Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7809784.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural_RPF
  Relationship:
      Jared_Padalecki/Original_Male_Character(s)
  Character:
      Jared_Padalecki, Original_Characters, Jeffrey_Dean_Morgan
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Watersports, Feminization, Eating_Disorders, Implied/
      Referenced_Self-Harm, Snuff_Films, Implied/Referenced_Torture, Graphic
      Description, Dry_Sex, Unsafe_Sex, Implied/Referenced_Suicide, Voyeurism,
      Choking, Yeah_This_One's_Pretty_Fucked_Up
  Collections:
      Fuckpig_Verse
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-08-19 Words: 4123
****** Unknown Pleasures ******
by dollylux
Summary
     Jared's journey as a sexual deviant.
Notes
     Read the warnings. Please.
      
     (for you<3)
“Alright, half an hour, and then we go outside for recess. How many minutes is
half an hour?”
“Thirty minutes,” a few kiss-asses respond dutifully. Ms. Harper smiles and
retreats to her desk at the head of the classroom, leaving the students to
their own devices.
Jared looks around at the four other kids he’s supposed to be spending the next
half-hour-thirty-minutes with, his sharp eyes assessing them while they all
watch him nervously.
At only five years old and on the first day of kindergarten, Jared still
commands respect.
“I’m the Daddy,” he announces, no room for argument. The three other boys and
one girl nod, obviously. One of the boys leans on the toy kitchen sink.
“She’s the Mommy,” the red-headed boy says, pointing at the little girl with
dark eyes and darker hair smirking back at him.
“I don’t wanna be the Mommy.” She cuts her eyes over at the boy, raising her
eyebrows under her straight bangs and putting a hand on her hip, jelly
bracelets falling around her bony wrist. “I want to be the pool boy.”
“But we don’t even have a--” Red starts.
“You’re the Mommy,” Jared interrupts, pointing to the quiet, blue-eyed thing
still leaning on the sink, running his fingers over the plastic fruit. “Come
here.”
“Boys can’t be mommies!” Red exclaims even as Jared’s shy new wife shuffles
over to his side. “And we don’t have a pool!”
“Go to the bedroom and wait for me,” Jared tells his wife quietly, running a
hand over the boy’s bird-thin arm and searching his eyes like a good husband.
He turns his attention back to the argumentative one and the other
uninteresting boy and raises his eyebrows. “And you two are our sons. Go make
us some dinner while your Mommy and I make another baby. We want pizza. And
guacamole.”
“What do I do?” The pool boy has gathered up a toy boat and a plastic baseball
bat and looks fully confident in her finds.
“What’s your name?” Jared asks.
“Erica,” she says.
Jared grins.
“Keep the boys in line,” he tells her.
She smirks, tightening her grip on the bat.
“Got it.”
 
“What color?”
Jared looks over at the line of polishes Erica has set up meticulously for
Jared’s inspection, ordering them from red all the way through the rainbow to
pink. He squints over at them in the high afternoon sun from his pillowed
sprawl on the comforter from his bed right in the middle of the backyard,
taking his time and looking at every single color before he decides.
“That one,” he says, touching a finger to the Barbie pink, third from the last.
Erica grins from behind her matching pink heart-shaped glasses and grabs up the
nail polish, shaking it by beating it against the heel of her hand.
“Good choice,” she tells him authoritatively. Her teenage cousin had stayed
with her family for two weeks, and by the time she left, ten-year-old Erica had
become an expert in all things beauty and is now eager to try out her
education.
And Jared enjoys being pampered.
He rests a hand on her thigh while she paints his nails slow and careful with a
steady hand, the polish going on strangely cold on the hot summer day. She’s
working on his left hand and he’s practically dozed off when she stops, her
small hands still holding onto his long fingers.
“Hn?” Jared manages.
“He’s watching us,” she says quietly.
Jared, lazy as a cat and loath to stir, keeps his eyes closed even as his
curiosity is piqued.
“Who is?”
“That boy who lives next door,” she replies, resuming her work, focusing on his
pinky. “The little one. Dylan.”
Dylan is seven and has big, tousled dirty blonde curls and eyes the same color
as Erica’s “Play With My Mint” nail polish, and Jared has never heard him say a
word, even when he and his older brother come over to play.
Jared stretches out on the blanket, letting his legs sprawl a little more,
dragging one foot up so that his knee is bent and his basketball shorts fall
back on his tan thigh.
“Invite him over,” he tells her.
 
Dylan joins them on the blanket after some seriously sweet coercion from Erica,
and he tucks into the smallest corner of it with his little legs under him, his
cheeks flame red, his mint eyes decidedly down.
Jared’s eyes are open now.
“Let her paint your nails,” he says to him, blowing carefully on his own to get
them to dry faster. “She’s really good.”
“Boys don’t paint their nails,” Dylan practically whispers, his delicate hands
twisting in his lap.
“Mine are painted,” Jared shrugs, holding up one of his hands to show him.
“You can pick the color,” Erica offers, fixing the line of her polishes again
for Dylan’s perusal. He shuffles forward on the blanket and leans over to peer
closely at the polishes, taking what feels like forever before he lights one
virgin-nailed finger on a bottle.
The palest, softest lavender.
Jared smiles, pleased. He relaxes back against the pillow and closes his eyes
again, feeling Dylan’s watching him and basking under the attention more than
the sun.
 
An hour later, they all have freshly painted, dry nails, and Dylan is drinking
sweet lemonade from a straw under Jared’s watchful eye. Erica has fallen quiet,
tucking all her polishes back into her Caboodle with a smile, like she’s
pleased with Jared’s new pet.
“Has anybody ever done your hair?” she asks the boy, unzipping a pouch full of
scrunchies and combs and bright plastic barrettes. He pinks up again, his eyes
widening as he sucks hollow-cheeked from his drink.
He’s lost his words again, can only shake his head no. Jared chews on his
bottom lip and turns back to his Nintendo DS. His dick feels achy and stiff
between his legs.
 
Dylan’s curls are twisted up and pinned back with sparkly butterflies, and he’s
wearing Erica’s sunglasses by the time they retreat to the Padaleckis’ basement
to watch a movie. Erica puts Jared’s mom’s old VHS copy of Pretty Woman into
the VCR, and she climbs up onto the couch and sprawls out, leaving Jared and
Dylan to squish up together in the recliner, Dylan’s tiny weight mostly settled
on Jared’s lap and on his dick, something that has them both flushed and quiet
by the time the credits roll.
Dylan stays for dinner, still prettied up and wordless, and Erica pulls Jared
aside after ice cream, her dark eyes flashing with some kind of ancient
knowledge that has Jared’s skin tingling.
“Walk him home,” she whispers.
He can feel her watching from the window as he leads Dylan out the sliding door
and into the backyard, his hand on the boy’s back just like he’d seen Richard
Gere do to Julia Roberts.
“Can I see it?” Dylan asks, sudden and breathless, spinning around right under
the maple tree that separates their houses, safe in the shadows.
Jared feels tall and dark and dangerous, his heart hammering in his chest.
“See what?” he asks.
“Your thing.” Dylan’s pale eyes flick down to the front of Jared’s shorts, his
tongue flicking out over his Barbie-pink mouth, wet and nervous. “Your… your
penis.”
Jared’s pupils are wide in the growing dark but he can’t blink, can’t take his
eyes off of Dylan for a single second as he steps forward, invading his space.
“Get on your knees,” he tells him, quiet in case anybody is nearby.
Dylan scrambles to his knees, his little pastel-tipped fingers fanning out on
his thighs as he sinks down, staring up at Jared eagerly, his soft mouth parted
enough for Jared to finger, if he wanted to.
He pushes his shorts and his underwear down to his thighs, tugging up on his
shirt and shifting his hips out so his limp little cock is the most prominent
thing about him. Dylan’s eyes flash even bigger, and he’s shuffling forward to
get closer, so close that Jared can feel the hot wash of his breath.
“Can I kiss it?” Dylan whispers in a breathless shudder, licking his lips with
a slick tongue and watching the way Jared’s long fingers dip down to play with
it, to squeeze and grip it to try and make it get bigger.
“Say please,” Jared replies.
“Please,” Dylan sighs, in raptures by the time Jared gets his left hand at the
back of Dylan’s head and draws him forward, pulling until Dylan’s rosy little
mouth is bumping at his dick.
“Do it. Kiss it.” He smacks Dylan’s bottom lip with his chubby cock, loving the
sound of it almost as much as he loves the warm wet feel of Dylan’s hungry
mouth as it starts to kiss all over the head of his dick.
He guides him to kiss it all over, to kiss underneath it and at his shaky, flat
belly, and he’s breathing hard as he fattens up in his own hand, as an urge
overtakes him and he can’t do anything but follow his instincts, but tighten
his grip at the back of Dylan’s head and crowd in tight against him.
“Open your mouth,” he manages, forcing the tip of his dick just between Dylan’s
heartglasses-pink lips before he finally just lets go, letting out a low,
relieved groan as he starts to piss inside of Dylan’s mouth.
Dylan whimpers as the piss quickly fills his mouth and overflows in a pale
yellow stream down his chin and the front of his shirt, but Jared holds fast,
keeping him right here, on his knees and taking it. He aims back up and
splashes it all over Dylan’s face, soaking his long dark eyelashes and Erica’s
butterflies and down the pale, fragile line of his throat.
He slaps Dylan’s face with his dick when the stream is nothing but a trickle,
not wasting a drop, making sure it soaks into some part of Dylan, marking him,
owning him.
Mine, his mind demands in a low growl he won’t possess for years.
“Swallow it,” he orders, giving Dylan’s little head a shake with his grip on
those curls. Dylan shudders as he struggles to obey, his little piss-soaked
lashes sending teary streaks down his cheeks as his eyes close. He loosens his
hand and starts to pet Dylan then, stroking his curls back into fullness while
Dylan leans heavy against him, quiet like he’s asleep.
“Kiss it goodbye,” Jared says softly.
Dylan sniffles and reaches up to wipe his face before he tips his head to the
side and presses a tiny, shy kiss to the side of Jared’s dick, those bright
green eyes finding his own immediately after, seeking approval.
“Good,” he tells him, his voice warm.
Dylan stands up while Jared fixes his shorts again, not wiping his face
anymore, just letting the piss drip and slide all over him, letting it soak
into his skin where his shirt is drenched. He lingers so close to Jared, almost
like he wants to hug him.
“Rinse off with the waterhose before you go in the house,” Jared tells him as a
goodbye, and when he steps away Dylan falters, stumbling once before righting
himself. He nods, almost to himself, and he disappears into the shadows and to
his own yard, leaving Jared with an empty bladder and a new hobby.
Erica is still at the window when Jared returns to the house, and her smirk
tells him everything he needs to know.
He grins right back at her, shaking his head as he hurries to the back door.
 
“Aw, Jared, look,” Sherri says the next morning as they pile into the car to
head to the swimming pool. “I think little Dylan’s trying to get your
attention.”
Jared stops before climbing into the back seat next to Erica and turns to look
at the Andersons’ house. Dylan is there with his own mother on the front porch,
and Jared can see Dylan’s flushed face and his bashful smile from here. He
waves and Dylan waves back, a pageant wiggle of his fingers that make a third
grader look like a pinup.
Jared slides into the car, one of his dimples dug in deep while Erica grins
beside him, and he’s very aware of his dick right now, of the power he feels
because of it.
Something shifts in him, darkens.
 
Jared’s in love.
His name’s Daniel and he’s a transfer from some shit-poor town in Georgia that
grows starved, thin boys with long blonde hair who wear Echo and the Bunnymen
shirts and hoodies to cover their ghost-pale, slice-scarred arms.
“I want to eat him out,” Jared sighs from his sprawl on Erica’s bed, high on
Unknown Pleasures and weed stolen from her brother’s sock drawer. “I bet he
tastes like strawberry milk.”
Erica snorts as she brushes her newly platinum hair from upside down, and her
face is blood-red when she flips back over, letting it all settle wild and
fluffed around her shoulders before she sets in to tame it with her fingers.
“I don’t think he showers,” she tells him, usually one for allowing him his
indulgences, but he’s been obsessing over Daniel for a month now, and she’s a
little tired of it. “He probably tastes like BO and ball sweat.”
“Did you see what he had for lunch today?” He twists his head to look at her,
talking louder than his usual mumble to be heard over Ian Curtis. “A few bites
of a roll and three grapes from Jennifer A.’s tray. That’s it.”
“He’ll be in the hospital by Christmas,” she says, warm and sweet like it’s a
compliment. She’s being very careful with her eyeliner now, the second wing
turning out exactly like the first one. “Your Mandingo dick would tear him in
half.”
He sighs, hurt-whiny and real.
“Let me wear your Joy Division shirt tonight,” he says suddenly, turning over
on the bed, the long dark strands of his hair falling around his face before he
shakes them away. “Please?”
“You are so pathetic!” she exclaims, but her dark purple mouth is practically
beaming when she turns to look at him from her perch in front of the makeup-
strewn vanity. “It’s so cute.”
She pulls the shirt off over her head, leaving her in a lacy black bra and her
carefully destroyed jeans. The shirt lands on Jared’s head a second later,
smelling of roses and stolen cigarettes.
“You love me,” he says after he pulls the shirt over his head and tugs it down
his long chest, leaving a strip of his stomach exposed, his jeans so low that
dark hairs whisper and lurk just above the waist.
“I spoil you,” she clarifies, but she blows him a kiss in her reflection in the
mirror.
 
Mandy’s basement is almost completely dark and strewn with bored, demented
freshmen, and Jared can only lament that it’s too dark for Daniel to see his
Joy Division shirt.
He settles in next to his ghost boy on the floor and leans back against the
edge of the couch, trying to look like he doesn’t care about much of anything
while Erica curls up beside him.
“Hey,” he says while Matt and Sydney argue over how to hook up the VCR one of
them brought over, catching Daniel’s profile in the watery light from the lamp
across the room.
“Hey,” Daniel echoes, so soft, like he doesn’t have the strength for more.
Jared’s dick throbs in his jeans. He’s wearing that same black hoodie and his
dirty black jeans, his nails bitten back on his pale hands that keep tugging
and tugging at his stretched-out sleeves. His eyes are so light they look
nearly clear.
Jared takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, hoping Daniel can’t hear it.
He feels unsure and eager and so restlessly horny that he can’t even think of
anything to say now.
He’s just never been in love before.
“Yesss!” Sydney and Matt highfive as the TV finally comes on. “Hit the light.”
It goes pitch-black and a shitty quality, garbled video starts up, the sound
distorted and low. Everyone shuts the fuck up and shifts forward, all eyes
trained on the screen.
A girl comes into focus screen, naked and tied to a chair, her blonde hair wild
and in her face, her skinny body smeared with blood. There’s wire cutting into
her wrists bound to the arms of the chair and her pretty face is tear-stained,
her eyes wide and staring off-camera. She’s frozen.
Daniel makes a noise beside him, a tiny, wounded noise like a caught rabbit.
Jared shifts and tugs on his jeans as his dick stiffens between his legs.
Erica’s smuggled snuff film has every single person in the room entranced, even
Jared and Erica herself who have watched their fair share of these stolen tapes
from Erica’s uncle’s house.
She doesn’t know where he gets them, doesn’t know why there always seem to be
more every time she goes over, and she never asks.
A shadowed man comes in from the left, his knife already dark with blood, and
the look on the girl’s face makes Jared’s slit all drippy.
“Please,” she whispers. Jared feels the room move all at once, not a single
person breathing.
“Please,” Daniel breathes, an echo, an instinct. Jared glances over at him, at
his watery, unblinking eyes, at his lashes that are so blonde they’re
transparent. He so, so slowly brings his hand down to rest beside Daniel’s on
the scratchy carpet, the curved tip of his thumb skirting along the side of
Daniel’s bony, cold hand.
The knife slides down her cheek, her neck, and over the curve of her breast
before it slices through her tight, perfect nipples, first one and then the
other, cutting them off like they’re nothing.
Daniel moves closer to him as her screams turn to sobs and he presses right
along Jared’s side, his body tiny and shivery and not at all warm enough to be
a living person. Jared wraps an arm around him as his heart nearly races out of
his chest, his eyes trained straight ahead where the girl is slowly being
eviscerated, her cheerleader-flat belly split in half, spilling bright, slick
guts into her lap.
Daniel is like a live-wire now, his chest jumpy as he sucks in uneven little
breaths, one of his blue-veined white hands slipping between Jared’s legs,
closing right in on his dick that is blood-heavy and starve-hard, bulging
obscenely in the dark through his pants.
His lashes flutter but he forces his eyes to stay open, forces himself to watch
the knife’s journey down into the splay of her blood-slicked thighs, and the
way she’s pink inside is like something Jared has only imagined in his
sharpest, filthiest fantasies.
Daniel kneads his dick as his stale, whisper-pink mouth ghosts across Jared’s
ear, not saying a word but Jared hears the poetry of it, hears the plea in this
unwashed, fragile boy.
“I bet you’re just as pink inside,” Jared whispers, pressing a hand down on top
of Daniel’s, forcing him to rub harder, to grip him more. “Aren’t you?”
The girl’s blurred, raw-throated screams take over the room as Jared licks into
Daniel’s mouth for the first time, tasting acrid, dirty teeth and cloves and
wishing he had the guts to sink his teeth right into Daniel’s bottom lip and
taste his blood.
 
“Fuck me,” Daniel whispers against his mouth, his thin thighs clutched up tight
around Jared’s hips, his asshole dry and so fucking tight, too tight. “Make me
bleed.”
Jared grits his teeth and presses Daniel hard against the wall in Mandy’s guest
bathroom, trying to stay quiet while everybody else watches the video a few
feet away. His spit didn’t do much to lube Daniel up, but his dick is forcing
him open, punching into him and hollowing him out with each hungry thrust.
“Please,” Daniel breathes, so lifeless and light in Jared’s arms, like he’s
already gone, a corpse the second Jared touched him, a fleeting, painful love.
He drags Jared’s hand up to his throat, staring right into his eyes in the
faint moonlight from the window.
Choke me, his trembling fingers say.
“I love you,” Jared sighs as he comes inside of Daniel’s choking guts, staining
red with white and squeezing his delicate throat hard enough to make Daniel
soak their sweaty bellies with cloudy, weak spunk.
He pulls out and drops to his knees, his mouth open like a hungry dog as he
sniffs out Daniel’s popped cherry, tasting more blood than come as he starts to
suck him clean.
 
The first song Jared learns on guitar is “Interstate Love Song.”
He’s obsessive, playing until the tips of his fingers start to bleed and Erica
has to force him to stop so she can wrap them in Hello Kitty band-aids and beg
him to take a break.
He starts a band with Erica’s boyfriend Jordan, and they finally settle on
calling themselves The Burnouts. Jordan can’t do much but brood and groan out
lyrics, so Jared takes it upon himself to start writing songs instead of just
covering Soundgarden and fucking Silverchair.
He writes about sleeping too much and how much he hates pretty much everybody,
he writes about pretty boys and his insatiable cock and how ready he is to fuck
at any minute of any fucking day. He writes about Daniel and how he’s been dead
for almost two years, writes about Daniel’s ghost haunting him and the taste of
his blood and he writes about how much he hates Texas, hates high school, hates
himfuckingself.
Jordan decides Jared’s lyrics are way too goddamn gay and kicks him out of the
band.
Newly single and prettier than Courtney Love, Erica starts her own band with
Jared. They call themselves Happenstance, and Erica snarls out every word Jared
writes like they’re her own. They drop out of high school and hit the road when
school starts to conflict with potential gigs, and they’ve only been a band for
a year and a half when they land a job on a tour opening for a dirty-fuck metal
band called Bloody Rosebuds.
 
Filthy from the three hour drive from San Antonio and already so fucking sick
of Houston, Jared only knocks once before he opens the door to the closet-sized
dressing room at the bar they’re playing.
There’s a guy sprawled on the couch taking up one whole wall across from the
finger-smudged mirror, and there’s a boy of questionable age on his lap, moving
in practiced, deep curls that tell Jared this is not his first ride on a dick.
He stops in the open doorway, bag slipping from his shoulder, and his mouth
falls open as he starts to apologize.
“Nah, come on in,” the guy says, one hand on the boy’s tiny ass, tugging on it
enough that Jared can see his fat cock moving bare and slick in a hole so tight
it pulls out with every upward tip of the boy’s body. “You must be Jared.”
Jared closes the door behind him and leans back against it, absolutely
entranced by the scene playing out in front of him, his dick taking an
immediate interest in the sounds the boy is trying so hard not to make.
“Y-Yeah,” he manages.
“Jeff. Lead singer of the Rosebuds,” the guy says, his smile so content and
filthy that Jared almost blushes. “Go ahead and do what you need to do. You can
stay and watch if you want. Or you can have him next. He’ll be nice and broken
in when I’m done with him.”
“I bet he will,” Jared murmurs, taking a few steps into the room and hesitating
for only a second before he slides a hand across the boy’s curved back, drawing
a deep shiver out of him that makes Jeff groan.
Jared sits down on the couch next to Jeff, his bag kicked off to one side and
forgotten. Erica is back at the motel room, showering and getting ready in a
relatively clean space, and they’ve got three hours before they have to be
onstage.
He looks up and finds the boy’s eyes on him, and he holds that fuck-drunk,
teenage gaze as he undoes his pants and reaches in to pull his dick out. The
first stroke makes him sigh and settle back on the couch, the smell of dick and
young boy sweat making him feel right at home.
“Welcome to life on the road, boy,” Jeff says against his ear.
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