I liked that,” admits kitten, shimmying Jared’s shorts back up her by now
cleaned-up ass, and Jensen stares until it’s hidden once more.
The tips of her ears are still flushed pink. Always with the blood rush.
Jensen’s eyes follow the line of Jared’s spine. “You sure you can’t spend the
night?”
“I’m with the guys tomorrow. Sorry. We’ve been planning it for ages; I really
can’t ditch them. Sorry.”
Jensen hums.
                                       ~
He could jerk off, or something.
Or something.
Like, what? He still hasn’t made a single friend. Could call Mackenzie, ask
about the new baby. But even that can only last so long, and it’s only two pm
on a Saturday which’ll be followed by a Sunday, until Jensen has a life again.
While Jared’s out there, somewhere, with his friends. Having fun, without
Jensen. With Nathan, too, even though Jared insists he’s got himself a
boyfriend now, but...hell. They’re kids. Jensen’s been a kid, once.
Jensen stares at the TV until it gets boring, then has a few drinks until he
gets hungry. Some food, scraps of this and that, but he doesn’t feel like
ordering something, let alone cooking.
The princess room smells like jasmine oil, sweet and heavy. Good at covering
all that silicone and lube and outsides-insides. Jensen flops down on the bed
that never creaks, that doesn’t smell like Jared because Jensen was stupid
enough to change the sheets after he left, last time.
This is stupid. He is stupid. It didn’t used to be like this. Didn’t use to
affect him. Jensen used to be independent, he remembers, before meeting Jared
and even some months into being with him. Was able to spend a goddamn weekend
by himself and enjoy it (hear ye, hear ye!).
All they do is have sex nowadays anyway. What the hell. Jensen, you’re the
worst.
He palms himself over his sweatpants for comfort, blinks around the room.
Pieces of kitten everywhere—jewelry forgotten-scattered over the vanity. A
dress Jensen had to hand-clean, hung to dry outside of the closet. Jensen
clears the vanity, just to busy himself. Puts away the three nail polishes
(Jared had eventually decided for Chastity), gets stuck with the highlight
powder, tries to remember if he bought it or if Jared brought it. (It’s a weird
kind of stomach-ache, knowing people other than himself are getting Jared these
kind of presents now.)
Jensen’s bedroom is as empty as ever. The scent of jasmine has carried up to
here, a whisper of it clinging to the sheets, to the knob of the drawer Jensen
keeps lube and condoms in.
 Jensen lies on his bed, curled up on his side. Closes his eyes in the hopes of
reeling in sleep, but the sun is still up, and Jared’s not his until ‘sometime
next week should work, Mr. Ackles’.
He’s always been like this, with relationships. Always keeping his careful
distance, because shit, this stuff, right here, this helplessness and all that
whining, it’s disgusting and he doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want to be this way in
his own as well as his partner’s interest, because if Jensen Ackles can do one
thing, it is being unnecessarily butt-hurt.
It takes him another twenty-ish minutes to completely sulk-drown his brain and
swipe his phone alive.
Jensen is thirty-seven and it’s been three years since he’s felt anywhere close
to desperation, four since he’s written his last ’Miss you’ text.
He’s panic and heart-throb and he reads the few letters over and over until he
decides he cannot ever send them.
He does anyway. Immediately shuts down the screen, slaps the phone into a
nearby pillow. Curls tighter. Groans.
Feels like hours until there’s that soft buzz, even though the app says it’s
been only eight minutes.
miss you too
are you ok?
Jensen’s heart does these ugly too-fast somersaults he hates so much. He’s
gonna be sick.
                                                                           yeah
                                                           you guys having fun?
Jared sends a picture with the entire group, two girls hanging off of him. He’s
got his hair tied up, cap on his head against the merciless sun. Except for the
dramatically short jean shorts, he looks just like any other boy Jensen could
think of, sees at school every day.
yeah! it’s so cool here!
I ate like ten corn dogs
                                                                            wow
                                                                     don’t puke
Nothing else. The sun is still up. Jensen wonders if there’s a curfew. If one
of the parents is picking all of them up in a bus, a minivan. If someone can
look at Jared and not see what he’s doing, how he’s moving; if someone can
sense what’s going on in the many hours he’s spending ’tutoring’ or ’getting
tutored’.
Eating corn dogs. Riding water slides. Taking goofy pictures with friends.
He’s just a kid. Just a kid.
While Jensen’s over here, with his dick hard, because he knows how Jared’s tits
feel in his mouth. Knows what shade of rose-brown-nude spans across the skin
from the tip to his cock down to the furl of his asshole, and knows how it all
looks up-close and how it tastes.
Jared is out there in the world and all Jensen can think is that nobody should
buy Jared any corn dog, ever.
Jensen is fucking teary-eyed.
when will you be home?
After no reply for what now actually is an hour and a half (and Jensen has died
a few times in that span of time, has another few drinks in that span of time),
Jensen’s phone is buzzing.
Like, incoming call buzzing.
“H’llo?”
“Hey,” hushes Jared, whisper-quiet and Jensen can hear children laugh in the
background, can hear mamas pushing buggies over gravel, and he’s choked up all
anew. “Sorry, we were, uhm—”
“No, it’s okay, it’s okay. You’re busy, I shouldn’t have.” (God, Jensen hopes
Jared can’t hear the booze on him.) “How’re you? Sun-struck yet?”
And Jared says, “We’re about to head home, actually,” like Jensen’s not having
a stroke, like that baby-breathlessness of voice doesn’t give him aneurysms.
“Do you, uh, should I...?”
Jensen blinks away sweat. “You wanna come over?”
Conglomerate of screams. Jared must be close to a ride. Sounds so hopeful and
God Jensen hopes his friends are just a stone’s throw away or wishes Jared
sneaked off as subtle as ever and nobody knows.
Jared teases, “You want me to?” and Jensen’s barely heard the question before
he blabbers, “God, please. Yeah.”
“How much do you miss me?”
Jensen tips his head back so his lungs have more room, closes his eyes, tries
not to sob into the goddamn phone. Feels ugly saying, “Need you,” like a
predator for real and manipulative and God yeah that’s him that’s always been
him from the very start, and who is he to fool (what kinda game is he even
trying to pretend to be playing). “Come over? Please?”
“Hm. I’ll figure something out.”
Jensen smiles, taken care of so good. Thank God Jared’s universe is made of
Jensen. “That’s my girl.”
Jared doesn’t reply directly, but Jensen knows he’s beaming right now. Maybe
flushing, pretty dick threatening to twitch because all Jensen has to do is
drawl in porn and kitten is at his feet, purring.
She says, “Another two hours or so, okay?” and it sounds like a promise to
Jensen and he swallows it dearly, croons, “Yeah. You sure it’s okay?”
“They’ll live. I wanna see you.”
“Mmh. Can you stay the night?”
“That’s the plan.”
Chuckle. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”
Jared cheshire-flirts, “I can’t help it,” and Jensen can’t do much but believe
with everything he has.
                                       ~
“Are you drunk?”
“Just a little. Hey.” Jared’s mouth tastes like vanilla coke. Jensen breathes
deep, through his nose. “Hey, baby. Oh, God, you’re warm.”
“Got here as fast as I could,” and yeah, fuck, Jensen’s hands are slipping in
all that bike-sweat.
There’s twig-arms around Jensen’s neck and he feels twice as fucked up, all at
once. Ashamed as hell because Jared must be smelling the alcohol on him, taste
it even, and he’s looking big-eyed and hesitant, bird-chest ebbing with Jensen-
love.
Jensen’s never vowed to be any kind of role model.
“Do you wanna shower,” croaks Jensen. “I could use one.”
“Yeah.” Funky one-sided smirk, longing kiss. “Yeah, you kinda reek.”
Jensen uses too much soap and too little time. Has been hard before Jared’s
shimmied his nothing-ass out of his little-sister-shorts, and Jared smells like
fun, and sugar, and sunscreen.
Jared kisses open-mouthed, all hands. Bucks up-away into touches, like a game
of cat and mouse, and pleasure-rolls his eyes when being crowded against tiles,
gets his beautiful porn-ish foot up on the bathtub’s rim so Jensen can feel him
up that much more generously.
“Can we do it without?”
“Hm?” (Jensen’s two-fingers-in deaf. Feels his dick throbbing all the way down
to his toes.)
“Without a condom, I mean. This time. Maybe?”
Slip-slide hands clinging to Jensen’s shoulders, they’re eye-to-eye and Jared’s
never done growing. Half-blinks and kisses and sighs so flushed and darling and
quiet, because he’s cruel in his very own way, cheats his way through Jensen’s
restrictions like he has any right to do that.
“Yeah? Please?” Lip-suck kiss with Jensen tapping his happy place.
Jensen’s heard students beg prettier for upgrades on essays, or presentations.
“God,” he moans, and everything hurts the sweetest.
Jared’s grappling for Jensen’s neck, fighting for balance and air laid out on
his back so Jensen can spoil him best. Yelps pretty when Jensen’s raw dick
slides up too soon too fast, crimps his thin ankles down into Jensen’s ass, and
Jensen’s never loved anyone as much as this baby human being, ever.
“How’s that feel, huh? Like you wanted?”
She sobs, “Yes,” just-broken-in-tight and watery around the edges, jelly-shake
of limbs even though Jensen’s not moving at all (he thinks). Quick succession
of blinks, cherry-mouth popped open and spit-smeared easy enough (Jensen just
wants to please).
Jared groans all the way down Jensen’s throat on being laid-down over, crushed
and held and filled. Holds on like it still isn’t enough. Like he needs Jensen
to crawl all the way inside, find the twisted not-so-twisted trails all the way
into his too-big heart.
Kitten doesn’t ask for anything despite her breath getting remarkably thinner,
both getting limited with Jensen purring chest-to-chest, with Jensen grinding
their mismatched bodies together.
Jensen hasn’t fucked anyone bare since ninety-seven.
“Uh, uh, uh—”
“Feel so much of you, Jay. Feel like a dream.”
“Don’t pull out. Don’t.”
Jensen laughs, “Can’t,” and flexes his ass with the following harsh thrust just
so Jared becomes maybe-aware of how locked he’s got him.
Jared’s red-headed, wet strands of hair all anew. Thin brows furrowed and the
pink of his mouth is barely Jensen’s teeth’s fault. Jensen rearranges his
weight so Jared’s tits can duck and slam up again, so Jensen can kiss with his
head hung low, can try to balance on one arm and get the other between them,
rub at pebbled nipples and get a fresh line of shivers as a reward.
“You’re so wet,” slurs kitten between lips and teeth, purrs it right onto
Jensen’s tongue, makes him ache. “Feel it. You’re gonna get me so full.”
“Jesus. Jesus.”
Jensen’s knees are skidding. He anchors with all coordination he has left and
in the heat of the moment forgets about everything making the body underneath
him so vulnerable (weight and use and not-use), slops his cock fast and deep,
chasing friction and softness and kitten’s making the most beautiful sounds,
choked-off gasps and whines and the faster he slaps them together the louder
she’s getting.
There’s an odd resistance making it hard to crush his chest down once more but
Jensen curls anyway, hides in too-long hair and pillow and nape and drools his
heart-ache in there, all the time aware of how right she was, how much he’s
pumping into her lithe squeezing ass.
Back in his body and half-mind, Jensen realizes his hips are still slow-
circling, and that Jared’s heels aren’t digging into his kidneys anymore. That
Jared’s petting his hair and ears and cheeks with his own knees practically up
his ears, because Jensen’s bent him in the middle, like a glow stick.
“Holy shit.”
Barely-audible, “Don’t say that,” because there’s no way she’s been getting any
air for Jesus fuck Jensen doesn’t even know how long, and nobody could be
offended by curses after getting reamed like that but Jared, really, and
Jensen’s love-sick all over again.
She gasps, “Don’t,” when he’s slowly tipping his weight, tries to find his
legs.
“You gotta breathe, I’m crushing you.”
“No, no. Jus’. Stay. I wanna...”
Jared doesn’t end the sentence, instead blindly searches for Jensen’s mouth,
lips apart, whole body a pink quiver and too young to be bared like that.
Jensen promises, “Okay,” but does get his knees under Jared’s ass to at least
support the fold, and Jared doesn’t object, keeps his arms and legs wrapped
tight, drippy face tucked into Jensen’s neck, now.
Jensen can feel his load leak-running down his balls, his legs.
Thinks: this is yours. You idiot.
Sleep happens. Jensen wakes to bed-bugged doll eyes, still middle of the night,
blinking all pretty while he’s being asked if it’s okay if, “I suck your dick?”
And it is. It is. Jensen spreads his legs, watches her. She’s got her ass
tipped up and feels clean, lubed.
“Did you play with this?”
“Didn’t wanna wake you.”
“Should’ve.”
He gets up on one elbow so he can twist his knuckles in better. Lazy-stares,
hooded and throbbing all over, tongue-stroked cock already jealous of fingers,
like this is a fucking competition.
“Fuck. It’s so soft.”
Jared hums, one darling hand plucking at Jensen’s sac while cockhead kisses
tonsils, and he chokes a bit, twists his head and throat to fit more of Jensen
in, eyes closed in bliss, and Jensen never ever wants anyone to see him. Never
wants anyone to do the things he’s done, is doing, to Jared Tristan.
“Did I do that?” he asks, love-soft and hurting, needs the answer like he needs
air, with his fingers pumping sweet.
Jared slurps off and up, taps Jensen’s cock against his yet-stubble-free cheek,
right where Jensen’s putting dimples all the time. (Jensen, Jensen, only
Jensen.)
Kitten’s smile-sighing, “Hmyeah,” and Jensen, Jensen, he might be okay with
hurting like that.
End Notes
     PS: A_lil_something I wrote an almost-year ago and that now finally
     fits in.
     PPS: No the verse is not done yet, there's two more parts to go, you
     may chill your horses.
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