Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8119981.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural_RPF
  Relationship:
      Jensen_Ackles/Jared_Padalecki
  Character:
      Jensen_Ackles, Jared_Padalecki, Jeffrey_Dean_Morgan, Adrianne_Palicki,
      Jason_Momoa, Chad_Michael_Murray, Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Unsafe_Sex, Fisting, Rimming, Rough_Sex, Barebacking,
      Possessive_Jared, Feminization, Derogatory_Language, Public_Sex,
      Homelessness, Underage_Prostitution, Size_Kink, Size_Difference, Daddy
      Kink, Reunion_Sex, just_like, This_Is_Hardcore_Okay?, belly_bulge, Face-
      Sitting
  Collections:
      Fuckpig_Verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-09-23 Words: 11154
****** Opened Once ******
by dollylux
Summary
     The second the bus pulls away, Jared knows it’s a mistake.
     (Or, Jared and Jensen's reunion after Philly.)
Notes
     i hope y'all enjoy this as much as i do. <3
     (there is nothing wholesome here. well... jensen does eat a meal that
     doesn't consist of come or piss. how's that?)
     title from jeff buckley.
See the end of the work for more notes
The second the bus pulls away, Jared knows it’s a mistake.
His dick is still bruised from the snap-tight clutch of Jensen’s hole, his
bones still warm from all the lovin’ Jensen gave him while they were fucking
like starved dogs.
The hotel disappears when they turn onto another block, and then the crack-den
neighborhood falls away and they’re herded onto a clogged, crumbling freeway,
headed for New York.
After weeks of watching and resisting, after finally giving in and having him,
now it’s over.
“Hey,” Adrianne says as she sinks onto the couch beside him, folding her long
legs up and wrapping her arms around Jared from behind. “You ready to talk
yet?”
He keeps his eyes on the industrial ruin of Jersey passing by outside but
shakes his head, taking comfort in her warmth even though he would never, ever
admit it, to her or himself.
“You never are,” she teases him, giving him a squeeze and resting her chin on
his shoulder. “Well, I don’t care. Talk.”
“It was…” he starts, trying to lift his shoulder in a shrug, but the movement
dies before it’s born. He grits his teeth, his split tongue twisting in his
mouth, pushing at the roof of it. “It was amazing. He was amazing.”
Adrianne doesn’t say anything, like she’s waiting for Jared to continue, like
he’s a normal person when he talks about shit that matters or something. She
doesn’t sigh when he stays quiet, but Jared can feel it anyway.
“And?” she prompts.
“And it’s over,” he says, finally stirring, reaching for the mostly empty pack
of cigarettes on the coffee table and snaking one out. “Obviously.”
“I’m sorry, why is that obvious, again?” She leans back on the couch, always
sitting like she has a dick bigger than Jared’s.
Jared lights his cigarette with a flick of his Bic and turns away from her
again, feeling like a teenager with his sullen, aching heart, with his absurd
attachment and unrealistic daydreams. He’s not about to give any of that words,
not right now, maybe not ever.
He hates New Jersey.
“Fine,” she says, finally letting that sigh out. “If you decide to stop acting
like Angela Chase, let me know.”
She hauls herself up from the couch and he turns at that, plucking the
cigarette from his mouth and exhaling fast so he can call after her.
“I’m Jordan fucking Catalano,” he argues with the back of her ‘86 Van Halen
world tour shirt.
“Sure, Angela,” she calls back over her shoulder before climbing into her bunk.
He scowls at the blue curtain of her closed bunk, ashing his cigarette harder
than necessary into the empty beer bottle on the table before sucking in
another drag. The sky is gray and crowded with dark clouds, and Jared doesn’t
think too hard about how much he hates himself as he pushes headphones into his
ears and lets Sketches for My Sweetheart the Drunk start up, coloring his heart
a little bluer where it’s freshly cracked.
 
Syracuse is a pretty college town with lots of pretty college boy ass, but
Jared doesn’t so much as fucking glance at the crowd during the show. He can
feel Jeff looking over at him, wondering at his lack of involvement, at how
Jared isn’t strutting or smirking or stepping up to the lip of the stage for
his solos, but Jared doesn’t care.
He showers and changes and piles himself onto the bus, not bothering to even
toss a wave at the waiting crowd gathered.
The rush is gone. It’s not fun anymore. There’s nothing to wonder about, no one
waiting there for him and just for him.
And the dumbest fucking part is he doesn’t even know the kid’s last name,
doesn’t know where he’s from, has no idea how to find him again.
Syracuse bleeds into Albany, and Jared takes the three pills Chad offers him
and shuffles out onto the stage, the whole world going sideways and swaying as
he plays. His fingers know what to do even if he doesn’t, even if he’s out of
his mind and somewhere with blurred colors and too chaotic for any one emotion,
and he doesn’t remember leaving the stage or getting on the bus, but he wakes
up on the couch with nothing but his jeans and his boots on, his hair clean and
pulled back, and Momo is playing Sims on the TV beside him.
“You puked on me,” Jason says by way of greeting, not looking away from where
his Sim is cooking something in her kitchen.
“Sngh,” Jared replies, rubbing hard at his face and turning to curl up on his
side, using his arm as a pillow and blinking over at Jason with swimmy eyes.
“I know you didn’t mean to. We’re cool.” Jason finally glances over and gives
Jared a smile from his perch on the edge of the coffee table. “Erica’s here.
She bussed up from Brooklyn and she’s coming back with us.”
Jared’s eyes are wide open now but he still feels drugged, still doesn’t feel
like he can sit up without puking. His silence must say what he can’t manage,
because Jason puts down the controller and disappears to the back of the bus.
Erica is there like magic, lightning white blonde hair and a pale, makeup-free
face, and her smile is sad when it finds Jared.
“You’re in love again,” she says.
Jared sucks in a deep breath and shakes his head as much as he can, closing his
eyes so he doesn’t have to look at her, doesn’t have to see her seeing him and
knowing him so well.
“Not in love,” he forces himself to say.
Silence follows and then she’s there suddenly, tucking herself along his front
and wrapping around him like a baby monkey. He wraps his arms around her to
keep her on the couch and buries his face against her neck, breathing her in
and feeling home, right when he needs it, right when he feels like he’s going
to step off a cliff and sink straight to the bottom of dark water.
“Tell me about him.”
Jared isn’t ready for this, not by a long-shot. His hand spans her entire back,
and it hurts to think back to a time when they were the same size, when they
were just wicked little kids and nothing separated them.
“He’s young. And little. And he shouldn’t be out there alone.”
He feels her smile on his neck.
“Just your type,” she teases.
He curls his fingers to tickle her and grins when she jerks against him,
huffing out a breath instead of laughing and pinching the back of his arm.
“I shouldn’t have left him,” he says after a long pause.
“Why did you?”
He grits his teeth, refusing to answer, to even think about it.
You know why, he wants to say, and his throat tightens around the unborn words.
“You’re gonna have to get over it sometime,” she says, like he’d said the words
after all. “Daniel’s gone, Jared. He’s gone. He’s been gone for--”
“I know how long he’s been gone,” he grits out, wanting to shove her away but
not wanting to hurt her for anything in the world.
“All I’m saying is.” She pulls back and meets his eyes, the hell-dark brown of
hers finding his own and holding. “This isn’t the same thing. And it doesn’t
have to have the same ending. At some point, you’re going to have to stop being
afraid of everyone and pushing everybody away.”
“I’m not--” he starts, and stops. He’s mad suddenly, angry that she’s making
him talk about this, angry at himself for giving in and doing it when he
promised himself he wouldn’t, angry that she knows him so well. But he’s mostly
angry that he’s such a goddamn fuckup.
One of her small hands cups the back of his head and draws him in, bringing him
back against her and sighing when he settles in again.
“It’s never over,” she say against his ear, and leaves it at that.
“Don’t quote Jeff Buckley at me,” he whispers, a joke and a plea all at once.
He closes his eyes and lets himself cling to her, pretending with everything in
him that they’re fourteen again and back in her bedroom that night before he
first had Daniel, right before everything started to hurt and has never
stopped.
 
They’ve played Warsaw in Brooklyn a handful of times before, and it’s
comforting to drop his bag down in the green room and know exactly where to go
from here.
He crashes at Erica’s apartment a few blocks over and sleeps like the dead
until his phone buzzes in his ear, letting him know he’s needed for soundcheck.
And maybe it’s fucking stupid, but he lifts his eyes tonight, watches the left
side of the stage for bright green eyes, for little, uplifted hands reaching
for him, for too-thin wrists lined with bracelets and scraps of memories.
He’d lift him right up with one hand, pluck him right out of the crowd like a
cigarette from a pack. It’s all he can think about the whole show, and if he
misses notes or words or the worried glances of the rest of Fuckpig, it’s not
his fault.
“Hey,” Erica says when he’s finally off stage, the weight of his guitar gone
and leaving him feeling strangely light and like he’s missing a limb. He unties
the sweat-soaked bandana from around his right forearm and turns to look at
her, catching the concern on her face before she schools it away.
“Hey. You wanna go grab some food?”
“Anything you want,” she promises, already holding his leather jacket, purse on
her shoulder. “But…”
His shirt is a sopping wet, ruined thing when he peels it over his head and
replaces it with a Screaming Trees shirt he’s had since high school, and he
smiles at the nostalgic softness that takes over Erica’s face.
“But, what?” He gathers his hair up in a messy bun and reaches for his jacket,
shrugging it on and not bothering to glance in the mirror.
“Let’s go outside so you can say hi to some fans first,” she says, dancing
around what they’re both thinking and holding his eyes as she does.
He tucks a fallen strand of hair behind his ear, busying himself with digging a
brand new bottle of Devil’s Cut out of his bag and taking a long drink before
handing it over to Erica.
“If you want,” he says, staring at her Monroe piercing, at her perfect porno-
red mouth but not her eyes.
“I want,” she replies, linking their arms together and dragging him from the
room that is loud and jubilant with the rest of the band and their hangers-on.
The crowd is massive when they get out there, not at all like the small gaggle
that’s usually left when Jared saunters out most nights. They tighten up and
move forward as one, and if Erica wasn’t there beside him, a small, warm
presence at his side, he would leave, give his normal wave and run up onto the
bus.
He signs CDs and takes selfies with a few dozen people, making mumbled small
talk and wishing he was already drunk so he could deal with it all better.
Jared’s never been good at people, never been good at social cues or normal
conversations or taking compliments, and it hasn’t gotten easier as he’s gotten
older.
“What does he look like?” Erica says softly from her tiptoes, trying to reach
his ear, and at less than five feet tall, failing.
Jared turns to glance at her, and he must not be hiding his pain well because
she looks immediately apologetic and wraps both of her arms around one of his,
hugging him and resting her cheek against his shoulder.
“He’s not here,” is all Jared says in return.
He knew it as soon as he stepped outside. Could feel it, somehow. It’s an
absence, something that leaves him feeling bereft, just like taking off his
guitar.
“Thanks, guys,” he says as loud as he can manage, handing the Sharpie back to
the boy who had given it to him at the very beginning and herding Erica to the
sidewalk and away from the crowd.
And it’s because she knows him so well that she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t
try and get him to talk, just presses a matte red kiss to his jaw and hands him
the quickly-diminishing bottle of bourbon.
 
“I’m leaving tomorrow morning,” she tells him over steak and eggs at Jimmy’s
Diner, keeping her eyes down so he can grimace in reaction without seeing it.
He does and then recovers, grabbing his coffee and finishing it off before
holding it up for more.
“Got a gig?” he asks.
“Yeah. Doing makeup for Britney for the next four months on tour. It’s gonna be
pretty awesome.” She sips at her water and watches him now, and Jared swears
that she’s digging through his thoughts, sifting around in them until she finds
the truth.
“That’s great, babe,” he says with a smile that he actually means. “We’ve got
one more show here tomorrow and then we’re heading up for a couple of shows in
Canada and then toward the West Coast.”
“Y’all are turnin’ into a Bon Jovi song,” she grins, cutting into her steak.
“Is this how I acted?” he asks suddenly, his fork poised with stabbed through,
bloody-pink eggs. “...Before?”
She watches him as she chews, and she looks away to swallow and take a sip of
water, like she’s trying to make this conversation less painful than it will
inevitably be. The thing he loves the very most about her is how carefully she
does everything, how she chooses each item of her wardrobe just as meticulously
as she chooses her words.
“It’s been a long time,” she replies, like that’s any kind of answer. “But I
think that was definitely different.”
“Why?” He puts the fork down and leans forward, ignoring the waitress who fills
up his coffee but reaching for his now full cup.
“Because, Jare,” she sighs, sitting back in the booth and tugging her legs up
onto the seat. “You were hell-bent on getting Daniel. And once you got him it
was just… this self-destructive path. You knew he was broken. You knew… you
knew.”
“I couldn’t help it,” he says quietly. His nails are tooth-shredded and short
to the quick, and he stares down at his hands and thinks on what Jensen said
about them. Tries to remember how small his hands were.
“I’m not saying you could.” She reaches over and covers his hand with her own,
with her clear and matte black witch nails. “Hey. I’m not blaming you for
anything. I just mean that… well. This is kind of the opposite. You just closed
your eyes and chased Daniel. With this boy, it’s like… you won’t let him catch
you.”
“He’s beautiful,” he tells her, almost too soft to be heard.
He can see her smile without looking at her, can feel the love emanating from
her in the way she squeezes his hand.
“I never doubted it,” she replies.
“I’m just…” He leans back in his rickety chair and exhales in a hard, heavy
whoosh. “He’s just kinda lost out there. Nowhere to go, no money. And I just
left him. What kind of asshole am I?”
“A scared one.” She scritches at the top of his hand with the sharpened tips of
her nails, and her smile is sympathetic when he looks up. “He’ll turn up. He
sounds pretty fucking resourceful to me.”
The smile that ghosts his face hurts.
“With an ass like that, he could get into the fuckin’ Pentagon.”
“Now there’s a goddamn song lyric, Padaface.”
He smirks at her, grabbing his fork and reaching over to snatch a chunk of
steak from her plate, only narrowly avoiding her claws.
 
The second night at the Warsaw is more packed than the first. The sky opened up
around five, and it’s piss-pouring rain by the time they get through soundcheck
and get pizza ordered.
Jared’s put out an all-points bulletin within the band and the crew about
Jensen, ordering anyone who sees or hears anything about him to report back to
him immediately. He’s just pulling on his guitar in the dark quiet backstage
when there’s a sudden arm clasped around his bicep, and he can hear the frantic
rush of Chad panting over the rustle of the crowd beyond the stage.
“Chad, w--”
“He’s here,” he gasps, bony fingers digging into Jared’s arm. “Edie saw him
outside. He’s just standing there in the pouring rain and--”
“Get him the fuck in here,” Jared nearly growls, turning to Chad with all of
his height, pissed that he has to even fucking tell him to do it. “Now.”
 
---
 
After he’d had to leave the motel, Jensen found some gutterpunk kids to squat
with in Philly, ones who knew where to go for free food and who knew the dry
places to sleep, kids that he wished he’d known all across the cities he’d
followed Fuckpig to so maybe he wouldn’t have felt so alone.
Two days of mourning, two days of feeling sorry for himself, and he’d showered
at the Y and eaten some actual vegetables and washed his clothes and figured
out the game plan to get his hungry, in-love ass to New York.
PH Sally had finally told him about the truck stop just outside of town, the
place where some of the kids go when they wanna get the hell out and only have
one thing to use as currency.
One thing Jensen did know is that his days of selling his ass were over. After
he’d had Jared, after Jared had left him swollen and full of come and
completely owned, there was no way he was going to let a stranger fuck him for
pocket change, no matter how desperate he got.
He’d given his heart up along with his ass to Jared, and he feels as good as
married now.
Fifteen minutes at the truckstop, and he’d bartered a ride to Brooklyn from a
married man with pictures of his five kids hanging all over the inside of his
cabin, and he only had to sell his mouth to do it.
Throat fucked and belly full of married-man jizz, he touches his worn soles
down to the flooded Brooklyn pavement and he’s on his own again.
The walk to the Warsaw has him completely soaked through, and he’s shivering by
the time he makes it to the venue. The line is wrapped around the block, and
Jensen has eleven cents in his pocket, all in pennies.
He huddles at the back of the line for the company and the body warmth, and
he’s left behind when they all shuffle inside one by one. The guy at the door
is tired and rude, and his expression doesn’t change at all when Jensen crowds
up against the open doorway and shivers up at him.
“Ticket,” the man says, popping his gum, hand out.
“I don’t…” Jensen looks around, arms wrapped around his scrawny chest, his
whole body quaking dangerously. “I lost my ticket. Can you look it up?”
The guy stares at him, the piercing between his eyes catching on wrinkles as he
frowns.
“Did you pay with a credit card?” he asks.
Jensen shakes his head, and he lurches forward when the guy starts to head
inside, slamming his hand against the door to keep it open.
“Wait! Will you check and see if I’m on the guest list?”
“There is no guest list, sweetheart. Now get the fuck out of here, and stop
gettin’ my doorway all wet.” He edges Jensen’s foot out of the doorway and
pushes the door closed, leaving him outside alone.
He takes a few steps back and stares up at the building, at the dark windows
upstairs, wishing he could see anybody in them he knows, that he could just
talk to any of them. Surely Jared would let him in, surely--
“Hey, kid!”
Jensen’s head shoots in the direction of the voice, his heart pounding.
“...Yeah?”
“You Jensen?”
He laughs, just once and jubilant. Relieved.
“Yeah!”
“Get your ass in here.” The guy steps back and waves Jensen in, shaking his
head with an exasperated smile.
There’s the scrawny blonde roadie waiting for him inside with a towel, and he
grins when he sees Jensen.
“The prodigal daughter returns,” the guy says, dropping the towel on Jensen’s
head and scrubbing him dry. “C’mon. Your presence is required.”
Jensen is dazed when the towel lifts again, and his smile must be ridiculous
because the roadie laughs and throws an arm around his neck, dragging him
through the crowd.
 
---
 
There’s a moodiness to the band, some kind of dark savor in the way they
saunter onto the stage, to the way Adrianne straddles her stool and Jeff wraps
the mic cord around his hand like a whip and the way Jason ducks his head, hair
obscuring his face as he throbs out the opening notes to “Point of No Return.”
Jared feels it around him like a ritual starting, like he’s stepping out onto
an altar and ready to bleed.
He drags out the searing, warning-shot notes on his guitar, counts to three,
and steps out of the dark backstage and into the sudden light as the whole
place explodes, sound and movement and emotion, obliterating everything that
isn’t this, this, this.
He stalks up to the front of the stage, fingers flying on the neck of his
guitar, and lets the unkissed pink of his mouth drag over the mic as he starts
to grind out a harmony with Jeff.
“Ride it to the rhythm, ride it ‘til you bloom, bet you’re pretty inside, too,”
he rumbles out, eyes down and focused on hitting all the notes of his first
solo, his heart racing with the anticipation of what he knows is about to
happen.
He flicks his eyes up, looking through his lashes and the messy fall of his
hair, and finds himself staring right at Jensen.
Jensen there like a goddamn miracle, wearing a pink ‘THINKING ABOUT YOUR DAD’
crop top and his growing hair damp and sticking up like he’d just gotten out of
the shower. He’s probably soaked to the bone, probably shivering in his wet
shoes, and those fucking eyes of his look like they’re on fire.
Jared takes a step closer to the edge of the stage as his big solo starts up,
one side of his life-destroyed Pearl Jam shirt stuck under his guitar and
showing off the hard edge of his hipbone, and he plays right to Jensen, never
letting go of his gaze, never even pretending to look away.
Jensen is beaming at him, screaming along to every word, and Jared smiles so
hard that his dimples feel permanent now.
The whole show rushes by just like that, like a fantasy, and Jared is flying
high by the end, spinning onstage in his trusty worn Vans and bleeding sweat,
and it takes a single look up at Jeff to make him burst out laughing, a
stupidly pure, joyous noise, just for the hell of it.
He lifts his guitar off his body while the whole building vibrates with
screams, with applause, handing it off to Chad without looking because he’s got
more important things to do.
Jensen is still there, tender, exposed ribs digging into the unforgiving metal
of the rail, and Jared leans down, locks his knees, and holds out his hand.
Both of Jensen’s little hands clasp around his, clinging like Jared is saving
him from drowning. The muscles in his arm shake as he lifts him straight up
from the ground, teeth gritted as Jensen works to get his feet under him,
standing on the railing and finally getting the leverage to push off of it,
jumping right up onstage and into Jared’s arms.
He’s trembling, with excitement or exhaustion or hunger or cock-starvation,
Jared doesn’t know. He hears the surge of screams when Jensen’s bare legs wrap
around his waist, locking at the small of his back while Jared drags his thin
arms around his neck.
“There you are,” he murmurs, their faces so close Jared can’t see anything
else, can’t even hear his own voice over the unending screams, the wordless
cries from the sea of heartbroken cuntboys who weren’t chosen, who were left
behind.
Jared doesn’t give a fuck about any of them.
Jensen’s smile is so big it’s infectious, and Jared wraps a bulging, tense arm
around him to keep him up, hand cupping his ass like he’s a toddler. When he
kisses him, he knows immediately that he should’ve waited, should’ve found
someplace dark and quiet, just for them.
It’s a perfect kiss, one they’d been working up to for what feels like months
now, and Jared’s knees shake a little with the need to lower Jensen down, to
crawl on top of him and inside of him and stay there until they both fucking
die.
He cups the back of Jensen’s head to keep him close, thumb spanning to his jaw
to force his mouth open wider, needing to get deeper inside of him, to
tonguefuck his tonsils and fill up on his spit. His nose is pressed so hard
into Jensen’s cheek that it’s gonna leave a bruise, and the frantic rabbit-kick
of Jensen’s heart against his chest is enough to make Jared completely hard
where his cock is pressed between Jensen’s spread legs.
There are hands on him, guiding him to walk, and he follows them blindly,
fingers gripping at soft wet honey-blond strands of Jensen’s hair and tugging
just to taste his whimper. House lights fade away to the dim of backstage, and
he stumbles along over wires and cords, trusting what feels like Momo’s
unfaltering grip on his shoulders, and suddenly without explanation they’re in
a room with a door that is teeming with people but it doesn’t matter and they
don’t fucking matter and Jensen grunts as he sucks at Jared’s tongue when his
back hits the painted cinderblock wall.
Jared fumbles between their bodies to tug at his belt, to shove at his button
and zipper and his dick pushes out impatiently, heavy in his hand and metal tip
dripping, ready.
“Need it,” he mumbles needlessly as Jensen sucks like a baby at his bottom lip,
at one side and then the other of his pierced, forked tongue.
“I’m already lubed up,” Jensen sighs, pliant as a roofied sorority girl when
Jared shoves impatiently at his shorts, trying to get them off but there’s no
way, not like this.
“Goddamnit,” Jared growls, turning around in the green room and pushing through
bodies using Jensen as a bumper, not stopping until he gets to the spread of
counter space in front of a massive mirror, meant for makeup and doing lines of
coke off of and not to balance barely-teenaged boys on to get their daisy dukes
off, but it works just fucking fine.
Jensen’s shorts end up somewhere across the room, on Chad, if his yelp is
anything to go by, and the way he leans back against bottles of hairspray and
malt liquor in just his slutty crop top and kissed-off lipgloss, his soggy
knockoff Converse catching on the edge of the counter until his knees are up by
his face and his shiny, finger-softened tiny pink cunt is right fucking there
makes Jared want to drop to his knees, so he does.
“Sit on my face,” he gruffs out, in no mood for anything sweet or coy, but he
takes an indulgent second to kiss the SLUT tattoo on his inner thigh before
Jensen’s legs lower to wrap around his head, his pale thighs surrounding Jared
in the scent of musky boy and cherry lube before he is smothered by a pink not
found anywhere else in nature.
His face is pillowed by the soft handfuls of Jensen’s ass, and he opens his
mouth so wide it feels like his jaw unhinges, his custom-made tongue sliding
out to fuck at him, at that cherry-oozing, perfect pink pussy.
He digs his hands into Jensen’s thighs, closes his eyes, and settles back on
his haunches while Jensen relaxes on his face, leaning back against the counter
and riding the pierced double-fuck of Jared’s tongue. It’s muffled but he can
hear the sounds from him, the shivering bursts of shocked pleasure, the low,
dirty moans when he starts to grind on Jared’s mouth, tries to get loose enough
that Jared can get the nasty slither of his tongue in that hole and fuck him
from the inside.
“--pretty fuckin’ mouth,” Jared hears slurred somewhere above him, and every
single muscle in his body tenses at the leer of it, the fucking balls it took
to say it about the boy sitting on his goddamn face.
He gets his hands on Jensen’s ass to support him as he pulls his face out of
heaven, his whole face slick with lube and his own spit, but he finds the guy
immediately, the fucking guitar tech for Pearly Boys, the new opening band
they’d picked up a week ago.
The guy, Paul or Tony or something fucking stupid, is staring at Jensen with
his dick in his hand, like this is a fucking line, like this is an answered
Craiglist ad, and Jared’s face must say more than he can formulate words for in
his pussy-drunk mouth, because he backs up, stuffing his dick back in his pants
and stuttering.
“I just--I just thought maybe, uh--”
“Did you touch him?” Jared asks, boycunt juice dripping off his chin. He stares
murder-focused at Paul Fuckface. The guy almost stumbles as he backs into Jeff
who is leaning against the wall, sucking on a cigar and smirking at the
unfolding drama.
“No! No, man, I swear. I didn’t fuckin’ touch him! I was just--”
Jared looks up at Jensen for the first time, looks up the angled line of his
body, past his pretty pink dick and up into his blown, fuck-fuzzy eyes.
Jensen’s feet twist at the back of Jared’s neck, fidgeting like a little girl
sitting in church, and Jared’s hands slide up and down the smooth sides of his
bare legs.
“Did he touch you?” he asks him quietly, licking his lips to get a hit of the
taste he’d been pulled away from. Jensen smiles, lazy and spoiled as a kitten,
and Jared only realizes right then that Jensen’s fingers are in his hair,
petting him like Jared’s his favorite pet.
“Hm-mm,” he says, shaking his head, bottom lip caught on a perfect tooth, a
stolen picture of innocence. He looks amused though, indulgent, like he’d take
a break from getting his pussy eaten if Jared wanted to beat Paul to death for
even looking at him, for even fuckin’ thinking about it.
Jared turns slowly, his eyes narrowed and calculating to find Paul there in the
doorway, awaiting his fate, like he’d been terrified to even try to run.
“Get the fuck outta here,” Jared snarls, tensed to move, to get up and follow
him out into the dark hallway and twist his balls until they snapped off in his
hand.
He’d give them to Jensen as an offering.
There’s a radio on and people drinking, talking and laughing and oblivious to
anything outside their small orbits. Jason’s getting a lapdance from some
beautiful Korean boy while Adrianne talks on the phone and Jeff stays where he
is, his eyes meeting Jared’s.
He winks, smiling around his cigar.
Go on.
Jared tries to glare at Jeff but it comes out as a smirk.
He turns back to Jensen and sighs at the sight of him, the rosy pink sprawl of
him, the messy drip of his licked-out asshole. Spit floods his mouth again at
the vivid reminder of how he tastes, and he doesn’t waste any time in getting
his face back in there, tonguing hard at the puffy, softened wrinkles of his
hole, begging him open again so he can slide back inside, licking at the deep,
secret pink there.
Jensen bucks against him, ass squirming all over Jared’s face as he sobs out
words that Jared can’t hear, and his hands are shaking where they’re sifting
restlessly through Jared’s hair.
“So good,” Jared sighs, his jaw aching, tongue tired from deep-licking but he
can’t stop, can’t leave this sweetness. He rubs his face all over Jensen’s
hole, digging at it with his scruffy chin and the hard point of his nose,
sucking kisses over every inch of skin he comes into contact with.
He remembers suddenly what Jensen had said the other day in Jersey, at that
ratty little room they’d turned into a honeymoon suite. Remembers Jensen
begging for his hand, begging for his fucking fist.
He lifts up with his smeared face, breathless and panting hard as he tries to
focus on Jensen’s face, on those massive, tear-wet eyes.
“You still want my fist?”
He hears Jeff groan behind him like he’s been punched.
Jensen just stares at him, his soaking wet shoelaces pressed to the back of
Jared’s neck, that beautiful mouth parted as he sucks in uneven gulps of
breath. He nods like he doesn’t have words, like he’s too shy to say it.
Jared stands up then, Jensen’s fawn-legs falling off his shoulders and
spreading to wrap around his waist again, the small of his back digging into
the counter. He holds his hand up between them, spreading his fingers and then
pulling them down to curl into a fist, the whole of it nearly as big as
Jensen’s whole head.
“Kiss it,” he tells him, watching the heat flood Jensen’s face as he scrambles
forward to bump his lips over the thick sprawl of Jared’s knuckles. A dozen
kisses smattered everywhere, desperate to please and hungry to obey. Jared
reaches down to rub at the fat line of his cock that is still hanging out of
his pants, squeezing hard at the base.
He tips his hand back, presenting the scarred, pale inside of his wrist.
“There, too. Show me how deep you can take it.”
Jensen cups Jared’s hand in both his own, cradling it like Jared is something
precious, his wet pink tongue still meant for popsicles and suckers sliding out
to lick a wide line around Jared’s wrist, over the hard knot of his wristbone,
around the sweaty, hairy top.
He meets Jared’s eyes as he kisses down further, down down down until he’s
halfway up Jared’s forearm. He stops there, bottom lip dragging, catching on
Jared’s arm hair, his lashes a dark, thick fall of seduction over baby-green
eyes.
“Oh, you can take me that deep, huh? You think so?” He unfurls his hand to
stroke over Jensen’s soft cheek with the calloused spread of his fingers, his
wide palm, thumb rubbing at the warm apple of it. Jensen just nods, tucking his
nose in against Jared’s forearm and breathing him in deep, eyes falling closed
in what Jared can only think of as worship.
“Say it,” Jared whispers, crowding in against him, lifting Jensen up onto the
counter again so he can pull his entire body around him, hugging him in so
close, so tight.
“Want you that deep,” Jensen finally says, so soft, bashful, eyes lowered as he
presses distracted kisses to the sweat-dripping line of Jared’s throat. “Want
you to teach me to take you as deep as you wanna be.”
“I don’t think I could ever get that deep, darlin’,” Jared says with a smile,
caught up in the closeness, in the strange tenderness between them even as his
hand aches to punch pink. “Hold on tight. We’re gettin’ outta here.”
He cups Jensen’s ass, hiding the underage pale of it beneath his massive hand
as he turns to face the room again, finding at least five sets of hungry,
watchful eyes on them.
“Here you go, little one,” Jeff says, suddenly beside them and draping the
heavy soft of Jared’s leather jacket over Jensen’s shoulders. “I don’t think
your Daddy wants anybody else lookin’ at you tonight.”
Jared’s eyes find and hold Jeff’s while Jeff steps in, reaching down for
Jared’s throbbing cock and tucking it back into his jeans, forcing the zipper
up over the bulk of it but leaving it unbuttoned.
“Go on, boy,” Jeff rumbles, smelling like sweat and cigars and whiskey, the
biggest Daddy in the room, but he keeps his hands off of Jensen. “Bus is all
yours. We’re all goin’ out.”
Jared doesn’t say thank you but his eyes do it for him. He leans in and kisses
Jeff on the mouth, soft and with the barest slip of tongue, but it’s enough for
Jeff to growl low and deep, licking the taste of Jensen’s pussy off his lips.
He smirks his own thank you.
He pulls Jensen in close, tucking his face against his sweaty neck like a
sleeping child as he carries him out of the venue and down the steps leading to
the bus. The trembling cries and shouts of his name almost startle him, but
he’s got an armful of lubed-up, daydream-worthy boy, and he doesn’t even glance
up at the crowd pushing in close to them.
He closes the door behind them and doublechecks that it’s locked, all the sound
outside muted, inconsequential. There’s a light on by the couch that’s already
pulled out and ready for them, and Jared remembers with a start all those quiet
nights he’d spent alone right here, watching Jensen through the dusty
windshield, wanting too much and not strong enough to ask for it.
That’s over now, the being-alone, the lack of words, the taking advantage of a
single day Jensen is alive and looking at him and only him.
He’d learned the hard way to appreciate every single second, and he refuses to
hurt because of his own fear. Not anymore.
“...Jared?”
Jensen’s voice is so small, his soggy shoes soaking through Jared’s shirt, his
hands in a forever clutch at the back of his neck. Jared looks down and finds
Jensen’s eyes on him, and it terrifies him that he can see and name every
emotion there: worry, self-consciousness, desperation, anxiety, lust, almost
unfounded joy, and love.
Love.
It makes Jared’s knees shake.
“I’ve got you,” he says quietly, forehead pressed to Jensen’s as he walks him
back to the bed-turned-couch and kneels to lower him onto it. He settles back
on his haunches and brings Jensen’s left foot up, working carefully to untie
the soaking wet, dirty lace and loosen it to pull it off along with his black-
and-red heart sock before doing the same with the right foot. His toenails are
ripped-short and slathered in chipped, hot pink nail polish, his feet strangely
perfect, delicately arched with toes made for pounded-prostate curling.
Jared presses his tongue to the bottom of his foot, the fork of it spreading
wide, and he licks straight up the smooth, jerky arch of it before sucking his
toes into his mouth. Jensen stretches out long and sweet on the shaky bed, his
slut thigh falling wide as he fans out his toes on Jared’s tongue and whines
like a pleased, spoiled little girl.
He tonguefucks the space between Jensen’s big toe and the middle one, metal
studs pushing and lapping at filth-gritty skin. He doesn’t realize that his
eyes are closed and that he’s grinding his dick against the soft back of
Jensen’s thigh until he feels trembling fingers pulling at his right hand,
guiding it down and in.
The spitfuck softness of Jensen’s rosy cunt is so newborn-tender against
Jared’s rough fingertips that he growls, hips fucking forward, his fingers
rubbing in obsessive, tugging circles over Jensen’s asshole until it feels warm
and raw, until Jensen is grinding down and shiver-gasping like it already
hurts.
Jared pulls off of Jensen’s licked toes and opens his eyes to stare down at his
own hand working, at the way all four of his fingers want so badly to push in
all at once, but he knows he’s going to have to work for it, gonna have to earn
getting to fist this darling boy.
“Stay right here,” Jared tells him, getting one last lick in on Jensen’s arch
before he lets go of him completely and climbs off the bed. “Don’t you fucking
move.”
He glances back halfway to their barely-existent kitchen and finds Jensen’s
eyes on him, his pink bottom lip caught between his teeth, his illegal thighs
spread like he’s ready for a gangbang.
The sudden, unbidden thought of how many men have fucked this boy makes Jared
understand crimes of passion, makes him crave bones breaking under his knuckles
and blood pooling under his fingernails and the sound of last breaths.
He snatches the mostly empty tub of Crisco from the single cabinet now only
containing Boo Berry cereal from last Halloween and the keys to Jeff’s favorite
handcuffs and hurries back to the bed, to the good boy waiting for him who
hasn’t moved a muscle.
“You ever been fisted before?” Jared settles down on his ass and drags Jensen’s
legs to rest on his thighs, grabbing a pillow to put under him so that his hole
is propped up, presented.
Jensen nods, strangely shy, one arm slung over his face to shadow his eyes. He
smells like bus grime, boypussy, and rain, and the front of the bus is already
sticky-humid with the heat coming off of them.
“I want names,” Jared tells him, popping the lid off the giant tub of
shortening and scooping some out with his left hand to slather on his right.
“Of every guy who’s fisted you.”
Jensen snorts, such an unexpected sound from a boy who seems entirely made out
of pink and freckles, and his arm falls away from his face to reveal a nasty
little smirk.
“Like I knew their names.”
Jared grits his teeth, his dick giving a dangerous throb in his pants,
threatening to break the zipper. He grabs one of Jensen’s ankles and pulls the
long line of his leg up so he can rest his foot on his shoulder, spreading him
open again.
He shoves his fingers in between Jensen’s cheeks and rubs hard at his asshole,
smearing the quickly melting Crisco around on it and testing how tight he still
is.
“You’ll remember this one,” he says quietly under Jensen’s sharp gasps, fore
and middle fingers finally breaching him, sliding right up inside that soft,
scorching heat.
Fuck, he’d forgotten how goddamn good he feels.
Jensen moans like Jared had just made an incision, and it’s stunning how
relaxed a young boy can make his asshole when he’s properly motivated.
“Do you like it deep?” he asks, turning his wrist so that he’s rubbing right up
against Jensen’s prostate, petting it like a kitten nose. “Or wide?”
“Yes,” Jensen sighs, the greedy whore, and Jared can’t help the wicked grin
that pulls at his mouth. That tiny body is flushed underneath him, his starved
little belly sunken in from his diet of come and probably some piss, and Jared
has never wished more that he could reach right up inside of someone and not
stop until he’s got his hand on their heart.
He watches as he forces two more fingers inside his asshole, four now, his
thumb rubbing over his stretched-thin rim, impatient for pink and warmth. He
grunts when he twists and twists his hand around, trying to corkscrew the thick
rack of his knuckles into Jensen’s cunt, and he pulls out when he can’t get
them in, leaving that hole worry-red and softly gaped, like a Lolita mouth.
“Look at that,” he whispers, reaching for Jensen’s ankle draped over his
shoulder with a greasy hand and pushing it, forcing Jensen’s ass up off his
lap. He scoots forward and brings Jensen’s upside-down back flush against his
chest so that ass is right up near his face again, so he can look down at it
and the line of Jensen’s trembling body and right into those teary, Bambi eyes.
“You good?” he asks, plucking at his cunt with the tips of his fingers, rubbing
around inside the rim, massaging it into compliance.
Jensen nods, his face red from all the blood rushing down, neck forced at an
odd angle but he doesn’t seem to mind. He looks overwhelmed and nearly
catatonic already, his JAIL fingers pulling at one of his tiny, shell-pink
nipples while BAIT wraps around his pretty candy dick. His asshole winks at
Jared, fish-mouthed and pleading, and Jared wraps an arm around Jensen’s
gutterslut hips and holds him tight as he forces his fingers in again, not
stopping until his knuckles pop through with a throaty shriek from Jensen.
“Gotta big hand, Jen,” Jared offers as an apology, moving up to his knees to
get better leverage, his fingers sunk into his guts and rubbing at his cunt,
touching at the line of his spine. Jensen’s abandoned his tits and is now
grasping at Jared’s wrist, his trembling hand too little to close around the
width of it.
Jared leans down and kisses at his taint, at the bulging, deep pink fruit of
it, tonguing it hard and sucking rough enough to leave a bruise as he works his
hand in and out of him, growling low each time he has to force his knuckles in,
each time he feels that hole snap up tight after they’re inside, each time
Jensen sobs like this is murder.
“Good fuckin’ boy,” he whispers, swiping some more Crisco from the tub and
slathering it around his wrist, up his hairy forearm, knowing Jensen’s gonna
feel every thick, heroin junkie-dream vein, if he can get that far. “Now, take
a deep breath for me and push out when I push in.”
“Oh, god,” Jensen strangles out, tears rushing down his cheeks, that same
anticipatory-fear Jared always gets before a new piercing. Jared tucks his
thumb in against his massive palm, tenses his arm, and pushes.
There’s no description for how it feels to have your hand inside of someone, no
words for the intimacy of it, the power of it. Jared’s arm is bulging and
trembling and Jensen is truly too little for this, too tiny and not prepped
enough but Jared has needed exactly this boy in this way for what feels like
his entire life, and he’s not going to let something arbitrary like biology get
in the way of it.
Jensen throws his head back and screams when Jared’s entire hand finally,
finally sinks inside of him, and he’s shaking so hard that his body slips from
where it’s leaning against Jared’s chest. Jared goes with it, shifting on the
sheets as Jensen lowers back down to the bed, hanging off of Jared’s fist and
sobbing like his heart is broken.
“Fuck me,” he wails, the sound of it bouncing around this magical old bus that
has seen absolutely everything but surely has never seen something as
beautiful, as sacred as Jensen taking Jared’s hand for the first time. “Fuck
me, fuck me, fuck me.”
It’s so goddamn tight in him there’s nowhere for Jared to go, but he moves to
all fours on the bed, growling predator-low as he gets down where he can bend
his elbow and punch forward with all of his strength, his balled-up fist
sinking a little deeper into the clutch of Jensen’s pink before he pulls out
again, not stopping until his knuckles snap out audibly, coming out slicked-up
and bloodless white from being held so tight.
Jensen’s hole is already ruined, already mawing wide and red as horror inside,
and Jared can barely gather up all of his animal hunger into one place to focus
on getting back in there, clutching at Jensen’s hip so he doesn’t squirm away
the first time Jared truly punches back into him.
“Nonononono,” Jensen babbles mindlessly, shaking his head because he knows it’s
too much, more than he can handle, that they’re both insane for wanting this
and forcing it to happen anyway, but Jared’s stronger than even Jensen’s
perfect asshole, and he wins.
“Godfuckingdamnit, fuck, yeah,” Jared snarls when Jensen takes his fist again,
when Jared gets even deeper than last time, punching right up into Jensen’s
pussy so hard he can see the bulge of it right beneath Jensen’s tiny navel.
“Oh, shit,” Jared whispers, his eyes wide and unblinking. “Look, kitten. God,
look how fuckin’ little you are.”
Jensen’s legs are draped over his shoulders again, and Jensen looks down the
line of his body, tears and snot making his already pretty face absolutely
beautiful. Jared digs his elbow into the mattress and forces his fist up inside
of Jensen, making the thick, hard line of it clearly visible in his belly,
pushing up so hard that his belly button protrudes.
“Ohmygod.”
It’s barely a whisper, barely a breath, and they’ve both slowed their breathing
so they can watch, so nothing can distract from the nasty, sucking sound of
Jensen getting fisted and the way Jared’s knuckles are bulging in his
emaciated, little-boy stomach.
“So fuckin’ beautiful,” Jared sighs, forcing Jensen in half so he can lean down
and lick at his stomach, sucking and kissing at his own hand as he punches him
soft inside, and when he catches the head of Jensen’s pink dick between his
lips and takes him to the root, Jensen’s whole body strains up, chasing Jared’s
mouth.
He’s got a true pussyboy cock, not even big enough to trip Jared’s gag reflex,
and he leaks like a fucking faucet every time Jared twists his hand and drags
his knuckles over his prostate.
“Punch it,” Jensen grits out, bony hips fucking up desperately, his eyes closed
now, eyebrows drawn up in concentration. “Please, I need it. Make me fuckin’
come.”
Jared lifts up off his dick, breathless and still attached with a line of foamy
spit. He licks his lips and breaks the connection, giving a final lick to that
sweet cock before pushing back up to his haunches again.
“Flip over,” he tells him, not waiting for Jensen’s fist-fucked brain to catch
up. He gets a hand under him, grabs his opposite hip and flips him on his own,
Jensen’s body twisting around on his wrist until that juicy plush ass is
visible to him with his own veiny forearm lodged between the cheeks. The tramp-
stamped sprawl of Jensen’s ‘Daddy’s Home’ tattoo across the arch of his back
reminds him that he’s gonna have to work to keep this boy happy.
He tucks in closer, digs his fingers back into Jensen’s tender hip, and narrows
all of his attention down to Jensen’s cunt.
There’s not enough slick but it’s an afterthought, something to worry about
later maybe. He pushes his fist in hard, maybe too hard, and it makes Jensen
yelp and his little ass shudder, a flush driving all the way down his spine and
spreading out over his ass like handprints.
“Push out,” Jared reminds him, gruff and fatherly, and Jensen whines as he
bears down and pushes out around Jared’s fist, the muscles loosening with a
rush of relieved air echoing around the room. Jared pushes that much deeper,
about five inches from his elbow and almost exactly where Jensen had promised
earlier.
He’s got a perfect ass for taking a fist, a straight line inside that requires
a big arm to fill it up. Jared starts to fuck him in earnest now, plunging his
hand in and out of his hole with varying depths and twists, and Jensen can’t do
anything now but wrap his arms around Chad’s ratty humping pillow and offer his
cunt up for destruction.
Jared’s dick is bulging out his pants like a python, and he’s so hard his
fucking balls hurt, but nothing can draw him out of a fisting trance, not even
the insatiable need to get his dick wet.
Jensen shakes all over when Jared pulls his fist out without warning, his ass
jiggling hard as his lower body shudders with the loss. He’s sloppy loose now
and almost blooming, violent red guts pushed right up against his slack, cunted
hole.
“Gimme that rose,” Jared croons, soft and indulgent. He rubs his knuckles
against his swollen insides and pushes them all back in with his fist, pulling
the most delicious animal sounds out of Jensen as his whole body lurches. Jared
pushes in nearly to his elbow, the sadist in him wanting to go even further, to
see how deep he can get before Jensen passes out from the pain, but it’s a want
saved for fantasies, for those dark daydreams during the long hours spent
traveling on this bus through the mind-melting boredom of the Midwest.
He already knows that he wouldn’t and couldn’t hurt this boy beyond what Jensen
needs from him.
Jensen’s his to take care of now.
He keeps his fist just inside of his asshole, keeping him held open around the
widest part of his hand as Jensen moans mindlessly, cunt pushed out nearly an
inch from his body to take it. Jared twists his fist around hard, rubbing at
the inside of his rim and right down against his prostate, making Jensen keen,
his back arched hard, head thrown back.
“You gonna come, baby?” Jared squeezes Jensen’s hip before running his hand
back to Jensen’s ass, landing a slap so hard it leaves an immediate handprint.
“Yes,” Jensen sobs, pushing back with all of his slight weight onto Jared’s
hand. “Go deeper go deeper go deeper Daddy please--”
Jared pulls his hand out with a cruel snap, Jensen’s hole finally blooming,
pushing out a bright red rose so fucking pretty that Jared wants to lean down
and sink his teeth into it, but he digs in again, shoving all of Jensen’s
insides back where they came from as he buries his arm in dangerously close to
his elbow and pulls down.
Jensen collapses, his ass staying in the air only because it’s hanging off of
Jared’s arm, and when he comes it’s with his whole body. His thighs shudder as
he clings to his pillow and cries, deep-buried sounds surfacing as he creams
the dirty K-mart sheets underneath him, his cunt snapping up so tight through
his orgasm that Jared feels his fucking bones grind.
“Gonna get what I need now,” Jared whispers, landing another cruel slap to the
same spot on his ass before he digs at the button and zipper of his jeans, his
dick falling out and swaying like a fucking horse’s. He wraps an impatient hand
just behind the head of it and presses it right against Jensen’s impossibly
stretched hole and beside the thick line of his arm.
He pulls his arm out slow, not stopping until only his hand is left inside of
Jensen, and he forces his dick in beside it, popping past his ruined rim and
sliding his cock right into his own palm still buried in Jensen’s cunt.
“Jesus fuck,” Jared sighs, straightening out tall and sweaty in his stage
clothes as he sinks all pierced ten inches into Jensen’s warm pussy, not
stopping until he can feel the slick Crisco around Jensen’s hole wetting his
pubes and his balls. He closes his hand around his cock inside of him, hooking
his thumb under the hoop of his PA and pulling on it until it hurts, makes his
balls lurch.
Jensen is pliant underneath him, fucked-out and impaled on Jared’s meaty fist
and cock, and he’s still crying softly, little hitches of sobs buried in his
tear-stained pillow. Jared hums as he starts to fuck him, lazy and deep,
fingers massaging at his own dick.
“Are you my good boy?” he asks, running his free hand up Jensen’s pretty back,
over his tight little body.
Jensen nods immediately, tucking his face into the pillow like he’s shy.
“Remember what you told me last time? Do you remember?” He pulls his hand away
from his dick to stretch his hole, to draw a cry out of him, to wake him up
again.
“It’s yours,” Jensen whispers, working back on Jared now, fucking himself on
hand and cock.
“What’s mine?” Another journey from tailbone to the nape of his neck and back,
and he’s gripping his ass now, holding onto the juicy meat of it so hard it’s
gotta hurt.
“My pussy.” Such a bashful two words, so secretly pleased. Jared smiles
blissfully, his eyes lazing until they’re nearly closed as he starts to fuck
him in earnest, hard snaps of his hips that have his balls swinging, heavy and
full.
“Wanna know a secret, Jenny?” Jared works his hand out of him, trying to be
gentle because Jensen’s stretched painfully hard and he doesn’t want him to
tear, not on his first session. His hand comes out cramped and tinged pink, and
he licks a stripe up his palm to get a fresh taste of that ass before he forces
them down on the bed, Jensen flat against the mattress and Jared prone on top
of him, his stomach curved into the small of Jensen’s back.
“The rest of you is mine, too.” It’s a real secret, a confession, and when he
whispers the words against Jensen’s ear, they sound so vulnerable that he
almost wants to take them back.
He latches onto Jensen’s neck, sucking hard on the side of it as he spreads his
legs and kicks Jensen’s together, mounting him like a goddamn beast. He digs
his knees into the shitty mattress and shoves his hips forward, pushing in so
hard that Jensen strangles out a cry, his little hands flying up to grab at
Jared behind him, gripping at his hair, his thick arm.
“This what you need?” he whispers against his ear as he starts to grind into
him, his balls smashed in the silken little boy curve of his ass, and he can
feel the resistance of the mattress underneath Jensen’s stomach against the
metal-tipped curve of his cock.
“Yes,” Jensen sighs, clutching at Jared’s arms the second they wrap around his
thin chest, hugging him and confining him to just the space beneath Jared’s
huge body. Jensen turns his head against the pillow, stretching out his neck to
give Jared more room to feast, but the second Jared sees his mouth he has to
have it, has to chew and suck on it, no matter how awkward the angle.
Jared feels it the second he falls into a rhythm, the second his body gets into
a rut, and he can’t leave Jensen’s ass more than a couple of inches before he’s
slamming back in, packing his dick in deep and brutal, desperate. He closes his
eyes and sucks on Jensen’s bottom lip, lost in his insides like he’s come here
to die. He doesn’t know how long it goes on, how many minutes or hours Jensen
is crushed underneath him, letting Jared slop his dick in and out of his broken
cunt, but he comes back into himself when he starts to come, when it crashes
into him and drags him under.
He comes like it releases his soul, loading Jensen up and leaving the most
broken, pleading cries on Jensen’s mouth that feel like every secret he’s ever
kept, and even in the middle of everything, he hates himself for being so
fragile.
Jensen takes it all, keeps his legs tensed and his ass offered up for the
unbelievable punishment from Jared’s dick, not doing anything while Jared works
in and out of him through the aftermath, savoring and so reluctant to give up
the rhythm, the warmth. Jared feels his face being kissed, his arms being
petted, all of it wordless promises of I’ll keep your secrets. Leave them
inside of me.
He slows to a stop finally, keeping his heartbeat buried inside of Jensen,
softening there as Jensen throbs all around him, hotter than a fucking furnace
and so raw inside, sloshing full of Jared’s come.
He wants, for the first time in his life, to apologize for his violence.
Jensen chooses that second, that breath before Jared starts to repent, to twist
his upper body around, hook an arm behind Jared’s neck, and slam his exhausted,
smiling mouth against Jared’s own.
Jared slips out of Jensen, feeling the come bubbling out of him and soaking
into Jared’s hairy thigh as he turns him over completely, gently, tugging
Jensen to sprawl out on top of him so they can kiss properly.
It feels a fuck of a lot like snuggling.
---
“We’re leaving.”
Jensen’s eyes snap open, and his immediate reaction to those words is to tense
up.
He falls ass-first into a world of pain, and it’s so complete that he can’t do
anything but curl in on himself and whimper, a piercing ache settled in to stay
around his asshole and in his guts. He wraps his arms around himself, still not
really aware of where he is or how he got here, and he holds his breath to
listen to the ensuing conversation.
“That’s fine.” Jared. Voice flat, succinct. Like a raised eyebrow.
“What the fuck are you doin’, Jay?” Jensen knows that voice from thousands of
miles of it in his ears, would know Jeff’s low growl in a choir of Daddies.
“Are you even thinking right now?”
“I am, actually. Just because you disagree with me doesn’t mean I’m being
careless. How is this any different than Colin and--”
“Leave them out of this,” Jeff snaps, a Papa Bear voice that has Jensen’s eyes
snapping open. “They have their own place. They don’t live on this bus.”
“Yeah, a place you pay for, Papa.”
He realizes now that this is a discussion about him, and Jared and Jeff are
locking horns.
A quiet follows that sounds outright terrifying, and Jensen realizes there are
other voices out there too, outside of this little curtain-closed bunk he’s in.
Whispers that fall silent when Jeff and Jared do. Jensen’s heart hammers in his
ears.
“He’s gotta earn his keep,” Jeff finally says with a low sigh. “He’s not just
gonna lay around here barefoot and knocked up, you hear me?”
“He can help me out,” comes another voice, one Jensen thinks belongs to the
scrawny guy with the towel from yesterday, the roadie. “I’ll show ‘em the
ropes.”
“And we’ve gotta get him a fake ID,” Jeff warns. “No way that kid’s a day over
thirteen.”
Jensen shifts toward the edge of the little bed and tugs the curtain back
peering up into the morning-lit hallway between the bunks. Jeff’s wearing
unbuttoned jeans and a grizzly beard with an unfiltered Lucky Strike hanging
from his frowning mouth, and Jared’s dressed in an exhausted Silverchair shirt
and his filthy jeans from last night, his hair pulled back in a tiny bun.
“Actually, I’m fourteen and a half,” he says to them.
“Jesus Christ,” Jeff groans, rolling his eyes as he snatches the cigarette from
his lips, but Jensen sees the barest hint of a smile before Jeff saunters away.
“Adri, see if Gen can--”
“Already texting her,” she replies from her sprawl on the miraculously put-
back-together couch where Jensen had been defiled an unknown amount of hours
ago.
Jensen looks up to where Jared is towering over him, larger than life like he
is onstage. He feels shy suddenly, small and young, and he doesn’t know that
that’s what Jared loves most about him.
“Mornin’,” Jared says, not bothering to hide his smile. He holds up both hands,
both holding offerings. “Got you breakfast.”
A greasy, rolled-up bag is pushed toward him, and he takes it as he shoves back
to the wall of the bunk, trying his hardest to make room for the giant of a man
crawling in beside him. His stomach growls as he tears into the bag, and he
remembers with painful clarity how many days it’s been since he’s eaten
anything besides come.
Two sausage biscuits lie at the bottom of the bag, and Jensen unwraps the first
one with shaking hands and shoves half of it in his mouth, chewing frantically
and swallowing just so he can fit more in.
“Guess you’re not just like that with dick,” Jared teases where he’s stretched
out long on his side and watching Jensen eat with a smile. Jensen tries to
glare with his cheeks chipmunked out, but he gratefully takes the giant bottle
of Smartwater Jared hands him and gulps down a few mouthfuls to wash it all
down.
“Fuck you,” he laughs with a cough when he finally sucks in a breath of air to
respond. “I haven’t eaten in three days.”
He tries to regain a little of his dignity by unwrapping the next biscuit a
little slower, and he tears off a corner to eat instead of just inhaling it,
aware the whole time of Jared’s eyes on him, his smile.
“Well, those days are over,” Jared says quietly. “So eat up.”
Jensen feels the backs of his eyes burn with tears, but he lowers his eyes and
pays a ridiculous amount of attention to his disappearing biscuit. He doesn’t
know what to say, doesn’t know how to ask if he’s really staying, how to ask if
Jared’s sure that he wants to keep him around, if he doesn’t need a few more
rounds with him to be sure.
He doesn’t realize a tear’s escaped until he feels the velvet-soft press of
rose petals against his cheek, soaking up the tear and drawing Jensen’s wide
eyes up to find Jared’s on him still, always.
He’s holding a single red rose in that massive hand of his, and there’s a
terrified openness to his face that stuns Jensen, makes him wonder if he was
fisted to death and these are his dying thoughts, fever dreams.
“You gave me your rose last night,” Jared says, mumbled and with a tiny shrug.
He runs the flower over Jensen’s mouth, neither of them blinking as they stare
each other down. They move in together in sync, crushing roses and biscuits to
get their mouths on each other, to lick open and be devoured.
“Damn, that was smooth,” Momo mumbles from outside the curtain.
“Write that shit down,” Adrianne says, and Jensen laughs against Jared’s
grinning mouth as he’s pressed back into the mattress for their first morning
fuck.
End Notes
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