Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8660974.
  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, Genderplay,
      Feminization, Secret_Relationship, Sexual_Experimentation, Sex_Toys,
      Nipple_Play, Top_Jensen, Bottom_Jared, Consensual_Underage_Sex, Angst_and
      Fluff_and_Smut, Kink_Negotiation, Light_Mentions_of_Eating_Disorders
  Series:
      Part 7 of fullofsugar!verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-11-26 Words: 10035
****** Sky Full Of Sugar ******
by hellhoundsprey
Summary
     One of Jensen's birthday presents for Jared is a week-long vacation
     out in the country.
Christmas should be spent with one’s family, so Jensen does that. Not without
seeing Jared the day before he takes his plane, of course. Not like Jensen
would need that, no; it’s just that Jared doesn’t take separations so well.
(Seriously. Shut up.)
The fairy lights were on and Jared was wearing the soft white sweater from so
long ago. Sparkling cheeks, lacey skirt, no socks. Jensen’s heating bills have
never been this high, but then again he never before had to house an embodied
snowflake either.
With Jared growing so fast these days, buying expensive clothing makes little
to no sense. Jensen soothes the poor thing almost every day, wipes away frowns
with kisses and repeats for the hundredth time that Jared doesn’t have to
worry, still perfect, no, Jensen will not become disgusted of him. (It’s better
that way, actually: the less fragile Jared looks, the easier it is for Jensen
to forget about his actual age.)
Watching Jared unwrap presents never ceases to be fun. As always, his glee was
wholeheartedly, honestly, warm. And then, he had unearthed a little box of his
own. For Jensen.
Jensen’s eyes are watching the plane cutting through clouds and the fingers of
his left hand stroke along the seams of his new dress shirt. It fits perfectly.
Jared admitted to having snooped around Jensen’s wardrobe so he would get the
size right. Jensen hadn’t been mad.
Jared sewed a heart into the tag (bright, heart-red). Jared had slept in it
(“to break it in, Mr. Ackles. It was super stiff, even after washing.”).
Jensen will wear it among his family, will hug them with his kitten-perfumed
shirt, and they will have no idea.
His heart already breaks for the fact that he will eventually have to wash it.
                                       ~
Kitten turned on the fairy lights before she joined Jensen on the bed. She
switches to Jensen’s neck once his mouth bores her. Her crotch is riding
Jensen’s thigh. Jensen is still in jeans and she is wearing a nightgown at five
thirty in the afternoon.
Snow outside. Storm in Jensen’s chest.
She’s burning up, up, up.
She nibbles and she bites. Poor Carrie had looked pissed when she made a joke
about Jensen’s new girlfriend apparently being a vampire.
For every hickey Jensen isn’t allowed to mark Jared with, Jared gives him two.
C’mon, at least keep it below shirt collar height, baby, doesn’t mean so much
when your mouth is as hungry as Jared Tristan’s.
Everything below shirt collar is much more of a discussion, though. “Can I?” he
asks every time, and Jensen declines, “Not today,” all of these times. Jensen’s
cock hates him maybe just as much as Jared’s fingers hate him. Or mouth. Or
everything.
The zipper of his jeans bites through his underwear when Jared sucks on
Jensen’s skin like that. Enough to hurt (in a good way). Jared is kneading his
nipples with an efficiency that makes Jensen mourn for the girls Jared could
pleasure like this if he was a little less princess, a little more prince.
Jensen returns the gesture, two-handed. Jared is gasping and Jensen’s thigh
feels damper with every rut.
Jensen stifles a groan when Jared’s unoccupied hand steals itself between his
legs. Flat palm, pressure, sizing Jensen up. His hips shove into the much-
needed (and highly unappreciated) contact. They had talked about this. Over the
clothes is okay. In moderation.
Jared comes fastest with Jensen’s dick in his hand.
                                       ~
As traditional as the principal is, he had declared to be less strict when it
comes to “gendering colors” in applications of the dress code. Officially, Mrs.
Padalecki yelling at him for half an hour didn’t have anything to do with his
decision.
“There you go, sir.”
“Thank you.”
Jared is wearing pastel colors whenever he can. He managed to sneak some of
Jensen’s presents into his home. He must be explaining them by being economic
with his babysitting payments. Jensen is both thrilled and mortified to see him
walking around with their secret all over him; for everyone to see.
It’s the purple sweatshirt today. Lace-trimmed collar neck. Jensen had bought
it oversized for the cute effect. Now, Jared’s shoulders fill it out
completely. The sleeves don’t hang over his wrists anymore.
Jared still sits in the front row, still is Jensen’s best student. Still throws
longing in the form of batted lashes and dreamy-pink cheeks when everyone else
is looking at their phone instead up front at Jensen and the blackboard. Hands
Jensen the class’ works just to smoothen himself back into his seat, all lady
grace in “no, sir, Mr. principal, sir, these are boy jeans, promise”-girl-
jeans.
Jared gets his Mr. Ackles some chapstick because Mr. Ackles licks his lips way
too much and insistently these days.
                                       ~
“Please.”
Jensen’s eyes are closed.
“Please please please. Please, sir. Only for a second.”
Jared Tristan’s hands could make him cream his pants easily if Jensen wasn’t
getting off every time right before Jared comes over. Prolonged pleasure or
something (‘dignity’ or something). But Jared has been working him for almost
an hour now, and Jensen can feel himself slicking right through denim.
Jensen is a good man, but even a good man remains a man.
“Okay,” he breathes.
It’s almost dark. No fairy lights. Storm outside. The windows rattle. Jensen
thinks he can hear his and Jared’s hearts despite the turmoil.
Propped up against the headboard as he is, Jensen watches Jared undoing his fly
as if it was a sacred thing to do. Careful. Wide-eyed. Faint traces of lip
gloss (they share those).
They’ve been here before. This is okay. This is still…not too bad. Not as
corrupting.
Jared’s hand is wrapped around Jensen’s dick as soon as it sprung from the too-
careful peel of underwear, and Jensen’s eyes fall closed, his mouth open. He
babbles, “Oh god,” and hopes not to be heard.
Jensen is trembling and Jared is completely calm. Warm, warm, damp palm, strong
fingers, just right on the first stroke, already a miracle, a blessing, and
Jensen’s belly quivers with a stuttered breath.
“Suh… slow,” begs Jensen and, “Yeah,” whispers Jared.
Jared will brush their lips together out of nowhere when Jensen will start to
come, and Jensen will startle and gasp and groan. Will get his tongue sucked on
while Jared’s hand milks every last drop from him, but god help him, he won’t
allow Jared to lick his hand clean.
                                       ~
Maybe beard burns are just as bad as hickeys. Nevertheless, Jensen spreads them
over the insides of Jared’s thighs. If They check between a fifteen-year-old’s
baby legs, They’re not any better than Jensen in the first place.
Jared is trembling. Jensen can smell his copiously leaking dick from here as if
he was smothering his face in the mess. He isn’t, though.
There’s a murmur and Jensen’s eyes shoot up to a bitten lip. “What?” He didn’t
hear.
“I said: can you tie me up again?” Shameless-guilty blush, all the way down to
Jared’s chest (Jared Tristan is pink everywhere). As if it needed to be added,
“Like last time?”
Jensen’s stomach cramps but he nods. (Blame his dick. Blame Jared’s begging
eyes. It’s all the same.)
Jensen gets up on weak knees to retrieve the ribbons Jared likes him to use. He
had shown Jensen pictures, had explained in a hushed voice and a bulge
twitching under his skirt. Jared becomes the most tender, the squirmiest and
most pliant little thing when he orders Jensen to take control.
While Jensen fixes Jared’s first wrist to the headboard of his princess bed,
kitten already purrs, “Maybe my ankles, too? Please?”
Jensen keeps his eyes fixed on the knot he is tying. The limp, slim wrist. He
decides, “No,” just firm enough for Jared to accept it.
Jensen doesn’t feel firm at all.
“Can we pretend you took me on a date and then home for coffee? And then you
decided you don’t wanna wait anymore? That I’ve teased you long enough?”
Jared’s long, long legs fold around Jensen’s waist while he sweet-talks. Pull
him in. Spread-wide, panties riding up. Jensen can feel it on the bare inside
of his thigh. He took off his jeans today, and maybe he shouldn’t have.
“You could play with my tits,” kitten suggests. “Get ’em out. Suck ’em sore.
Spank ’em.”
Jensen is one tug away from securing the second binding, and he blinks at it,
rapidly, before he flinches away from it.
“No. No. Wait. Uh.”
Palms covering his face, sensation of cold sweat. Jensen inches backwards on
his knees, Jared’s legs sliding off like slick, too-smooth snakes.
“I—I can’t do this.”
Jared is right there, hands falling to Jensen’s shoulders (Jensen never ties
the knots too strict; it’s just a game). Breath ghosting, but Jensen doesn’t
see, is still hiding.
“Sorry. I can’t. Sorry.”
“Okay. Okay. Shhh. It’s okay, Mr. Ackles.”
“I’m sorry. This is…”
“Hey, don’t worry. It’s okay.”
Fingers comb through Jensen’s hair. Jensen takes deep, deep breaths in the
security of his self-made panic room, tries to calm his heart and the rising
bile. Dizziness.
“We don’t have to do it,” assures Jared (who is still petting Jensen’s head).
“It was just a stupid little idea. No big deal.”
Jensen huffs, “Okay.” Kiss to Jensen’s knuckles. Fingers still in his hair,
calming him. Again, “Okay.” Jensen leans forward, just a tiny little bit, and
Jared is right there to bed him against his chest. “Okay.”
They remain still for a while, until Jared asks if Jensen is okay. Instead of
scaring the kid, Jensen murmurs that maybe a cup of coffee would be good right
now. Jared helps him downstairs, parks Jensen on the sofa and hurries to the
coffee machine while Jensen thinks of a plan to drink without puking it right
out again.
Jared brings him a steaming cup, clasped securely in both hands. He’s still in
his little negligee and his hair is so long now, curling and flopping around
his ears. He’s obviously worried and eyes Jensen painfully closely as he hands
over the drink.
When Jensen tries a calming smile, Jared puts his hand on his shoulder. Feels
like “you don’t have to”, so Jensen drops the act. The coffee, despite all
worries, does help.
Jensen’s cup is empty by now, and Jared runs his relentless fingers through
Jensen’s hair, along his jawline. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“I...I don’t like doing it. That kind of stuff,” confesses Jensen. His hand is
resting on Jared’s knee; the other fumbles with the peach fuzz on Jared’s
forearm. “The…” He frowns. “The bondage things. Or the spankings.”
“’Cause you’re afraid to hurt me?”
“Amongst other reasons, yeah.”
Kiss to Jensen’s temple. “What other reasons?”
“I don’t like it. I dunno.” Tip-tap of fingers over Jared’s thigh. Jensen
smiles, embarrassed, as he adds, “Guess I’m too vanilla. Or somethin’ like
that. Sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. Not at all.”
“But you like it.” Frills to pick at; good.
“So what? I like whatever you say is okay. I ain’t mad.” Jared nuzzles Jensen’s
neck. All soft and warm and close; and safe. “Don’t apologize. You said it
yourself: we won’t do anything if one of us doesn’t feel like doing it. It goes
both ways, doesn’t it?”
A kiss. Sweetest, softest boy-hands on Jensen’s bearded cheeks.
Terrifying, the depths of all the things Jared can make him feel.
“You’re so sweet, Mr. Ackles, that it makes me ache.”
                                       ~
Jensen gets a lot of Valentine’s Day cards this year, but he only keeps a
single one.
                                       ~
The bullies are getting more aggressive. Jared wears his bruises as proudly as
if they were jewelry. Between worry and fury and professionalism, Jensen barely
has enough energy to work. Detention is enriched with at least one homophobic
little brat per week.
It’s not like Jensen doesn’t do anything—he just can’t do all he wants to do.
Like throwing punches. Bending braces. Phoning stuck-up parents.
He almost cries tears of joy when Leyla asks him to join her gender issues
project—he never could have volunteered himself. (Don’t draw the spotlights to
you, Ackles. Undercover. Stay low. Eyes up front.)
Jared doesn’t cry and Jared only starts hitting back once everyone with two
functioning eyes can tell he did not start the fight. You don’t get hit that
hard, that often, when you’re the one starting it.
Kids are cruel. Jensen never wore clothes like Jared or let his hair grow as
long as Jared, but his face was reason enough for nicknames or a beating (or
two) or laughter, singing.
But Jensen never looked them in the eye like Jared does. Never dared a smirk
like Jared does.
Jared doesn’t provoke it, but he won’t let it touch him either.
“They can call me faggot all day long if they want,” kitten dares in the safe
pinkness of her princess room, her Mr. Ackles at her feet, cradling those while
frowning at a scabbing shin. “I still win.”
She grins at that. Self-confident with her shining wet lips, bra strap flashing
under a too-sheer top. Skirt way too short (again).
If Jensen had been half as confident as her, what kind of man would he be
today?
                                       ~
She lets him feel her up while watching a movie. He told her not to wear a bra
so he can pluck and rub at her through her too airy blouse, behind the popcorn
bowl she’s balancing in both hands. She complains at first when he shoves the
sweets away but then opens her legs a little more when his hand dives under the
hem of her skirt.
Fingers can fucking stumble. Jensen is starry-eyed from the things Jared
Tristan teaches him.
Kitten peers up under her lashes, cheeks flushed with anticipation and what
must be Jensen plastered all over her side.
She asks, “Do you like it?”
He chokes, “Did it hurt?”
“Not much.”
Jensen doesn’t usually touch here that much (too bad, too horrible, you
reallyreally shouldn’t) but oh god, it’s so smooth and unexpected. He remembers
when his flings were waxed this bare, or when Danni had it done.
Treat. Baby.
“Did it yourself?”
“Hay wanted to try it.” Her breath is a hot mark against Jensen’s neck. “We did
it to each other.”
Jensen bites his tongue and mouths around kitten’s lips until she lets him in,
doesn’t allow himself to make a sound since he is too afraid what he might
sound like if he did. He has his left hand drifting across Jared’s pubis, into
the crease where leg meets hips. Jared is sweating here, so fucking warm.
His leg falls a little more outwards so that Jensen, if Jensen would do it,
could let his fingers dip lower, feel down his balls, his taint.
Someone is saving the world on screen while Jensen breaks apart a small one of
his own.
Jared gasps. Hasn’t seen that coming (and isn’t the only one). Could and should
say something now, right now, if this is more than he bargained for, and maybe
Jensen should remind him of that just to make sure. But Jensen keeps kissing,
keeps petting.
He’s never done this. Fondling someone else’s balls.
Feels weird. Mostly in the way that they’re so smooth—like a kid’s must be. But
the size won’t match.
It’s surreal.
Jared quivers with a sigh when Jensen doesn’t think and curls two fingers
around Jared’s dick like a ring. Quivers more when Jensen moves his hand,
slowly, upwards. Digs his fingers into Jensen’s thigh harder on the down
stroke.
Velvet on Jensen’s palm, popcorn butter on his tongue.
Jared curls his arms around Jensen’s neck and hikes his legs up so so high when
Jensen guides him to lie down on his back, keeps sucking on Jensen’s lip and
bites before Jensen can pull free.
She is looking up at him with bewilderment all over her face. Wonder-wide and
lovely. He kisses her neck until she tugs too hard on his hair, listens to her
hitching breath all the while he keeps jerking her cock. His. Jared’s.
Jensen knees backwards, slowly, gently, kisses down her chest, noses at a
nipple. Her heart jackrabbits in there, right under his lips. The backs of her
knees on his shoulders are as lightweight as if they weren’t there at all;
almost.
Lower.
Lower.
Her bellybutton is so flat that not even one lonely jelly bean could be
balanced in it. Jensen swirls his tongue over it nevertheless. Feels like he’s
sticking it right into Jared’s hard little belly.
Just an inch lower, and he...
Jensen barely gets the words out, but he has to, has to ask.
“Can I?”
Her fingers soften in his hair along with her trembling, “Uh-huh,” double the
invitation for Jensen to do whatever he wants. Jensen doesn’t even need one.
Jensen had felt very anxious when he had pictured this before and now realizes
he was overthinking it. The first lick across the wet tip of Jared’s cockhead
feels so natural, so exciting, and it reacts immediately too, ticks up to kiss
back at Jensen’s lips and neither of them expected the quick contact, and Jared
gasps and Jensen is now on a goddamn mission.
With Jared and him, it’s never about technique, not even really about orgasm.
It’s not a race, not a show-off. It’s about reinventing, about making up, about
try and error and learning. So, this is not about sucking dick. This is about
getting to know this part of Jared. Just like learning how Jared likes to be
kissed behind his ear—how does he like to have his dick kissed?
Jensen does just that—smothering the tip, head tilted up to watch Jared’s eyes
fluttering, his lips pressing.
A small, small, “Mh,” at a lap to his frenulum. Jensen is enrapt. Does it
again. Makes the entire hard length twitch with circles of the tip of his
tongue.
Absolutely no thought goes into catching the new swell of liquid right from
Jared’s slit. Slick, heavy, a little salty-soapy. Different from a woman’s,
obviously, but Jensen imagines finding something similar somewhere in between.
He likes this ‘in between’.
Jensen takes his time. He always does. Kitten-flicks and kisses, barely a
touch, but he covers every patch of skin. Jared’s dick can barely catch up with
replacing Jensen’s spit with precome, and Jensen is happy to dip the very tip
inside, just to see what it does to Jared (since he loves it having done to
himself). His kitten sighs.
One arm curled around her right thigh to keep it up, one thumbing at the sharp
edge of her hipbone. The skirt is flipped over her belly, somewhat sideways so
Jensen can still see that adorable navel. Jared is so thin. The hairlessness
does its part in that, too, no doubt.
Or, maybe, the size of his cock. Jensen is pretty sure he hadn’t been that big
at Jared’s age.
He ponders if he should tell him that or if it would upset Jared. Kitten
probably doesn’t want to be told she has a huge dick. Not a very girly trait.
Jensen likes it nevertheless.
“You’re so cute like that,” he whispers. Cute is always good.
Jared makes a flustered sound that turns into another dreamy sigh when Jensen
drags his pursed lips along the length of his shaft. The way up comes with a
stiff tongue.
Jared’s hips hitch.
Jensen says, “You can come in my mouth if you want to,” before he tucks Jared’s
cock past his lips.
It takes Jared two slow and slower drifts across Jensen’s tongue before he
seizes, hard, and fills Jensen’s mouth.
Jensen splutters a bit because Jared pushes up and deeper in while pulling
Jensen’s head lower, down, but one hand pins Jared easily enough while Jensen
strains to keep his head up. He watches Jared thrashing, how he tries to mumble
a, “Sorry,” but fails, withdraws his shaking hands and brings them to his
mouth, bites a knuckle before brushing through his own hair, then groping back
into Jensen’s. His eyes are closed but moving non-stop; Jensen can tell by the
stutter of those lashes even in this low light, and he comes a lot, and Jensen
doesn’t stop flicking his tongue until Jared whines. Then goes a little slower.
He doesn’t let up until kitten raises her head and fumbles with Jensen’s ears,
almost pulling on them.
A little ragdoll, this one. Boneless and warm.
Jensen kisses down a tender sac, along a familiar crease of an inner thigh (so
so so high up, now so so so very close).
She pushes and pulls until she has his kissing mouth right next to her taint.
He’s the one straining now, again, doesn’t dare to go further to check just how
thoroughly Jared’s little girlfriend had been with the wax. So he licks up
again and she sighs, maybe even sounds a little relieved; hard to tell.
“Kiss me,” she says.
Jensen had swallowed everything as soon as it had hit the inside of his cheeks,
and the thought comes back to him almost violently when her tongue curls around
his.
He thinks back to so very long ago when everything was horrifying and new, how
he had licked his own sticky fingers once, just to see what it’s like. Pure
curiosity with an ugly twinge of shame. These small, secret things you can
never share with anyone.
Teenage come and buttery sugar mix, and it’s really, really good.
(The kind of good you know you should be ashamed of, but aren’t.)
                                       ~
The vacation hasn’t really started yet but already cost Jensen a good ten years
of his life. He’s closing in on that heart attack sometime soon, eyes switching
back and forth between the car radio’s digital clock and the heartbreakingly
empty parking spot of the train station they decided to meet at. His fingers
are curling so hard around his chin that he’s faintly aware of the pressure-
pain all the way through his horror.
It’s his own fault. His own fucking idea. God, he hates himself sometimes.
When Jared finally, finally rounds the corner, it’s two minutes before their
meeting time and the relief washing over Jensen makes him breathe so deeply
he’s dizzy from it (or maybe he just didn’t really breathe for a too long span
of time up to here).
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Where should I...?”
“Jus’ throw it in the trunk; it’s open.”
“Okay.”
Jensen eyes himself in the rearview mirror like he is the teen here, all
insecure and oh god he looks so awful. It’s been hellish long three hours since
he left off and he’s on two big and moreover strong coffees, but the sight of
Jared—hauling his sports bag off his shoulder and into the trunk, glancing at
Jensen with his face set in just the same nervous anticipation as him—works
Jensen like a warm knife would work a piece of butter.
Jared opens the passenger door and climbs in. His hand is on top of Jensen’s on
the gearstick as soon as the seat belt has been secured.
Jensen turns his hand so they are palm to palm. Their fingers interlace
immediately.
“Did you have a safe trip?”
Jared’s smile is blinding. “Yes.”
“Good. That’s good.”
Jensen leans in to kiss Jared on the mouth—more or less in public, in the front
seat of his car. He’s fucking terrified, yeah, but then again he hasn’t felt
this alive in years. Judging by the way Jared melts into the kiss, he feels the
same.
It’s been a mess up to here but they made it somehow. Two hundred miles from
home, just the two of them, five entire days. For them, that’s crazy long.
Jensen excused himself with family business (urgent, secret, puppy eyes) and
Jared dreamt up a pen pal (“that kids still do that nowadays, now isn’t that
cute”).
Up to here, it’s been so fucking easy (too easy) that it only can make them
that much more nervous.
Sixty more miles until they reach the cabin. Nothing but fields surrounding
them, only a few cars strewn across the otherwise deserted streets. Jared toed
off his sneakers and curls his naked toes on top of the car console. One arm
dangles out of the rolled-down window and his too-big big brother shirt flaps
around his body, makes it looks so delicate, easy to break. Jensen bought candy
and Jared goes through it by the handful, throws Jensen a glance or plucks at
the tip of a teacher-finger every now and then. Jensen had popped a copy of The
Smiths’ Strangeways into the stereo and if Jared is opposed to the choice, he
sure sits through it with a lot of patience.
And so it comes to Jensen that this is real. That this is happening. They’re
here, and it’s real, and he’s doing this.
Took this boy away from home. Is driving towards a cabin, far from the rest of
the civilization. Has a trunk filled with girl clothes and knowingly bad
intentions.
Jensen takes a breath, two, and keeps his eyes on the road while he lets Jared
finger-feed him a piece of candy between his lips.
And it’s okay. It’s okay.
He wants this.
                                       ~
“And? What do you say?”
“It’s amazing,” vows Jared who would gladly sleep underneath a bridge as long
as Jensen would be the one spending the night with him there. The living room
looks full with him already. God, he’s grown. Almost up to Jensen’s eye level
now (and it breaks the kid’s heart so much). Jensen has the secret plan to
stuff Jared with as much food as possible (and responsible) within these
upcoming days. The skinniness is edging on ‘worrying’. Jared denies that, of
course, but Jensen hopes the unfamiliar settings will help him set some things
straight. New perspective and all.
He got his hands on the cabin through an old friend of his dad. It’s tiny but
has everything you would need for a short stay; even electricity. No TV though,
but hey, Jared is easy to entertain.
Jensen could literally make Jared sit in one spot for hours just by flashing a
few inches of chest under a not even nice button-down while fucking reading a
book. The bible, for example. Jared is so desperate it’s almost sad.
There’s a king sized bed upstairs, an old, sat-through couch in the corner
Jared is facing while dropping his bag, starting to rid himself of his cargo
shorts. Jensen watches Jared eyeing the fireplace. The only thing missing here
would be the polar bear rug. There are blankets upstairs though. Jensen had
checked.
Jared Tristan is a miracle just standing there, letting his pants drop down,
directing his eyes to Jensen. A little exhibitionistic, maybe, but then again
there’s nobody around for miles.
Yeah, Ackles. Nobody but you.
Powerful. There is no other word for how Jared draws him in. Like a magnet.
Their little solar system; Sun Jared and Planet Jensen. Jared would assign the
roles differently, of course. Maybe Planet Ackles and Moon Tristan. Jared makes
him feel ten feet tall—like a god. Like everything Jensen does is a gift, a
ceremony, destiny.
Jensen thinks about that a lot. Thinks about it even now, with the half-naked
teen walking towards him, lining his body up with Jensen’s, one hand against
Jensen’s heart. Thinks that this is wrong, and he’s using the kid, and he
really shouldn’t.
Jensen usually manages to stop the thinking by the time Jared is all dolled up,
but the only things girly on Jared now are his purple lace panties and the
tenderness of Jensen’s kiss, and that’s enough.
“Still can’t believe this is happening.”
Kitten whispers it as if someone could jump out at them from behind the sofa,
rip them apart, put both of them in handcuffs.
Jensen makes a sympathetic sound before he runs his fingers through Jared’s
hair, cups his head, kisses him again. Jared sighs for it. The hand not
currently resting on Jensen’s chest goes straight to the fly of his jeans.
Jensen’s eyes roll under a testing squeeze and rub. Jared pecks kisses and
keeps his hand moving until half-mast becomes more.
It’s not supposed to be a sex vacation. A sexcation. No.
They had discussed this.
“You haven’t even seen the other rooms yet,” Jensen murmurs, but backs up until
he finds the doorframe to prop himself up against. “Don’t you wanna see ’em
first?”
“Later.”
Jensen feels Jared’s breath on his dick before he lets himself accept the fact
that this boy drops to his knees as naturally as he picks up other people’s
trash in the school hallway. By the time there are lips and kisses, Jensen’s
fingers bore into the doorframe. There hasn’t been much change since Jensen
allowed it to happen the first time, two weeks ago (when Jared turned sweet
sixteen with an extra ‘sweet’, and Jensen goes to hell all over again)—Jensen’s
dick still is pretty much nothing but a test object for Jared’s mouth. Jensen
can last so freaking long like this since Jared doesn’t know what he’s
doing...but Jared also is a quick learner and watches way too much porn.
Jensen’s days are numbered.
All the silence is a tease for Jensen; he’s sure, is being listened to, to the
small huffs and sounds of pleasure Jared uses as a guide for pretty much
everything he does around Jensen. Jared’s kitten-tongue has him dry and aching,
throbbing in two eager hands holding him steady for a nursing mouth. Jensen
holds on. Doesn’t look away from the shyly closed eyes, the pornstar-pursed
lips.
Things kind of escalate when Jared, after some solid moments of nothing but
nibbling and kissing and small licks, drops his jaw and swallows Jensen down.
Way past half of the total length. Almost to the base.
Jensen’s body can’t decide between being shocked, being amazed, being aroused.
He ends up shuddering, hiccupping his breath, reaching for Jared’s cheek. He
rubs his thumb over the bone hidden somewhere so close underneath the skin, and
Jared looks up, eyes a little teary but mouth back to the tip (high school
innocent).
He lisps, “I practiced,” and does it again just to prove that he’s telling the
truth and nothing but the truth.
Jensen might rush hot all over, but he won’t fucking admit being jealous of a
goddamn cucumber.
                                       ~
Small bedroom and smaller bathroom upstairs, kitchen, back in the living room.
Upon request kitten shares that she isn’t hungry, thank you, and Jensen is out
of text and suggests taking a walk. Kitten beams. Her first time in a
dress—outside. He takes her hand, and so they walk.
The grass is knee-high and deep green. Wheat outnumbers trees. A gentle breeze
soothes the lack of shadow and sends Jared’s sundress dancing around his shins.
Jensen didn’t change into shorts and feels sorry for himself, but Jared never
lets go of his hand, no matter how sweaty it gets.
The house is out of sight and so is the road. Nothing but peaceful, vibrant
nature. This is the beginning of a spring turning into a summer.
No matter how long Jensen stares into the fields, they won’t inspire a single
answer. He isn’t even sure what his questions are. With Jared, it’s so easy to
get lost in silence. Maybe to get lost in general.
“Have you been here before?” (Oh, that silent ‘with someone else?’.)
“Yes. But it’s been a long time. Nothing has changed around here though. I like
that. Makes you feel kinda safe, you know? Knowing that some things stay the
same forever.”
“I get what you mean.”
And that’s honest. The truth. Being understood by a sixteen-year-old shouldn’t
make Jensen this confident.
Jared’s hand slip-slides in Jensen’s as he turns towards him, and the corner of
Jensen’s vision couldn’t miss the lick of lips if it tried.
“It’s pretty,” kitten murmurs with her mouth already halfway on Jensen’s.
It’s Jensen’s knees that bend first, just like it’s Jensen who pulls kitten on
top of himself, who keeps brushing her hair back behind her ears, who will go
home with grass stains on his clothes. He is okay with all of it. She’s a
little sweaty too. Maybe the pink of her cheeks is a beginning sunburn and not
the same wrong-amazing-perfect extra heartbeat Jensen has at how this is
happening outside of four solid, opaque walls; this little big thrill of
danger, of freedom. She huffs and squirms while Jensen helps her out of her
panties, and she has a small pout dancing over her mouth, a frown plucking at
her brow when she settles back over Jensen’s lap, warm and damp and heavy (a
promise). She grinds down and sucks her lips between her teeth, has her hands
balancing her weight on Jensen’s already-heavy chest.
She crumbles with his, “Not like that,” but her eyes go cherry pie wide when he
urges her to turn around instead. She scrambles to please, as always, and
Jensen is light-headed even before he flips her dress over her back.
Almost silent; a held breath, hands frozen midway on Jensen’s fly and the
heartache underneath. Jensen pulls her a little more backwards, until he almost
doesn’t have to strain his neck anymore to let his tongue dip between her
spread-apart cheeks.
Kitten trembles. Her tension is palpable, right there underneath Jensen’s
palms, underneath his tongue, little-tall body burning up where it hovers in a
virgin-white sundress on top of Jensen.
Jensen hums to make a point, and Jared almost sobs.
Sweet sixteen. Maybe too soon. But Jared had asked for it before.
Jensen kisses it as if it was Jared’s mouth, and it loves it just the same.
Quivers just the same. Kisses back, too.
Jensen buries his face deeper.
It’s unimportant when Jared is collected enough to continue his earlier quest
to pull Jensen’s cock from his jeans. What counts is the distant-close humming
of insects, of whispering grass all around them. What counts is the smell of
the fields, of summer, and how Jared’s skin slips under Jensen’s fingertips
when he has to hold him from squirming (maybe off, maybe closer). Wet-choking
little somethings between Jensen’s legs, graze of unskilled teeth. Endless
softness against Jensen’s mouth and face.
He usually warns before he comes but doesn’t feel like it this time. It’s no
surprise anyway; kitten reads him like a book, always does, and he lets himself
shake apart in her eager grip, her warm, warm mouth. She slurps just because
she can, finally can, and she’s a good girl with how she cleans him all up but
is a bad girl by smothering his moans with the insisting weight of her ass.
When Jensen thinks about it, it’s really pretty fucking filthy. But that’s just
how it works between them. How Jared works. If the teen likes it, it can’t be
that outrageous, right?
Boneless legs take them back to the cabin. It’s too early to have dinner yet,
so Jensen whips up their trustworthy favorite of ice tea and sandwiches. He
ends up finishing more than half himself, even though he hand-feeds Jared on
the porch.
“I bought ice cream.”
Interested (calculated?) flick of doe-eyes from underneath Jensen’s armpit.
Jared is sun-warm even in the shadow. The thumb hooked into the belt loop of
Jensen’s pants sneaks some skin contact.
Jared is quick with his brain but he’s downright criminal with his mouth.
“I’ll eat it if you finger me.”
Kind of fuming, kind of with his tail tucked between his legs, Jensen marches
inside to get lube and a sundae the size of Jared’s hunger for Jensen’s soul.
He doesn’t tell Jared about the toys deep, deep in his suitcase, the ones
Jensen bought throughout the past few weeks with a funny twist in his stomach
and balls. Impulse purchases, kinda, because god, kitten isn’t ready and Jensen
is even farther away from that ready, but they were made, and he has them,
upstairs, taunting him, making his mouth water.
But now, ice cream.
Jared glares at the treat with a menace he would never put upon Jensen (oh dear
god please, never) but ends up accepting the first spoonful simply because he
gets it kissed into his mouth by Jensen. Chocolate and strawberries and cream,
but Jared still tastes best.
Jared gathers his daddy-long-leg legs on the Hollywood swing, drapes down onto
his side, one elbow propping him up, knees up to his chest, halter of his dress
falling from his shoulder. His mouth might be wrapped around the spoon, but his
eyes are all Jensen’s.
Seated on a cushion, pretty sweaty, pretty nervous, Jensen doesn’t exactly know
where to start. What starts with a caress of Jared’s upper thigh turns into
shoving that dress over that hip and ends with Jensen’s tongue on and kind of
in, well.
Even here in the shadow, it’s more than bright enough to see it so clearly.
Pulling the cheeks apart makes the wrinkles flatten out, leaves Jared all pink
and spit-shiny and smooth. Jensen laps at it, again, just for himself.
Kitten’s leg twitches up and away some more when Jensen thumbs at her tiny
pucker then. Jensen revels in it just as much as in the sound of the spoon
grazing through the bowl over and over again.
Absolutely no resistance on the push inside, not until it’s in up to the
nailbed (and Jensen doesn’t go farther without lube even though he probably
could, no). Such a soft give. So welcoming, trusting.
Half-joke, half-confession, and Jensen smiles helplessly, feels a lump forming
in his throat. “I’ll ruin you.”
“Yes.” Kitten swallows sugar-dairy-strawberry and urges, “Want you to.”
So the world has been almost in order up to here, up to Jensen twisting his
tongue in this tiny little asshole, begging for it to ease up even more while
lubing his index finger. He licks at his lips, holds his breath at the first
slide into Jared’s pink and lets it go with the pressure of his heartbeat. He
watches, mesmerized. The spoon is silent for almost too long but then picks up
before Jensen can even open his mouth to scold.
Two joints deep, Jared is all silk, all slick and tender and crushing. The drag
back is almost unbearable, leaves Jensen’s wet finger so lonely, so cold
against the humid air. Back in and Jared’s body melts with a stifled sigh.
Jensen breaks his hypnosis to lean up to her mouth, shares her deepest taste
with her and gets sweet ice cream in return, a trembling lip, an overwhelmed
flare of nostrils. Jensen is trembling, too.
The kiss of webbing of fingers pushes Jared’s hips out for more. Jared doesn’t
hold back his sigh this time. His eyes are closed in bliss, mouth absently
suckling on the spoon, and Jensen can’t decide between staring at Jared’s face
or the goosebumps on Jared’s thigh or the soft rolling motion of his lower
body.
Jensen ends up buried two fingers wide. The white cotton of kitten’s dress is
precome-transparent before Jensen has the decency to flip it over and away,
lets her leak against empty air instead. She squirms at that, mutters something
sweet, lets her head fall back. Her nipples are so hard the dress is completely
useless in covering her at this point. Jensen’s wrist aches along with his
tucked-away cock, his heart, his brain.
He keeps working her sweet spot until the bowl is empty. She doesn’t come, but
is as wet as if she did. Because Jensen is a fair man, he cleans her up.
(Maybe if he actually gets her to eat the entire box, she’ll start tasting like
it. And maybe Jensen doesn’t like the idea.)
                                       ~
Jensen gets them to dinner with the polite distance of a coffee table between
them. He brought card games and feels old for that himself. Jared, of course,
would never complain. (The kid would work on a car with Jensen if it meant
spending time with him.) Jensen is not ready yet to tell him that being in a
relationship means looking out for yourself too, because that would mean
admitting that this is a relationship.
Three servings of barbecued goodness later, kitten holds her stomach and
complains that she is, believe it or not, full. It takes both of Jensen’s
seemingly almighty hands and Jensen’s mouth to soothe her pain. Jensen rubs her
as if she’s an actual tiny kitten whose tender little insides can’t get the
work done themselves. No way Jensen will let that happen.
As far away from the cities as they are, the stars are almost unnaturally
bright. The grass is still warm, just like the earth underneath and just like
the two of them. No need for a blanket. Let grass stains come; it’s worth the
sensation on their backs.
Kitten breathes sweetness against Jensen’s nose, peppers little kisses. “I want
to be like this for you forever. I think that’s my worst nightmare—waking up
and you not wanting me anymore.”
“That won’t happen,” sighs Jensen. “I actually might like you even better all
grown up.”
“But what if I get all tall and ugly and...?”
“Impossible.” One hand on Jared’s cheek, mouth always-hovering in mid-kiss.
“I’ll love every inch of you, promise.”
Mainly, Jensen is surprised how the word makes him feel.
Jared just. He stills, then doesn’t stop moving or heating.
Jensen’s dizzy even before he gets an elbow in his face with how frantically
they suddenly need to take off their clothes, tastes a little blood because
they knocked teeth too hard.
Warm and clean and soft. Jared’s hands in his hair, vice versa, holding close.
It’s true, it’s true.
                                       ~
Jensen’s eyes open first.
The unfamiliar room confuses for the first waking moments, then he remembers,
then he closes his eyes again. Tests his hand, finds it wedged under-around his
kitten, warm-close under the thin scratchy blanket one of them must have pulled
over them half asleep last night.
Jensen curls up against Jared’s back, smiles into a first kiss to the back of
that slender neck at the slow memory of piggy-backing Jared upstairs. Jared
barely stirs, makes a face. His tiny bare ass smothers the hard line of
Jensen’s morning wood.
Jensen rolls his hips up-close and holds Jared tight.
Doesn’t take long for Jared to take notice of what is happening, turns
artistically wide over his shoulder to mutter his, “Hm, hey,” right up against
Jensen’s mouth, gets licked, licks right back. Makes another sound, even
sweeter than before.
Jensen holds him by the hips and humps up against that tiny tailbone.
“Mornin’.”
“G’mornin’,” hums Jared before he lets his head drop back into the pillow so
Jensen can eat at his neck much better.
Jensen runs one wide palm from neck to chest to side, back up the ribs, stays
with a quickly-stiff nipple.
“I dreamed’a you,” murmurs kitten, god, still sounds half-asleep, and Jensen’s
already defiling him again.
“And what did I do?”
“Was a road trip.” Gentle tip of hips, rubs right back against Jensen’s rut.
One darling hand on top of Jensen’s on his hip, the other reaching back to find
some hair to hold onto, to ruffle through. “Got me a red dress an. The car’s
red too, a pretty one. Got me a coke at the gas station, an’ then you ate me
out on the hood of the car.”
Jensen-smile groans into a fluff of hair. He kinda wants to get him a red
dress, now. Can see it already—pin-up pretty, cherry-mouth.
“Can we do that some day.” Not even a raise of voice, maybe won’t remember he
asked that later, still too dream-drunk.
But Jensen of course says, “Yeah, yeah,” ’cause Jensen’s a fool and there’s a
weird whirlwind in his stomach that makes his mouth all loose.
And his dick kinda wet.
The sun is already out but not present in their room, not behind the drawn
curtains or behind closed eyes. Jared’s rolled onto his belly easy (too easy),
one fawn-leg hiked up so Jensen can slot his mouth where he’s starting to feel
comfortable. Pushes morning stubble against baby-tender and kisses the night
from Jared’s furl.
“Nh, oh.”
Laps at bent-backwards cock, back to the other pink. Holds open, ruts himself
over the sheets. Jared hugging the pillow to his face means kitten wants the
deep kind of More and Harder, because otherwise those hands would be in
Jensen’s hair now, urging him on.
Kitten is sleep-soft and wants to be taken care of today, it seems.
God, Jensen is hard. “Gimme a second.” And heedless.
Half stumbles and half falls to his bag, unzips and digs until he finds, meets
Jared’s eyes over that sunburnt shoulder.
Jared looks torn between jumping up around Jensen’s throat all happy-crying or
staying down doll-pliant. He decides for the latter but can’t help propping his
ass up just a little higher, wets his eyes just a little damper.
“Mr. Ackles,” he says, breathless like Jensen just proposed to him.
The toy is so tiny but Jared is even tinier, and Jensen’s fingers are shaking a
little, his heart somewhere in his throat where it shouldn’t be, makes it hard
to move his tongue or lips or mouth.
“If it’s too much—”
“No, it’s, it’s—please. Please.”
The lube is strawberry-scented and makes Jared’s little ass even more candy-
pink than it already is. Barely a difference between toy and flesh, really.
Jared’s dick quiver-pumps through the press in. Jensen is mesmerized.
“Does it—”
Kitten’s faster, gulps, “No no no don’t stop, it’s good, feels good,” arches
her back deeper and deep under Jensen’s free hand, allows the toy to slot in
easier. There’s a breath being let out when it disappears for good. Suddenly,
all Jensen has in his fingers anymore is a slim-slim cord.
One thumb up against where he just slipped something into, and he licks his
lips at the easy give, the weight from the other side.
“Turn it on.” Almost inaudible, this baby-sighed deep into a pillow. “Please,
please turn it on.”
Jensen shudders in sympathy as setting One starts unleashing itself over the
clutch of his insides.
Baby’s first vibrator.
“Oh. Oh.”
Jared curls, tosses; he can’t keep still anymore now. God, Jensen can
relate—gets up to his knees while kitten squirms (still under his palm on his
lower back), grabs his dick with his free hand and starts jerking it liberally
now.
Huffs, “’S that what you wanted?” even though he knows better than anyone else
how obsessed with toys Jared is, how longing and big-lipped he stares at his
picture and link collection—bookmarks everything pink and girly, bunny and
heart shapes, glass, plastic, silicone.
And this one is only a mere bullet, maybe three and a half inches long, one
inch thick, and still he’s almost doubling over with his girl-high, “Yeah, yes,
yes,” whirls his hips blindly to maybe find friction for his neglected dick
that strains drippy against the sheets. Maybe it’s the thought, the
implications of this being a real toy and not what kind of toy, what does it
for Jared.
(Jensen later blames the sharp love-tap to Jared’s ass on sleep-deprivation.)
“God, baby, should see yourself right now, Jesus.” Can’t look away, doesn’t
want to; thumbs kitten’s ass open to see slick convulsions around the hair-thin
cord, that so-shy gape, and his hand is moving so fast on his dick this won’t
take much longer.
Jared’s ass looks good striped in white. Looks good humping back against air,
too, or when he cranes his neck back almost a hundred eighty degrees to be able
to look up to Jensen, all wonder and horny-flushed.
Jared’s eyes roll movie-pretty at setting number Two.
Jensen stuffs a pillow under Jared’s hips so that he has something to rut into,
and so he won’t break his back from pushing it out into the air so hard.
Those thighs quiver even before Jensen starts lapping his come off him, and
they’ve done some kinky shit before, yeah, but Jared honest to God has never
before made the kind of sounds he now puppy-huffs into the mattress.
Jensen can feel the vibration against the tip of his tongue, and he can feel
Jared’s insides sucking on it and the toy and everything he’d feed in here,
really, as he comes undone, untouched, on setting Three.
Jared states that he wants to wear it to breakfast, too. Chooses a baby doll
dress in white lace, makes Jensen secure the remote on a leg garter at the very
top of his thigh. Is already slicking up again when Jensen noses along there,
nip-pulls at sensitive skin.
Toast with strawberry jam, coffee with milk. Jared fidgets through it all and
makes Jensen want to get under that skirt with his hands. Or his head. Or both.
They take that to the porch though, the Hollywood swing—Jensen on his knees
with his sweats dampening quick and nasty where his dick is prodding up at the
front, Jared’s thighs opened so so far around his head, little naked feet on
Jensen’s shoulders. Plucks at his own tits until Jensen can’t take it anymore
and takes those over, too. Gets a throatful of come for that and licks his lips
for it.
They’re too dizzy to brush their teeth until two hours later. The toy is
already cleaned, dries on the edge of the sink, and Jared gazes at it with the
kind of hunger Jensen can’t even fathom anymore.
“I want one that’s.” And he stops, maybe to ponder how to put his fantasies
into letters. Falls gently back against Jensen’s chest, chews on his
toothbrush. “That kinda. Moves. Inside.”
“You want to get fucked with it.”
Jared leans over to spit and rinse, then comes up to look at Jensen’s
reflection.
“Yeah,” he says.
It’s too big, it’s too big, this is too much.
Past-Jensen was so worried and so thoughtful, it’s almost sad.
On his knees, chest flat on the bed and arms uselessly reaching back to cup the
backs of his thighs, Jared pushes back onto the toy quicker and earlier than
Jensen could have expected.
One fat glob of spit adds to strawberry, brings in some mint, and Jared sighs
like love for it.
If Jensen could blush anymore, this would be the time.
“More, more, please—” A gentle push and Jared’s keening, shoulder blades poking
out. “Yes, yes.”
Keeping his age in mind, Jared watches (way) too much porn and has been longing
for sex toys for (way) too long. Children shouldn’t be this greedy, right?
Jensen wasn’t like that, he thinks to himself.
Jared. Jared is burning up for it. Shared little secrets with Jensen before,
such a tiny glimpse into his teenage porn brain that Jensen still feels soiled
from it even though it’s barely been a glimpse—stuck in a small town, no access
to anything (still is a kid, for god’s sake); of course he dreams and starves.
(Jared told him the first time he stuck his finger up his ass and liked it, he
was maybe twelve.)
Jensen twists the toy so kitten can shudder around the friction, can make out
the shape. Straight but for the bulbous head; only almost-phallic. Just right.
Jensen starts slow. Watches the drag of kitten’s clutching body on the way
back, how easy it flirts back and forth in the air. Like the dildo is a hook
instead, a string to pull this puppet along.
Jensen is standing, naked, is hard again. He uses his right hand, the strong
hand.
“Gotta tell me when it’s too much,” he reminds, and picks up the pace.
Kitten is quiet. Her pussy isn’t.
Jensen watches her bite her lip. How her face is so so flushed, like her rim.
The latter stretches obscenely when he drags out to the fattest part of the
tip. Almost held open. Back in.
When the slight bend becomes too much, Jensen sits down on the bed instead,
brings his face in close to where slick is prominent and loud, makes his ears
ring and his dick twitch.
Mouth-ghost over tailbone; it sticks out so visibly. “Want me to make you come,
sweetheart?”
“Uh-uh,” Jared sighs instead, “Wanna suck your dick,” and, yeah, okay, yeah,
Jensen can get with that too. He fits himself underneath her, holds the toy
still until they’re settled, groans at the quick suction around the crown of
his cock.
“Baby, go slow, go slow,” and he mutters that with shut eyes and stutter-fast
wrist. His free hand roams along the long line of body on top of him, wants and
needs to feel everything, have everything.
Jared’s head bobs up-down-down like a dream, on elbows and knees and Jensen’s
eyes tear up.
He wakes to the grumbling of his stomach at three PM, gets them honeydew melon
and coffee and water and PBJ toasts with the crust still on. They eat in bed,
make out afterwards. They lose a spoon and Jensen eventually finds it stuck to
his back, between the pillows, hours later.
Hours blend. The sun falls. Jared wears a tight skirt and an airy blouse, blows
bubbles in the field while Jensen gets the grill ready. They blow some
together, and Jared laughs when Jensen tickles him all over, sets the table
like any good boy would. Tucks his hair behind his ear, blabbers about hair and
hairstyles and whatnot he’d like sometime, one day, when school’s finally done,
when he can finally be himself. Asks Jensen over salad and steak about his
girlfriends, what he loved about them, what they looked like. Jensen tells him
everything, everything he wants to know.
Jazz records. Jared listens politely, draped over the armrest of the sofa like
a drawing.
Pinks up at Jensen’s passing, “What music do you like, anyway?”
“It’s. I don’t think you’d like it.”
Jensen smiles around his glass. “Humor me.”
Sad women singing about all the things kitten wants to be, is, longs to be able
to retell one day. Jared’s Ipod spells toys and drink names, Lana and Melanie
and dolls, pussies and heartbreaks, and Jensen tries to sink into it with the
headphones in and his baby seated warm in his lap.
Only when he asks Jared to hook it up to the recorder, play it over the
speakers—then, it works.
Maybe has almost nothing to do with Jared mouthing along, fingers and toes
tapping, cheeks alit in dream-shades, lashes a little lowered so he can see the
pictures painted on the secret insides of his eyelids.
No, Jensen doesn’t like this kind of music, but he loves what it does to Jared,
and isn’t that almost the same?
Kitten says she wants to sleep outside tonight, if Mr. Ackles would like to
come along and that if not, it wouldn’t be a big deal; it’s just so magical,
she feels so free, you know?
They go back inside at five in the morning, when the sun starts to rise (way
too early).
Jensen has to sit up and choke on his heart, because the bed is empty. Runs
downstairs in nothing but underwear, but kitten’s nowhere to be seen.
He finds her on the porch, cradling a book and a cup of coffee, and so
surprised over Jensen’s sudden entrance that she almost drops both. Jared pulls
his headphones down and is flushing, hard, all the way down to his neck while
he stutters about how he wasn’t sleepy anymore and sorry, sorry, are you okay?
“I’m sorry for taking your shirt,” he vows in front of the stove, flipping eggs
for Jensen because he’s a housewife like that in some of his fantasies.
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s just—” Hasty inhale, frustrated huff. Wipes his hands on his cargo
shorts, the ones he wore in Jensen’s car. “It’s. I mean I like the dressing up,
but.”
“Does it get too much.” No question here; Jensen pales.
“No, I’m—look, I like being a girl but today I feel like this, so.”
Jared (kitten) gestures down his (her) body, has to explain how it works to the
man who’s exploited it for so long now.
It’s not often nowadays that Jensen crashes in it this hard anymore, but
sometimes he does.
Jared leaves him his space until they both can’t take it anymore. Tiny weight
in Jensen’s lap; God, he has to get lunch going soon. Kisses apologies into
Jared’s mouth, lets the kid hold him and tell him sweet things about the
structure and texture of all that wonder Jensen Ackles is to Jared Padalecki.
All sandwiches disappear. Then Jared keeps reading. Jensen eventually crawls on
the blanket to him, big-spoons him with his chin hooked on that baby-shoulder.
Lets Jared explain how he saw the book in the living room, thought he’d give it
a try; kinda likes it. Gandhi’s biography—Jared has all kinds of fleeting
interests, digs into everything and nothing.
He’s still so unbent, so open. Jensen envies that, but it pains him, too, to be
a (the biggest) part of what will change that eventually. Already is changing.
“You don’t think I’m sexy when I’m like this.”
An accusation that hits and hurts, hard, and Jensen can’t exactly recover when
Jared keeps looking at him like that, like he’s somehow sorry.
“No, it’s. It’s.”
They keep walking, side by side. Below the knee, Jared wears nothing but the
nail polish on his toes.
“It’s fine,” he murmurs after another mile, shrugs. “I wouldn’t fuck myself
either.”
Boy-thighs quiver up against Jensen’s, and even though Jared whines when he
shoots all over the living room rug, he doesn’t even try to shuffle away when
Jensen won’t stop. Sobs a little louder, maybe, but bucks his back like some
miniature bull. Maybe wants Jensen all plastered over himself, stuck to his
skin. Well, he’s certainly getting there.
“Hold this.”
Fingers take over on the toy, do exactly what Jensen asked for—hold, not move,
and Jensen comes weakly but he does come to this image:
Jared’s ass, spread wide around the rainbow colored dong that shouldn’t be this
hot, not in a million years, but it’s flush to that candy-rim and Jensen’s a
damned man, he is, he is.
Jared’s on his knees and face but it’s Jensen who’s pitiful.
                                       ~
“Promise you won’t forget. Promise.”
That this is not a one-time thing. That we’ll come back out here one day. That
you’ll still look at me like that once we’re back home. That you’ll smell wheat
and strawberries and think of me.
Jensen, seldom honest but honest where it counts, says, “I do.”
                                       ~
Jared’s got an impressive tan now, but the biggest achievement he’s taking home
is Jensen’s heart, on a string.
“I’ll miss you. God, I’m already missing you.”
Jensen tries to keep his attention on the road, tries not to glance over to the
wet in Jared’s eyes, to drown in the shy pluck-pluck of naked fingers on his
knee.
“Mister, let’s just turn around, they. They won’t mind, I could just...”
“For fuck’s sake, Jared, just call me Jensen already!”
He didn’t mean to say it that loud. (But meant to say it; has been for a
while.)
It makes Jared quiet. Doesn’t make him cry, no, but he’s especially gentle and
thoughtful on the last kiss. Shadowed in the parking lot, train about to leave
in what Jensen calculated to five minutes.
Kisses Jensen so so sweet like he’s the most precious, the most loveable, like
they have all the time in the world.
“I love you,” whispers kitten. “I love you so much.”
Jensen says, “I love you too,” and now it’s only three minutes left.
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