Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/289591.
  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, Supernatural_Reverse_Big_Bang_Challenge_2011
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-12-06 Words: 8138
****** Waiting On An Open Door ******
by BewareTheIdes15
Summary
     So maybe Jensen's soft for the kid, maybe that hard-edged hunger in
     his eyes makes Jensen a little weak. Maybe it's a little lame for a
     24 year old bartender to spend this much time thinking about an
     underage customer whose name he doesn't even know.
Notes
     First of all, thanks to the spectacular artylicious94 for creating
     this beautiful prompt and then subsequently creating even more
     fantastic art (and a playlist and a vid!) all the while putting up
     with my writerly insanity. It was an absolute joy to work with you,
     sweetheart! Everybody go check out all of the awesomeness of the art
     post and give love!
     Thanks also to my wonderful beta larenoz for knowing what I meant
     even when I didn’t and helping to make sense of this mess. And of
     course, none of this could have happened in the first place without
     aythia who was fabulous enough to help me claim the prompt in the
     first place!
     Huge thanks as well to my fabulous cheerleaders gedry and
     morganoconner for helping me get through this! I couldn’t have done
     it without y’all!
     Finally, thanks to the spn_reversebang mods for making this challenge
     happen!
     Art - Trailer - Playlist - PDF
                                 [Photobucket]
It's not the first time Jensen's seen the kid, not by a long shot. And he is a
kid, no matter how well he fakes it with that height and that body and those
eyes - those eyes that might as well be projectors in some XXX movie palace for
all the sex in them. It's hard to get right at his age, but 18 would be pushing
the limits of believability, even when he's done up right to fake it.
There's no mystery to how he keeps getting into the bar, though, not with that
ass stuffed into those jeans. Like everything else about the kid, they're a
good fake, but not quite good enough; ripped there and worn just so, the kind
of thing even high-dollar machines can't pull-off. Kind of thing that only
comes from wearing the same set of clothes too fucking much.
He's not dirty enough to be homeless but he's around enough that wherever he's
staying must be so shitty that getting hit on by skeezy guys ten years older
than him seems like an escape. Jensen wonders if it's his parents or a foster
place or if he's bunking down somewhere with some other street kids. There's
always the other option, and Jensen can't pretend it's not a viable one, that
the kid doesn't invite it, but sneaking into a dive where guys are giving it up
for free in the back hall isn't exactly the place he thinks an underage trick
would go to ply his wares. Also, thinking about the kid doing something like
that makes his stomach twist into fancy origami shapes.
They get along as well as a bartender can be expected to get along with a
teenage maybe-hooker when the only real contact they have is the kid yelling
his drink order across the bartop. He changes it up all the time like a game;
Jack and coke, tequila and tonic, slippery nipple, white wine spritzer, red-
headed slut, Red Stripe, vodka cranberry, vodka redbull, vodka peach schnapps -
he kinda got on a vodka kick there for a while. Perversely Jensen likes to pile
some fruit into whatever the hell he hands back across, even if it doesn't
really go with the drink. The kid looks like he could do with all the food he
can get and Jensen's never once seen him pass up a morsel.
So maybe Jensen's soft for the kid, maybe that hard-edged hunger in his eyes
makes Jensen a little weak. Maybe it's a little lame for a 24 year old
bartender to spend this much time thinking about an underage customer whose
name he doesn't even know. Also, you know, creepy. But then maybe that's how he
ends up in a brawl when he walks out the back door to throw a bag of trash in
the dumpster and finds some guy pinning the kid to the wall; one arm bent up
behind his back and this desperate, scared look on his face.
Maybe that's how he ends up leading the kid back to his apartment like a stray
puppy while his own skinned-up knuckles scab over in the cold. He really
doesn't know whether to file any of this under the pro or con column.
The kid is either completely chill about the whole situation or still in shock
and Jensen honestly can't tell which. He gives Jensen's place a cursory look
around - admittedly, there's not much to see - and hesitates for a quarter of a
second before flopping onto the couch like he owns it. Very, very much like a
stray puppy actually. The building was damn clear on their pets policy when
Jensen moved in.
"So," the kid says, like it's actually a statement instead of some random blurt
of sound to fill the oppressive silence.
Jensen really ought to say something better than, “So,” in return, because he’s
not actually a teenager on his first date – there are too many wrong directions
for that idea to go to even contemplate – but he’s got nothing. Zip. Nada.
Luckily, the kid’s doing a little bit better because next he comes out with,
“I’m Jared.”
Hey! Names! The kid has a name! So does Jensen! Isn’t that a totally logical
step that any not-idiot would take after bringing a complete stranger back to
their home? Jensen rules at this being-an-adult thing.
“Jensen.”
“First name?” The kid – Jared - hitches up an eyebrow. All this time Jensen’s
been assuming Jared had blue eyes, or maybe green, the lighting in the bar
makes it hard to tell. Now’s probably not the time to get hung up on the fact
that they’re not quite either, more like hazel. Very pretty.
“Yeah,” he sort of mumbles, trying to focus on anything that’s not directly
related to ‘Jared’ and ‘pretty’ bumping up against each other in his head.
“Cool,” Jared nods, keeps it up for an extra few seconds like he’s listening to
a song pitched too low for Jensen to hear. “You got any food?”
Jensen does much better with a goal in mind – maybe he’s the one in shock
instead of Jared? – shifting through the assorted take-out boxes in the fridge
to see if there’s anything that hasn’t started to build its own microcosm. Has
he mentioned how hard he rocks at being a responsible grown-up? Bringing home
possibly-dangerous potential child-hookers in the middle of the night to feed
them pad thai of questionable origin. If his mother could see him now.
“Um, there’s some fried rice that’s probably still good, a couple slices of
pizza. Uh, orange juice… Canned soup! I have canned soup.”
“Whatever you want,” Jared shrugs and Jensen ignores the way it could be an
invitation because it’s not.
Heating up the soup is a good distraction, lots of little inconsequential steps
to keep him occupied. Open the can, get a pot, light the stove, add the soup,
add the water, stir, stir, kick the stove when the gas-flow wavers, relight the
burner, stir, stir. In the meantime, Jared apparently gets bored - can't
imagine why - slithering off of the couch to rummage around in the DVD
collection under Jensen's second-hand TV. He pops in a bootleg samurai movie
that Chris picked up from who knows where and never remembers to take home with
him, settling on his back on the floor with his elbows propped under him and
his legs kicked wide.
All he's got on is that same pair of jeans that hug him in all the right -
wrong - places, and a black t-shirt that maybe would have fit him when he was
twelve, assuming he hadn't reached Jolly Green Giant proportions by then. After
all the time he’s had to watch Jared shake what he's got on the dance floor or
work it up against some guy in a dark corner, Jensen wouldn't have figured that
just lying there like that would make the clothes seem more obscene. The worn-
thin denim is pulled tight with the way his thighs are spread and now Jensen's
not only got more information than he ever needed about which side the kid
prefers to hang on, he can say with a reasonable level of certainty that
Jared's cut too. And that things would shape up to be very much proportional.
Dragging his eyes upward ought to make it better, but with the way this night's
going, Jensen's not so sure why he's surprised that it doesn't. His place is
cold, he's more than intimately aware of that - there's a reason he hasn't
taken off his jacket yet - but seeing the evidence of it in the two tight,
perky little nubs of Jared's nipples suddenly makes the room feel a lot warmer.
Then again, that might be the soup bubbling over onto the burner.
Disaster averted, Jensen finally settles down on the couch himself with a bowl
of chicken noodle in each hand. Jared scrambles up at the promise of food,
eagerly taking a bowl and probably burning the hell out of his mouth on the
first greedy spoonful.
They eat in relative silence, small grunts exchanged every now and again over
the sound of katanas clashing on the TV and surges of Japanese that's nothing
but babble to Jensen. He's seen this before a couple of times, but he couldn't
say what the hell is going on at the moment, subtitles flashing along the
bottom of the screen unread. Instead, he's all too aware of the slurping sounds
Jared's mouth makes around the spoon, how it purses against the curve, tongue
flicking out to catch a stray salty trace now and again. His body radiates heat
into the couple of inches of space separating them, close enough that Jensen
can see the raised hairs on his forearms, the cold, purplish tint of the bed of
his fingernails. He's stuck halfway between wanting to bundle the kid up in a
parka and wanting to rip every scrap of cloth off of him and use his own body
for friction-heat.
It's fucked up and his lizard-brain can provide every bit of 'most models are
teenagers and it's their job to look bang-able' and 'you only think it's wrong
because society says so; biologically, he's plenty old enough' and 'he's
probably more of an adult than you with all the crap he must have gone through
to have ended up here' it wants, that still doesn't make it ok when Jared sets
his empty bowl on the floor beside his feet and flops back into Jensen's
shoulder, mouth immediately slotting up to the pulse-point hammering below his
jaw.
His mouth is insanely hot from the soup, soft and wet, giving up these tiny
suckles that would almost be innocent if he wasn't a mumble-teen year old kid
who may or may not get paid for access to his ass.
"Stop," Jensen yelps, a second too late and a dozen decibels too loud. Jared
startles back, this look in his eyes almost hurt for a second before they
shutter. "This isn't... you don't owe me ok?"
"Oooookay," Jared drawls slowly, a furrow cutting its way along his forehead.
He blinks at Jensen a couple of times hard and turns his attention back to the
movie except for how he's actually still watching Jensen out of the corner on
his eyes. After a minute, that wrinkle smooths out and when Jared's face turns
back to him, it's skeptical. "I'm not renting, you know."
Now it's Jensen's turn to blink. "What?"
Jared rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically - so goddamn adolescent Jensen
wants to put on some Nirvana and Sharpie his nails black - slumping into the
butt-sprung couch cushions. "I don't fuck them. Unless I like them. Mostly I
just let them buy me food and play nice. Say I'm going to the bathroom and
ditch if it gets hinky."
"Worked out well tonight."
Jared scowls and when he turns his head he's not looking at Jensen on the sly
anymore but he's probably not directing all that thunder at the wall on its own
account either. "Yeah, well, he was smarter than he looked."
"So you just scam guys into taking care of you?"
Jared tosses him a look that could out-calculate a super computer and a shrug
that would maybe have come off as casual without that expression as a scouting
party.
Scoffing might not be the right move here, but Jensen really can’t help
himself. "And this is supposed to make me trust you?"
It gets him another one of those sighs that irrationally make him feel like his
father’s going to be banging on his bedroom door any minute as Jared leans in.
Jensen’s already as close to the arm of the couch as he can get without
chemically fusing with it so he has nowhere left to go when Jared pushes in
close enough that the cool tips of their noses touch, his words a warm rush
across Jensen’s lips.
"It's supposed to make you get that I want to make out with you. You're hot,
and I like you. We could have some fun." Wet heat shocks a gasp out of Jensen
as Jared’s tongue tickles at the corner of his mouth. Jared doesn’t waste the
opportunity, slipping deeper inside to lick at the roof of Jensen’s mouth,
velvet-roughness of his tastebuds rasping against Jensen’s. He doesn’t even
realize that he’s kissing back until he feels Jared’s hand settle on his jaw.
It takes way more effort than those skinny limbs of Jared’s would suggest to
back the kid off again, both hands planted on his shoulders and shoving.
"Don't you have parents or something?" isn’t the most eloquent – or sensical –
thing he could say to follow that up, but he’s still a little breathlessly
stupid. Jared has a very talented mouth. Shit, don’t think about it, don’t
think about it.
"Nope,” grins Jared, “I'm a gift from God." He slings one leg across Jensen’s
hips as he says it so he’s suddenly straddling Jensen’s lap; long and lithe and
tempting. The words ‘unmitigated disaster’ ring loud in Jensen’s head.
"Stop," he says, maybe a little too weakly, but the palm he plants against
Jared’s chest should be clear enough.
It’s not, of course; at least not enough to dissuade Jared from running his
fingers in erratic patterns over Jensen’s torso through his shirt.
His "Why?" is a pouty-lipped tease, hips wiggling just a little bit on Jensen’s
lap. Unbelievably unfair.
"Because you're a child," Jensen snaps back, as much a reminder to himself as
it is to Jared.
That pout turns into a narrow-eyed scowl, nothing put on about it. "I'm old
enough."
"Not even close."
Jared’s glare remains in place for a long second before slowly melting into a
knowing smirk. Jensen doesn’t even realize where the kid’s hand is moving to
until it palms his junk, wide and long-fingered and ridiculously hot, just this
side of too rough. "But it's turning you on."
The pressure of his hand steals Jensen’s breath for a second, but his dick –
which hadn’t exactly been uninterested before – is more than happy to respond
for him, twitching out its approval against Jared’s fingers. He’s close to
Jensen’s face, his lips dragging against Jensen’s chin, cheek, mouth, just
taunting at a kiss that Jensen wants badly not to want.
Still, he’s a grown man, he’s not completely ruled by his cock. Most of the
time. Admittedly a little more now than usual, but not quite enough to get over
the fact that he’s got an obviously screwed up teenager sprawled all up in his
business, trying to goad him into something. And Jensen is nothing if not
stubborn.
There is an undeniable brand of satisfaction – if not quite the kind his balls
are demanding - in seeing the bald-faced shock in Jared’s expression when
Jensen suddenly stands, dumping the kid off of his lap and straight onto the
floor.
"Not going to happen,” he says firmly, pointedly not adjusting himself even
though his hard-on is trapped at a weird angle against his hip. If looks could
kill, Jensen would be a crispy-fried corpse from the glare Jared’s shooting
him.
He looks vicious and pissed, but also cold and underfed, an animal that’s used
to being backed into a corner. Damn but Jensen’s a sap for it. “Now look, you
can sleep here if you want, whenever you want, provided you don't steal
anything or get high or bring guys back here. But that's all it is."
Stupid, doesn’t even begin to cover it; maybe the dumbest offer he’s ever made
– he’s got zero reason to trust Jared and the last thing he needs is the kid
dragging trouble around into his neck of the woods - but it’s out there now and
he can’t bring himself to take it back. Not with that wary, wanting spark in
Jared’s eyes.
"Your own personal charity case," Jared snipes back like Jensen can’t see him
turning it over in his head; out of the elements, safer than a shelter, food,
TV.
"Bingo," he fires, just to satisfy some fiery spiteful impulse inside. The damn
kid’s had him on the ropes all night without even trying.
Jared sneers, "Fuck you," but he doesn’t move any farther than to lift himself
back onto the couch again, arms crossed huffily over his chest.
"Staying or going?" Jensen shrugs, like he doesn’t care one way or the other.
Because he doesn’t, not for any reason besides not wanting to see the kid get
hurt. He’s already halfway in the bedroom when Jared grumps, “Fine,” as if he’s
doing Jensen a favor.
Before he shuts the door, Jensen takes the time to snag a hoodie from the pile
of folded laundry he’d left on the dresser and tosses it at Jared’s head.
“And put some damn clothes on!” he shouts with a grin just before the door
bangs shut behind him.
                                 [Photobucket]
Jared doesn't live with him, except for how he kind of does. He doesn't have a
key or anything - Jensen may be stupid, but he's not that stupid - so most
nights he just waits on Jensen to finish up at the bar and they walk to
Jensen’s together and neither of them says a word when Jared follows him inside
and gets comfy like he has a right to be there. Some nights he doesn't even
come to the bar, just hangs out in the apartment all night doing God knows
what, which usually turns out to be watching movies and/or the porn he keeps
showing up with.
Jared doesn't actually do anything, as far as Jensen can tell, which doesn't do
a damn thing to stop him from randomly turning up with cash to help with food
or, as he so eloquently puts it, "whatever." He definitely doesn't go to school
because one Thursday morning Jensen finally got fed up and asked and Jared told
him no. He hasn't really asked anything since, mostly because he's scared of
the answers, and also partly because it doesn't really feel like it's his
business.
That's maybe the most messed up thing of all about all this, how Jensen's
practically raising the kid and still barely knows anything about him. He's
picked up bits and pieces of things randomly in conversation - he's pretty sure
Jared's either a foster kid or his parents were so awful he refuses to
acknowledge them since he mostly says stuff like "at this place I lived". He
basically doesn't mention people, past or present; not anyone he grew up with
or teachers he had or neighbors, not the guys who buy him drinks or the ones
whose cigarette smoke and cologne he sometimes crawls into bed with Jensen
wearing.
And yeah, that's another thing isn't it? The bed situation.
He was doing a really good, respectable, non-molest-y job of making Jared bunk
down on the couch before the kid went and developed this habit of just sort of
showing up next to Jensen in the middle of the night. Usually he'd say he was
cold or something and Jensen's always been a heavy enough sleeper that he
couldn't crawl all the way out of his dreams to argue the point. Lately Jared's
been pushing it even more, climbing into Jensen's bed before he even gets
there. Sometimes Jensen kicks him out, sometimes he's too tired to fight about
it or too much of a sucker to wake Jared up when he looks so peaceful - so damn
innocent - splayed out like a starfish across Jensen's sheets.
It's a problem because Jared's a damn good conman and a hell of a lot more of a
creeper than Jensen could ever dream of being. He apparently has no qualms
about getting handsy with Jensen in the middle of the night, and Jensen's woken
up more times than he'd care to remember halfway to a really spectacular orgasm
with soft, coaxing lips against his, or wrapped sweet and hot around his dick.
He's actually had said spectacular orgasm more than once because of it, because
evidently his body is siding with Jared and refuses to let him properly wake up
and remember why he's not supposed to be doing fucking up into the kid's
throat. He tries really hard to be mad afterward, but it’s mildly impossible to
be pissed after a hot guy wakes you up with a blow job just because he felt
like it.
He’d say he’s surprised that Jared keeps trying but somehow he’s not. As far as
he can figure, there are only two kinds of people in Jared’s head; the ones who
want him and the ones who don’t. The ones in the first group he doesn’t seem to
have any qualms about playing like a penny-arcade and the others he basically
ignores all together. The best Jensen can guess is that he confuses Jared,
considering he clearly wants to tap that – he’d really like to be a little more
subtle about that, but it’s not like Jared makes it easy – but still refuses to
even when it’s on offer; some sort of puzzle box scenario that Jared just can’t
put down. That’s his theory anyway, because the only other answer he has is
that Jared makes absolutely no sense and that’s not particularly comforting
considering how significant an element he’s become in Jensen’s life.
The thing is, he’s pretty well convinced that Jared’s not actually that slutty.
Sure he goes through the motions and all, but he seems to have gotten the
‘tease’ part of the act down pat considering how many guys at the club stare at
him with that unguarded kind of need that speaks of conquering the unknown.
There are whole hours at time when they’re hanging out around the apartment or
at the little diner down the street when he can actually see Jared forget that
he’s supposed to be this sexpot extraordinaire and just lets himself be some
guy that Jensen knows. He likes that guy actually, a lot better than the
cockslut persona, and when he’s not busy trying to bodily fend Jared off he
gets the impression that the kid actually likes him too.
He’s not sure that makes anything easier in the least, considering the way
Jared’s all over his life like graffiti. It would be bad enough if Jared was
just hot and off-limits, but throw in the moments of unguarded charm and
openness, the fact that drop-out or not, he’s whip-crack sharp and witty, funny
and, secretly, sweet… yeah, no, this shit is bad.
Also, Jared has those eyes. Those goddamn eyes that play peekaboo under barcode
lashes and plead ‘don’t you want me?’ and purr ‘I know you do’ all at the same
time. It just wrecks Jensen – all the time, every time – until he can’t even
tell which way is up anymore. He has a sinking feeling Jared knows all about it
too.
It’s either late Friday night or ass-early Saturday morning when Jensen rushes
out of the bathroom from showering off the stink of booze and stale peanuts,
already scrambling for clothes because Jesus H. it’s cold, and finds Jared
spread out naked on top of the bed. He’s got to be freezing to death but if so,
he’s hiding it well with all of the flushed skin and the sweating and
everything.
And Jensen can’t actually think. Words, symbols, squiggly little mental
sketches of an idea – nope, he’s tapped out. Nothing in his head but Jared and
the thick knot of three fingers he’s got shoved up to the knuckle in his
pretty, clenching ass. His dick is dark red, so hard it gives Jensen sympathy
pains just to look at it. Or maybe that’s the way his own cock has said fuck
you to natural physical processes and skipped directly from soft to cut-
diamonds hard, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars. Huh, maybe
there’s something to this whole ‘turned on as all fuck’ thing Jared’s got going
– Jensen certainly isn’t feeling the cold right now either.
Head tossing on the pillow – Jensen’s pillow – Jared moans, “Jen.”
If he’d had to take a guess before now, Jensen would have guessed the kid would
lay it on thick, all porn-voice and exaggeration to get what he wants, but it’s
not. It’s breathy-soft, ragged, and it just might be the most honest thing he’s
ever heard come out of Jared’s mouth. That fact’s not doing a whole hell of a
lot to discourage Jensen from crawling up the bed and getting his dick
surrounded by all that nicely-prepped heat.
Jared really is hell on his self-image; kinda hard to convince himself he’s not
a friggin’ pedo when his dick is leaking over a kid whose age he doesn’t even
know. But he looks like a little piece of a very fucked-up corner of heaven
spread out on top of the covers and Jensen can’t resist getting a hand on him.
Lips drawn back on a snarl, Jared hisses from it like Jensen’s stroking his
dick instead of fingering little circles into the soft hollow of his knee-cap.
“C’mon, Jensen!” He bucks up against the push of his own fingers, shiny-wet –
talks will be had later about going through Jensen’s drawers to find the bottle
of lube he has laid out beside him – and pistoning. His lips are parted on
messy little gasps, bright pink like he’s been chewing on them but it’s his
eyes that hang Jensen up – always; what is it with his fucking eyes?
It’s just, they’re so glassy and genuine, completely uncontrived in the plea
they’re boring into him with. Every hint of Jared he’s ever gleaned from stolen
moments is laid bare there, asking for nothing more than him.
The mattress groans when Jensen knees his way up onto it. His fingers skip up
to Jared’s neck, fever-hot under air-cooled sweat. He can feel the delicate
ridges of Jared’s throat, the machinegun patter of his pulse and in that one
hot sandblast of a second, Jensen’s sure he’s going to give in.
“Tell me something true about you?” pours out of his mouth, twice as desperate
as anything Jared’s spat at him yet.
“Jensen!” is all that gets snapped back. Jared’s free hand snakes around to
palm the back of Jensen’s thigh, his ass, his spine, anything to try and drag
in in those last couple of inches that would press them together. Jensen digs
in against the sick twist in his gut saying how good it would feel to just let
it go and give Jared what he’s been literally begging for for weeks now.
“Come on, just something, Your last name,” he tosses out, no clue where the
fuck he’s even going with this beyond the fact that forward is the one
direction he can’t afford. Jared’s face twists up in a grimace but he doesn’t
back off any with the pawing. “Fine, your middle name.”
Jared’s mouth pops open but the breath he drags in moves in slow motion, a
long, drawn out moment where Jensen can see the tumblers clicking in his head,
deciding.
“Tristan,” he bites out, low like he’s hoping Jensen will miss it.
“Tristan?” Jensen cocks up an eyebrow. That’s not even a real good lie, which
says maybe it’s the truth, but Jared’s nothing if not unpredictable.
“Yeah, Ross,” Jared glares back.
“How did y-“
“Went through your mail.”
“You little shit.”
“Jensen! Seriously!” Jared sits up, one hand on the bed for balance, the other
making a grab for the back of Jensen’s neck to jerk him downward. He’s
obviously frustrated, nostrils flared white and Jensen’s really screwed if he’s
thinking that’s cute.
He goes with it anyway, letting Jared manhandle his head down until their
mouths are pressed together.
“I’m not gonna fuck you,” he whispers into Jared’s as it opens for the push of
his tongue.
Jared all but yells in his face, incredulous, “I wasn’t lying!”
“I believe you,” Jensen promises, kissing softly at Jared’s lips. Pissed or
not, they follow him with soft, nibbling touch, all that anger evaporating into
a hungry whimper. “But I’m not gonna fuck you.”
A dismayed groan gets wallpapered to the inside of Jensen’s cheeks. “Why?”
The throb of Jensen’s cock echoes the question. Silently he tells it to shut up
and act its age. “Because I don’t fuck people I don’t know.”
Lube sticky fingers find his skin, relentlessly tugging him until he’s laid out
half on top of Jared like that’s going to make the difference.
“Such a goddamn asshole,” Jared mutters, wet and slurry where their tongues are
still mostly curled together.
Jensen’s doing a not-quite-good enough job of keeping his leg from brushing up
against Jared’s hard-on, scalding-hot and twitchy. Every time, Jared moans for
it, greedy-eager and jumpy like he hasn’t gotten laid in a month.
“Bathroom’s over there if you want to take care of that.” His murmur gets a
little lost in a trail of tiny, wet kisses he’s painting down Jared’s jaw.
It should feel weirder than this, he imagines, to let himself do this after
holding back for so long, but it’s not. Maybe because he’s used to having Jared
all up in his shit at all hours of the day and night or maybe because of the
soft, naturally responsive way that Jared shivers when he finds a particularly
good spot. Whatever the reason, with the limit set out there now, Jensen
doesn’t feel all turned inside out over it. Actually, he kind of feels like
he’s winning something.
“Could take care of it right here,” Jared dares. His teeth tug at Jensen’s
earlobe just heard enough to send syrupy heat oozing down Jensen’s spine.
Wherever he learned how, can’t deny that the kid’s got skills.
“You could,” allows Jensen, nosing at the underside of Jared’s jaw until his
tips his head back and gives Jensen more room to work.
“You’re gonna leave the room if I do, aren’t you?”
“Yep.” Jensen smothers his smile against the silky curve of Jared’ neck.
“Such an asshole,” Jared huffs, not quite terse enough to cover the sound of
amusement in his own voice. He shoves Jensen off unceremoniously, snagging his
damp towel off the floor on the way to the bathroom as well.
The door clicks shut just a little harder than necessary, but the last thing
Jensen sees before it does is the sparkle of a challenge in Jared’s eye.
                                 [Photobucket]
Jensen didn’t really intend for it to become a thing, but then he hasn’t
managed to have much of a vote in anything that goes on between him Jared up
until now, so he guesses maybe he’s starting to get used to that. That’s
probably why he doesn’t do anything about it when Jared sidles up next to him
in the kitchen the next morning and informs Jensen that his favorite color is
blue before taking a ten minute break to suck on Jensen’s bottom lip.
It’s not the best idea in the world to encourage this kind of behavior, but it
also goes a long way toward keeping Jared in line. He doesn’t make nearly as
many surprise guest appearances in Jensen’s shower or suggestions about what he
could do on his knees behind the bar without anyone noticing. And that’s
something. A weird, fucked-up something, but still.
Over a bowl of maraschino cherries – no clue what the nutritional content is on
those things but Jared could probably eat a vat of them given the opportunity –
and the babble of a sparse Tuesday night crowd he finds out that a girl nameds
Erin Schrader taught Jared to tie cherry stems in a knot with his tongue in the
seventh grade.
He discovers Jared’s love of plaid simply by virtue of Jared digging more plaid
than Jensen had ever realized he owned out of some forgotten recesses of the
closet and wearing it all. Likewise he finds out that Jared has bigger feet
than him but is staunchly undaunted in stealing Jensen’s cowboy boots anyway.
A House marathon on the couch one afternoon yields that he has a weakness for
medical procedurals and guys with Australian accents as well as his favorite
band and the fact the he can leave an incredibly glaring hickey when motivated.
The Spurs/Mavs games reveals that he's a Spurs fan - what the fuck, right? -
and that the scar high on the inside of his left arm is from a driveway game of
shirts vs skins. He only gets as far as "my br-" when it gets to who he was
playing against but Jensen can take a guess at where it was going and it makes
his chest tight in a way that's got nothing to do with the snarling fierceness
of Jared's teeth plucking at his lips.
And at 4am on a Sunday morning, Jensen finds out that Jared is 16 years old
from the officer who calls Jensen to come pick him up at the police station.
The two bus rides back to the apartment is the longest period of time he's ever
heard Jared be silent for. This too reminds Jensen of being back in high
school, except this time he's stuck in his father's role with the stern
disapproval. It really sucks. He makes a mental note to apologize the next time
he calls home for all the times he stuck his parents in this position.
The wind is still bracing but the pavement's soaked through where it's finally
getting warm enough for the patchy remainders of snow and ice to turn liquid
again. The steady drip of it off of gutters and overhangs follows them the
twelve blocks from the bus stop to their front door like a despondent rain.
They make it an extremely commendable three steps through the door - Jensen
even makes sure it's shut and locked and everything - before he snap.
"What the hell were you thinking?" Great, now he even sounds like his father.
"I was thinking 'fuck you'." Jared shrugs him off, sloughing off a Carhartt
jacket Jensen's been bundling himself in since high school. He pokes his head
into he fridge, clinking around among the minefield of takeout containers with
no apparent goal.
"Oh, like hell are we just going to ignore this," Jensen hisses, discarding his
own damp coat on the back of the couch.
"Back off, Jensen," is mumbled at him from somewhere between the three
teaspoons full of milk left in the carton and a jar of pickles Jensen doesn't
remember buying.
"Jared Tristan Padalecki!" He tosses out the name the cop had given him with
edgy relish, a heady, spiteful thrill slicing though him when it stops Jared
cold. The look in his eye when he turns around in nothing but caged fire.
"Back. Off. Jensen."
The refrigerator door whumps closed, a muffled clatter following as that stupid
fucking ketchup bottle falls over a-fucking-gain. There really need to get some
more food in there, if for no other reason than to keep shit from banging
around all the goddamn time.
"No. Not this time. You don't get to come in here and take over my life and
mess me up and get fucking arrested for fucking shoplifting and then just blow
me off about it. Whether you like it or not, you're a kid and I'm responsible
for you!"
"I'm not a goddamn kid," Jared hurls back, "and you're sure as fuck not my
parent!"
Three long strides and he's close enough that Jensen can feel his heat,
palpable waves of anger gnashing at Jensen's skin.
"Yeah? Why don't you tell that to the cops who called me in the middle of the
night to come fetch you?" comes out staccato and low, swallowed up by the curls
of Jared's breath he can feel against his lips.
"Why don't you tell it to your dick?" Jared bites out, almost mouth to mouth,
"It doesn't seem to be getting the message."
For proof his palm molds against the soft shape of Jensen's cock as it
obediently starts to thicken up.
Jensen's hand fists in Jared's - his own; he seriously does not remember owning
this much plaid - shirt, skin-warmth bleeding through cotton into his knuckles.
"Don't you dare throw that back in my face! We never did a single damn thing
that wasn't you jumping all over me like you're dying for it."
All the air in his lungs rushes out on a particularly rough squeeze of Jared's
fingers but it's not enough to erase the sight of that slapped-in-the-face
expression Jared had worn for a second.
"Well you won't have to worry about me molesting you anymore," Jared growls at
him, not actually releasing Jensen for another long second. When he does, cold
air rushes into the space he vacated all down Jensen's front so fast he
shudders.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Take a guess," he snaps, grabbing for his jacket again.
Jensen's stomach gives a sick roll as he watches Jared tug the collar up around
his ear, already heading toward the door.
"Jared." He tries for stern but it comes off kind of shaky and doesn't seem to
get him anywhere, so his next, "Jared!" ends up with a slightly panicked edge.
Not that it matters, because Jare'ds hand is on the doorknob and he cannot be
serious. He can't. He's not actually stupid enough to walk out of here and god
sleep god-only-knows-where over one argument, is he?
Slamming his own arm against the door to bang it shut again just as it starts
to open might not be the smartest thing Jensen's ever done. Then again, it's
not like he's made a plethora of smart moves since Jared waltzed into his life,
why break the streak?
"Move!" Jared shouts, yanking at the door hard enough that Jensen almost
stumbles from the recoil, has to press his whole body back against it to close
it again.
"You're not going anywhere."
"Fuck you, you don't own me!" The shove Jared gives him doesn't accomplish a
whole hell of a lot considering Jensen's already plastered to the door, but it
does get his hand off of the knob . Where it ends up is flat against the wood
just beside Jensen's head as Jared sidles up close again. Mixed signals for
$400, Alex.
"You want to be an adult, then be one. Stop running away like a spoiled brat!"
It's a shot in the dark, but a fair enough one. Jared's age, the whole
situation, kicked out or ran away are the only two real options. And he has a
hard time imagining anybody could make Jared do anything he didn't want to do,
get lost least of all.
The fractured look on Jared's face says he didn't quite hit the mark, but he
wasn't too far off either. He doesn’t back down, though, - when does Jared ever
back down? – stays right up in Jensen’s space stealing all the breathing room.
"Is that where you've been getting your money all this time?" He makes it soft,
less of an accusation than it has a right to be.
Jared shrugs awkwardly, eyes on the floor. God, it would be a hell of a lot
easier for Jensen to figure out what the ever-loving hell he’s doing if Jared
would quit blindsiding him with the fact that he’s barely old enough to drive.
"Jared. You didn't have to do that."
"Oh please,” Jared says with an eyeroll they’ve got be feeling out in
California, “I know what you make and I've seen the bills. I don’t know how you
were making rent when it was just you you had to feed."
"I was making it work," Jensen replies defensively. It’s a little lame
considering that every single word Jared just said is true, but that isn’t the
kind of thing that Jared should have been worrying about. And they really need
to talk about this going through Jensen’s mail bullshit.
Jared levels a glare at him that sets Jensen to wondering how exactly this
scolding got turned around on him. "No, you weren't. And you shouldn't have to.
I wanted to help."
"So get a job."
"Who's gonna hire me? I'm a kid, remember." The bitterness in his voice floats
across the smidgen of air between them, triple-axels and sticks a ten point
landing right on the back of Jensen’s tongue. He doubts he could pull of that
level of jaded at his age; on Jared it just looks all wrong and way too at
home.
"No,” rolls off his tongue, soft and disturbingly true, “you're really not."
Like ice breaking under his feet, he can feel when Jared cracks around the
edges. He leans – collapses – forward into Jensen, face buried against his jaw,
breath shaky and splintered. His hands are on Jensen like he’s the only thing
keeping Jared from floating away when it seems more like he’s about to crumple
to the floor instead. Tomorrow there will probably be bruises, but then that
wouldn’t be a first for them. Jensen just loops his arms around Jared’s
shoulders and lets him.
"I just-“ Jared chokes, swallows, tumbles out the rest like it’s being squeezed
out of him, “I didn't want to be this thing you had to take care of."
It hits him harder that it has any right to. All this time he’s been giving
himself grey hairs trying to make sure Jared didn’t feel used and instead
Jared’s been sitting there thinking that Jensen didn’t want him? Sure, it
didn’t start out that way maybe, - “Your own personal charity case” - but
somewhere along the line Jared went and spot-welded himself to Jensen’s life
and Jensen, hell, Jensen doesn’t even remember how to not want Jared right
where he is. Right where he belongs. Now how fucked up is that?
"Jay-"
"Can we just,” he jumps in before Jensen’s even figured out how to say what
needs saying, “just forget about this now? It's over, it's done, I promise not
to do it again, ok?"
He’s got the tires squealing in reverse as he says it, a thousand miles of
lonely space between them if there’s an inch. Blushing too, which is new and
screwed-up cute. It hangs Jensen out to dry somewhere between the urge to
ruffle Jared’s hair and kiss him breathless.
What he says instead is, "Ok."
By the time Jared peels out of his jacket for the seconds time Jensen’s feeling
a little sea-sick from all the back and forthflip-flopping. Jared ends up
standing sort of awkwardly in the middle of the room with it in his hands
before he seems to come to some sort of decision. He disappears into the
bedroom for a second, back again, pillow and blanket in hand.
Jensen’s brain misfires a couple of times watching, so it’s not until Jared’s
already got the pillow and blanket spread out on the couch that he manages to
ask, "What are you doing?"
The answer is pretty obvious but that doesn’t make it make any more sense.
Jared not meeting his eye isn’t helping matters, 100% focused on toeing out of
his soaked sneakers and socks. "I just, I thought it might be better if I slept
out here."
His bottom lip is pink where he’s been chewing on it and there’s a dire wrinkle
set into the middle of his forehead and it’s all kind of the most hilarious
thing that Jensen’s ever heard. Jared, the kid who single handedly reversed the
gravitational pull of Jensen’s universe, who crept his way into Jensen’s life
and bed and heart with an intensity most people reserve for diffusing nuclear
devices and he’s nervous about bunking down on the couch.
Now, there’s a fair chance that Jensen might be getting played here – Jared’s a
hell of a lot smarter about getting what he wants than anyone his age has any
right to be. On the other hand, Jared also has this tendency to take everything
that Jensen’s sure he knows about him and turning it inside out at the least
expected moment. So really, the only solid thing Jensen has to go on here is
what he wants to do. Wow, been a while since that happened.
"Jared,” he sighs, turning away toward the bedroom to hopefully cover the smirk
on his face – having the upper hand for once is kind of fun, “If I'm going to
sleep with you, I'm doing it in our bed."
Of course, being turned away means he misses whatever happens that causes
Jared’s ass to meet the floor three inches in front of the couch with a heavy
thump. He chooses to imagine it has something to do with the flabbergasted
expression on Jared’s face and not looking at where he was about to sit.
"What?” Jared asks, total shit job of covering the hopeful disbelief in his
voice. “Jensen?"
“Look, I’m not saying…” he stalls out trying to figure out exactly what it is
that he’d been going for here. There’s a whole lot of crap they need
desperately to work out, and whole lot to consider before making a leap into
some kind of official, illegal relationship or whatever the fuck. And somehow
with Jared looking at him like he holds the key to the land of eternal
happiness, that really doesn’t matter all that much. “I’m not saying anything,
ok? But this, whatever else it is, it works for us.”
He crosses over to where Jared is scrambling up so fast he nearly gets tripped
up again on the tangle of his own legs. The look that meets him when Jensen
settles a hand on Jared’s hip, for the first time ever pulls him closer of his
own free will, is a mismatched selection of earnest and desperate and
triumphant.
“One day I really, really want to know your story,” Jensen says, fingers
skating over the curve of Jared’s cheekbone, “One day I want to know
everything. But it doesn’t have to be today, alright?”
Jared’s nod is only a little bit reluctant, almost entirely overwhelmed by the
brightness sparking in his eyes. “Ok.”
“Good.” Jensen can’t help but mirroring Jared’s blossoming smile right back at
him. “Now kiss me, go brush your teeth and get ready for bed. It’s been a long
damn day.”
“Ok,” Jared says again and somehow Jensen suspects that the warm curl of
anticipation shaping the work doesn’t have much to do with the new brand of
toothpaste Jensen decided to buy.
For the last couple of months, Jensen’s been living on the assumption that
Jared is a great kisser with the way he just throws himself into it and gives
it all up. Obviously, he was wrong. Jared is a fucking spectacular kisser,
like, a goddamn, motherfucking savant over here or some shit. It’s all licks
and sucks and just devouring Jensen whole until the air in his lungs goes
honey-thick and he sort of forgets he’s supposed to be standing up, nearly
crumpling before he ends up pressed bonelessly against Jared’s chest instead.
Christ.
“I-“ Jared huffs against Jensen’s parted lips, heart hammering its way up to
1,000 RPM through the sternum fitted tight against Jensen’s, “I really like
you, you know?”
It comes across like a secret, so keeping with tradition and all, Jensen lifts
up onto his toes to capture Jared’s mouth again, licking at the words he’s
starting to suspect but didn’t quite hear.
“I really like you too,” he murmurs back, trying not to tamp down a giddy
headrush because he’s not Jared’s age; that shit is not okay.
With an effort of will he deserves an incredibly impressive award, or maybe
just sainthood, for, Jensen pulls back, giving Jared a light shove in the
general direction of the bedroom.
“Toothbrush, bed, sleep. Get moving.” There’s a slight possibility that the pat
he gives Jared’s ass might involve copping a teeny-tiny feel too. Jared doesn’t
look like he minds.
Actually he looks like he wants to eat Jensen for dinner.
“How ‘bout just the first two?” he smirks, posing against the bedroom door
frame.
“Does this look like a negotiation to you?” Given that Jensen’s eyes lose track
of time somewhere around the little V of skin peeking out from between the last
button on Jared’s shirt and the waistband of his jeans, it probably does. Damn,
this whole night just seriously messed with Jensen’s already tenuous control of
this situation, didn’t it?
Jared doesn’t dignify that with a response, just turns and walks into the
bedroom with way more swing to his hips that strictly necessary, door a gaping
tease behind him. Like there was ever any choice in the matter, Jensen follows.
                                 [Photobucket]
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!