Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/903937.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural_RPF
  Relationship:
      Jensen_Ackles/Jared_Padalecki
  Character:
      Jared_Padalecki, Jensen_Ackles
  Additional Tags:
      Age_Difference, Under-negotiated_Kink, Praise_Kink, Non-Negotiated_D/s
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-30 Words: 8274
****** Write Me A Way Into Your Life ******
by jackles67
Summary
     Jared's a lonely, attention-starved kid and Jensen moves in next
     door. Jared does whatever he can to get Jensen's approval.
Notes
     Written for this prompt: "au where jared is the lonely kid next door
     and jensen is the surly shut in writer who wants nothing to do with
     him. jared is sort of starved for attention and any praise from
     jensen is like a Big Deal and he'll do anything to please him."
     It sort of got away from me. Doesn't really look like the prompt at
     all anymore, actually, but you know. Oops.
     Betaed by the lovely Dani. Any remaining mistakes are mine.
The house next to Jared’s has been empty since Ms. Adler died six years ago.
Jared was ten and it was the first funeral he went to. The whole thing is a
blur of exaggerated sad-faces and hiding behind his mother’s skirt while
everyone spoke in hushed tones around him. Jared drew Ms. Adler’s overly made-
up face, nestled in carefully around curls over the coffin’s satin cushion and
his mother gave him a strange look.
Jared gets a lot of strange looks. His mother says it’s because he watches
people too much - “don’t stare, honey, you’re making them uncomfortable.” Jared
thinks it’s because he’s weird - too tall, all angles - from his slanted eyes
to his awkward elbows to his long, slender fingers and his too-big feet. He
draws himself like that - like an overgrown bat, spindly and spider-like, and
his mother doesn’t say anything. She hasn’t hung up one of his drawings on the
fridge since long before Ms. Adler’s morbid portrait.
Jared hasn’t shown his parents any of his new art. They wouldn’t approve -
neither of them find Jared’s comic book obsession appropriate, and Jared
stopped bringing it up years ago. It hasn’t been so much of an issue since he
turned fifteen and his parents decided he was old enough to be left alone in
the evenings and, more recently, the weekends.
Jared’s sketching a page for his latest attempt at a full story, curled up on
top of his desk, pressed against a pillow crushed into the sliver of space
between his window-sill and his giant drawing lamp. It’s Saturday night, which
means Jared’s got the whole night to himself. There’s a bowl of peanut butter
covered ramen beside him - leave a kid alone for enough meals, and he’ll come
up with some interesting tastes - but Jared hasn’t looked up from his
sketchbook in a half hour.
When Jared finally has to roll the crick out of his neck, he has half a page
sketched out, outlines of stylized characters and dark, threatening buildings
towering over them. His main character’s sort of a superhero, only not - Jared
doesn’t have it worked out just yet. He lets his eyes travel over the dark,
familiar shape of Ms. Adler’s house - and freezes when he sees a light on in
the bathroom.
He knows it’s a bathroom because he has a clear view into it from his room -
has a clear view into about half of the second floor and a part of the kitchen,
actually, and it used to freak him out that he might look over at any moment
and catch Ms. Adler taking a bath or making tea or getting dressed, so he used
to keep his blinds pulled at all times back when she was alive. Since she died,
Jared’s taken to staring at that old house, picturing the empty, dusty rooms
behind the closed, faded blue shutters.
Tonight, the shutters are open and there’s a light on in the bathroom. Jared
leans closer until his breath is fogging up the glass and - there, right in the
bathtub, is a man. Probably the most beautiful man Jared’s ever seen, sitting
fully-clothed in a dry bathtub, balancing a laptop on his knees and staring up
at the ceiling. Jared tries to get a closer look and smacks his head on the
window.  
“Fuck!” Jared yells, rubbing at the painful soon-to-be lump on his forehead. He
cringes when the man in the bathtub jerks his head down, sharp gaze landing
right on Jared. Jared can just make out light eyes, blue or green, Jared’s not
sure, and dark blond hair, short and messy, before he realizes that if he can
see the man this clearly, the man can probably see him.
Jared topples back off his desk and swears again when the small of his back
lands on something small and pointy - a pencil sharpener. Goddammit. When Jared
manages to pick himself up enough to peer over the edge of his desk, the light
in the bathroom is off. The light in the kitchen’s been turned on, but the man
is nowhere to be seen.
Jared considers going next door to apologize, but he finds himself reaching for
his sketchbook, turning to a new page, sketching out a rough bathtub-like
shape.
It doesn’t occur to him until the next morning, after he’s already slipped the
drawing and note under what used to be Ms. Adler’s front door, that making a
creepy drawing of someone is perhaps not the best way to apologize for
accidentally spying on them.
This is why Jared’s mother says he needs to work on his social skills.
***
The man introduces himself as Jensen - doesn’t give his last name - when Jared
and his mother catch him rushing from his car to his front door one morning.
Jensen doesn’t crack a smile, barely even shoots Jared a glance as he
disappears into his house, but he doesn’t bring up the whole creepy spying
thing, so Jared counts it as a win.
Jensen. It sounds familiar, sounds like a name Jared might have seen in a
newspaper, in a textbook, typed somewhere in black on white. He sneaks over to
Jensen’s mailbox at three in the morning and reads the name on a plain white
envelope - Jensen Ackles.
Jared finds the name in his father’s library - he remembers reading this book,
actually, remembers loving it. It was a mystery but the mystery was never all
that important, the crime only a backdrop for the real story, a love story that
ended somewhat less than tragically. Jared rereads it and remembers exactly why
he loved it in the first place - the heroine, a twenty-something woman whose
aunt is murdered in the first chapter, feels like someone Jared could be
friends with. Jared remembers thinking he was sort of in love with her - he
first read the book back when he still thought he was straight - but now he
recognizes this for what it is: the feeling that he could be himself with this
fictional character, that he’d give anything just to meet her, hang out with
her, sit around and feel left out with her. She’d be someone else to be lonely
with.
Jared can’t stop staring at Jensen after he rereads the book, and he quickly
decides that Jensen’s trying - and failing - to write another book. Jared sees
him pacing in the kitchen, staring at his laptop while he drinks cup after cup
of coffee from an old grey percolator, sitting in the bathtub night after
night. He never seems to wear anything other than an old ratty suit, sometimes
has a cigarette in his hand.
***
A few weeks after Jensen moves in, Jared’s mother calls him down to the living
room. She’s peering out through the gauzy curtains, manicured hand holding them
aside so Jared can see what she’s watching.
Jensen is standing in his overgrown lawn, a hand-pushed lawn mower standing
beside him, thoroughly tangled in thick grass. He’s wearing a different suit,
still wrinkled and messy. Jared’s mother tsks and shakes her head, turning away
from the window and grabbing her purse.
“Jared honey, why don’t you go over and help that poor man out?” She doesn’t
bother waiting for an answer, just heads for the door, calling over her
shoulder “I’ll be home late tonight,” as she disappears, leaving the front door
wide open. Jared watches through the window as she waves politely to Jensen
before driving away.
Jared gathers some semblance of courage and goes outside.
“Need some help?”
Jensen turns to scowl at him. Jared didn’t think faces were supposed to be
attractive while scowling. He wants to draw this moment, wonders if he could
get Jensen to scowl at him for a while. Somehow, he doesn’t think it’d be too
hard.
“You wanna mow my lawn?” Jensen asks, and damn, his voice is low and gritty
like he hasn’t used it in years. Jared nods eagerly, stepping forward.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll do it. Let me just get our mower, it’ll be easier, I don’t
think this lawn’s been mown since old Ms. Adler died. I’ll just- I’ll be right
back.” Jared’s aware that he’s babbling, and Jensen’s staring at him with a mix
of confusion and something uncomfortably close to regret on his face, so Jared
turns and half-jogs back to his own garage to get the lawn mower.
When he gets back, Jensen’s gone, but the front door to his house is open. It
takes Jared close to an hour to get the lawn back to a reasonable state,
another half hour to get it looking near-pristine. He’s sticky with sweat and
pink with exertion when he finally puts the mower away but he doesn’t care - he
has an excuse to go into the house he’s been trying not to stare at for the
past few weeks.
Jared knocks softly at the door frame before walking into the house, turning
left into the kitchen to find Jensen on a stool at the counter, a notebook and
pen sitting neatly in front of him.
“You done?” Jensen asks without looking up.
“Yes sir,” Jared answers, craning his neck to see if there are any words on the
page. It’s blank.
The silence between them stretches out, and Jared finds himself desperately
trying to think of any excuse to stay, to talk to Jensen.
“You need me to do the back?”
Jensen raises an eyebrow at him and Jared blushes, pointing out through the
window at the overgrown backyard.
“Not gonna pay you.”
“That’s - that’s fine. It’s no trouble, really. I’m good at - I like doing
garden stuff. Like doing stuff with my... hands.” Jared sort of peters out as
he realizes he’s babbling again, barely making sense. Jensen just stares at him
until Jared adds an awkward, “I’ll go do that then,” and leaves him alone.
Jared can only really get away with mowing Jensen’s lawn every couple of weeks,
but he goes over to work on the garden almost every day. He’s not terrible at
it, and sometimes Jensen sits on the back porch and pretends to write. He’s
started wearing jeans and sweatshirts instead of the suits, and Jared thinks it
suits him. Jensen even gives Jared a cup of coffee every once in awhile, and
it’s the best goddamn coffee of his life - rich, dark, with a hint of cream
that barely lightens the deep black to burnt caramel.
Jared’s not used to drinking coffee, and after the first time Jensen offers him
one, he finds himself wide awake at two in the morning, bouncing his leg and
tapping his pencil while he stares blankly out his window. Jensen’s not there -
his car’s been out of the driveway since ten and Jared wonders if he went to a
bar, if some girl or guy managed to pick him up, if he’s fucking them right
now.
The thought has Jared reaching for his sketchbook, turning to a new page and
snapping open his pen. He starts with the long, graceful curve of Jensen’s
back, doesn’t stop until he’s looking at a sleek, naked Jensen curled over a
faceless, anonymous figure. Jensen looks somewhat predatory, almost feline,
like the person spread out under him is the prey he’s just caught. He’s not
looking at them - Jared drew him with his eyes closed, face shut down in
concentration, teeth sinking into his bottom lip - and Jared finds himself
hoping that Jensen doesn’t care who he’s fucking right now. Hoping that maybe
Jensen’s picturing someone else - his neighbor’s sixteen year old kid, for
example.
He adds a few details - has to improvise for the exact pattern of freckles over
Jensen’s shoulders, but he knows just how Jensen’s fingers curve and tighten,
knows the bow of his legs and the length of his eyelashes.
By the time Jared’s done drawing, he’s hard, one leg sprawled back over the
desk to make room in his jeans. He puts the sketchbook down, doesn’t take his
eyes off the pen-and-paper Jensen as he grinds the heel of his palm down over
his cock. He lets his eyes half-shut as he imagines being spread out under
Jensen, letting Jensen curl over him like that, cover him completely, press him
into the ground as he fucks into him.
Jared drags his nails down his own chest, biting back a groan when he passes
over a nipple before letting his fingertips dip down into his boxers. He flicks
the button of his jeans open with a thumb, pulls the zipper down slow, teasing,
vibration against his cock drawing a moan from deep in his throat. He lets his
eyes slide shut, imagines Jensen’s the one touching him, doing whatever he
wants to Jared, making him take it.
It doesn’t occur to him that he’s sitting up against the window of a well-lit
room until he already has his cock in hand, and at that point he knows he
couldn’t stop if he tried. He wonders if Jensen came home, if he’s standing in
his kitchen watching Jared right now and the thought sends a flood of heat
through Jared’s bloodstream, cock growing impossibly harder.
Jared finds himself imagining that Jensen told him to do this, that Jensen -
with his gruff, detached voice - told Jared to sit in front of his window and
get himself off where Jensen could see. It’s such a good fantasy, almost
possible, and Jared barely needs a few more strokes, slippery with precome, to
be coming over his fist, cursing through clenched teeth as pleasure explodes
down through his body.
Jared deliberately doesn’t let himself look out the window until he’s cleaned
up and changed into his pajamas. The lights in Jensen’s house are all out, and
Jared tries to convince himself what he’s feeling is relief, right up until he
notices Jensen’s car sitting in the driveway. He scans the windows - bathroom,
bedroom, kitchen - but it’s impossible to see into the dark house.
Jared goes to bed exhausted, but there’s excitement fluttering behind his belly
button and it takes him hours to find sleep.
***
The next afternoon, Jared barely manages to distract himself. It’s the last
week of school and Jared spends the walk over trying to think of other excuses
to come over, but it all gets pushed out of his mind the second he sees Jensen.
Jared searches those green eyes, lets his gaze rove carefully over freckles and
the stubble that’s slowly becoming a beard but there’s nothing, no hint that
Jensen saw anything unusual last night.
Jensen sits on the back porch with a cigarette while Jared tries to cut back
the huge patch of brambles behind the big oak. He thinks there used to be a
swimming pool back here, but right now there’s just what looks like a huge
ditch filled with leaves. It gives him an idea - maybe Jensen would like a
pool, and maybe if Jared can talk fast enough, Jensen won’t have time to say
no.
Jared turns to go back up to the house, stripping off his thick garden gloves,
only to find Jensen holding Jared’s sketchbook. Jared brings it over every day
- brings it everywhere, actually - but Jensen’s never asked to see it before.
The sketchbook is open and Jared just knows which page Jensen is looking at
before he even reaches the porch. He can feel a blush starting to cover his
face, spreading down his neck as he realizes Jensen’s probably seen the
picture, probably thinks Jared’s either a kid with a dumb crush or a total
creep. Jensen snaps the book shut before Jared can check that he’s right,
though, and hands it back to Jared.
“It’s good.”
Jared feels an immediate rush of warmth at the words, cheeks going hot all over
again, face splitting into a smile he couldn’t hold back if he tried. Jensen
rolls his eyes and takes a drag off his cigarette.
“You shouldn’t draw people without their permission,” Jensen tells him, and
stands to go back in his house.
“Hey, can I try to dig up your pool?” Jared blurts, before Jensen can disappear
again. Jensen raises an eyebrow, scanning the back yard like he didn’t realize
there was a pool in there - it’s possible - and nods curtly before slamming the
door behind him.
***
Jared leaves his sketchbook open sometimes, when he drops it on Jensen’s porch.
He knows there are probably other ways to get feedback on his art, but he wants
Jensen to see the pictures. They’re getting wilder, lately - lots of men, men
who look a little like Jensen, some who look a little like Jared, some who
barely look human - men embracing, men fighting, men curling in on themselves,
faces twisted into pleasure or pain or both.
Jensen never makes more than a passing comment, but they’re good comments.
Sometimes it’s just a quick nod, sometimes “good”, sometimes he tells Jared
what he should work on, what he could do better. They’re not really art things
- Jensen seems to like Jared’s style just fine - they’re always about the
people Jared draws. Like Jensen sees them as characters and Jared hasn’t quite
captured them yet. Jensen’s always asking why, why this guy’s sucking on a
cigarette like it might be his last, why this man has his hands wrapped around
his own neck.
When Jared says he doesn’t know, Jensen looks at him for a long time, like he
should have a better answer.
***
Jensen never really greets Jared, just wanders out onto the porch when Jared’s
already there, but lately he’s been wandering out earlier and earlier. Jared’s
taken to bringing food over - Jensen doesn’t seem to eat during the day, though
Jared’s seen him standing in front of his fridge at three in the morning eating
what looks like takeout straight out of the container, so he knows the guy
eats.
Jared’s food has always drawn strange looks, but Jensen doesn’t comment -
accepts Jared’s banana-mint cookies and ritz-cracker-nutella sandwiches like
they’re totally normal. He even tastes a few of Jared’s creations, and every
time he goes back for seconds, Jared can’t hold back a pleased smile.
Jared once tried to bum a cigarette off Jensen - thought it would make him seem
cooler, more mature or something, but Jensen just said “no” and frowned at
Jared all day after that, so Jared doesn’t try to be cool anymore. It’s just as
well; he’s never been good at it.
***
Jared gets Jensen’s number a few weeks after school lets out. He’s been working
on the garden every day, taking breaks to sketch his progress - and Jensen,
lying on his old wooden porch swing with his laptop balanced precariously on
one knee, faded jeans stretched tight over his sprawled legs, worn-thin green
t-shirt riding up over one hipbone. Jared draws him sleeping but he’s not, he’s
staring up at the ceiling of the porch, a small frown creasing his face.
Jared decides he needs a new shovel and maybe to ask someone who actually knows
anything about pools whether this is a lost cause. He tosses his sketchbook on
the kitchen table that Jensen’s dragged out to the porch and comes to stand in
front of Jensen, who shifts his gaze to Jared without losing the frown.
“I need to go to the store for some stuff,” Jared announces, and Jensen nods,
digging in his pocket to produce a set of keys.
“Take my car. Here, call me if you need something.” Jensen scrawls his number
on a page torn from his ever-present notebook, presses it into Jared’s hand
with a fifty dollar bill.
Jared blinks at him, but takes the money and keys. He doesn’t add that he
hasn’t driven since the day he got his license.
Jared calls Jensen that night. He’s sitting at his window, watching Jensen pace
back and forth across his kitchen floor, faster and faster, more and more
frantic, downing cup after cup of coffee. He starts when the phone rings,
scrambles to get to it and then just stands in front of it, staring, as it
rings 3, 4, 5 times. When he finally picks up, Jared can detect a faint note of
hysteria to his voice.
“Ackles.”
Silence. Jared can’t seem to find exactly what he wanted to say. Something like
put down the coffee or maybeI’ll do anything you tell me to. Yeah, that sounds
right. Instead, he clears his throat and whispers a quiet “hi”.
Jensen’s eyes fly up to Jared’s window, and then the kitchen light flicks off
and Jared’s left staring at a dark house. The line’s still connected though,
and Jared can hear Jensen breathing, can hear what sounds like footsteps going
up stairs.
“Why are you calling, Jared?”
“I just - you seemed like you were, um, like maybe you needed some company. Or
something.”
There’s silence, then a short bark of laughter and Jared feels his face growing
hot before Jensen’s bedroom light comes on. Jensen’s sitting on his bed, not
looking at his window.
“Do you just sit in your room and watch my house all night, Jared?” Jensen
sounds amused.
“Um...”
“You’re pretty creepy for a sixteen year old, you know that?”
Jared feels his heart sink a little, and he thumps his head back against the
window sill.
“I know. I’m not - I could stop if you want... I used to watch the house before
you lived there,” he adds lamely, trying not to sound like a kicked puppy.
“It’s okay. I don’t really mind.” Jared sees Jensen turn onto his stomach, one
hand still holding the phone to his ear, the other disappearing under a pillow.
Fuck, his ass looks good in those jeans. “It’s a Friday night. Why aren’t you
out with your friends?”
Jared snorts. Jensen makes a sound like he’s conceding the point.
“I could come over,” Jared offers before he realizes what he’s saying. He can
picture it, though - Jensen letting him in through the back door, taking him
upstairs... Jared’s not sure what Jensen would do, what Jensen would be like,
just knows that he wants it. He wants Jensen to look at him, really look at
him, and take what he wants.
“What?” Jensen sounds almost panicked, which makes no sense at all but it’s not
exactly a rejection.
“I mean, tonight. Right now. I could come over and we could -”
“Jared, go to bed.” Click.
***
Jared goes over to Jensen’s the next day and just hopes Jensen won’t kick him
out. So, he crossed a line. It’s not like they can’t get past that, not like
Jared can’t make it up to Jensen. There are, in fact, about a thousand ways
Jared would love to make it up to Jensen.
Jensen sits on the porch and watches Jared start to rake piles of leaves out of
the pool, which is looking more pool-shaped by the day. Every time Jared looks
up, Jensen is still staring straight at him, and it brings a flush to Jared’s
cheeks, a hint of embarrassment underlying the pleasure of someone, of Jensen,
noticing him.
Before Jared goes home, Jensen calls him over to the porch swing.
“You proposition a lot of older guys?” It’s spoken so casually that it takes a
second for the words to penetrate.
“What?” Jared can feels his eyes going wide, cheeks flaming red. “No!”
“Good.”
That word again - every time Jensen says it, every time Jensen expresses any
kind of approval for something Jared’s done, Jared gets this flutter behind his
belly button, this warmth in his chest, something hot and thick flooding his
bloodstream. He knows he can’t keep his reaction off his face, doesn’t even
bother trying.
Jensen raises an eyebrow, almost questioning, and Jared just blushes harder,
shifts uncomfortably. He sees the moment comprehension dawns on Jensen’s face,
the way Jensen’s forehead smooths out and his face gets that intense, focused
look, eyes running down Jared’s body to the way his sketchbook is clasped in
his hands, low over his hips - an unsubtle attempt to hide the effect Jensen’s
having on him.
Jensen seems done with the conversation, so Jared turns to leave, more confused
than ever.
***
It’s so hot Jared’s pretty sure his t-shirt’s going to dissolve off his body,
carried away by the rivulets of sweat running down his neck, down the center of
his back, plastering his bangs to his forehead. He throws a quick glance at the
porch to make sure Jensen still hasn’t come out before peeling the shirt off
with a relieved sigh.
There’s a nearly nonexistent breeze but it’s just enough to give Jared a hint
of relief, sweat cooling his skin as he digs out what appears to be a stump
from the bottom of the pool. Jared doesn’t look up until he’s victoriously
tugging the gnarled, two-inch-wide mass of roots out of the pit and throwing it
onto the pile.
That’s about when he notices Jensen - sitting on the back steps, cigarette
sitting forgotten between his fingers, dark eyes fixed on Jared. A shiver goes
up Jared’s spine, an unfamiliar awareness of every inch of skin he’s put on
display.
It’s not that Jared’s shy, exactly - although he sort of is - it’s that... he’s
never really shown off his body. He doesn’t do pool parties or weekends at the
lake or beach trips, since those require friends and Jared doesn’t really do
friends. So he’s not used to anyone but himself checking out his body, and it
feels... weird.
He pulls himself out of the pit he’s dug and reaches for his damp shirt, about
to pull it on when Jensen’s voice stops him.
“Don’t.” Jensen’s voice is quiet, but there’s something hard behind it,
something Jared finds himself wanting to obey. “Leave it off.”
Somehow, Jared knows he could easily refuse. It wouldn’t be hard, and Jared
thinks he knows Jensen well enough to know that Jensen wouldn’t hold it against
him. It’s just - Jared wants to do it, wants to do exactly what Jensen tells
him. It doesn’t hurt that Jensen’s looking at his body like a starving man
staring at a thick, juicy steak.
Jensen gives him an approving nod when Jared puts the shirt down and he rides
that hot rush of satisfaction for the rest of the afternoon.
***
Jared works without a shirt most days now. He’s getting more tan than he’s ever
been  - never got much color from his drawing lamp - and there’s lean muscle
where before there were only bony angles.
He’s still aware of the way Jensen watches him, that intense green stare still
sends a tingle down his spine some days, but he’s starting to like it. Lately,
he finds himself liking a little too much.
Jared’s wearing threadbare jeans that sit low on his hips, and every time he
bends over he swears he can feel Jensen’s eyes drop to his ass. It’s like a
physical touch, like Jensen’s stare is somehow tangible enough to graze his
skin and Jared’s automatic embarrassment at being watched is fueling his
reaction to it, making every inch of his body feel too sensitive, rough denim
sliding over his thighs, hot sun beating down on his shoulders, beads of sweat
slipping down his chest, the center of his back. He’s not sure when he got hard
but it’s getting more and more difficult to ignore as every move drags the thin
cotton of his boxers across his dick.
Jensen never really makes conversation, barely even openly acknowledges Jared,
and while it usually sets an itch under Jared’s skin - that look at me hunger,
that pay attention to me need that pushes Jared to come over to Jensen’s house
every day - today it’s different. Today, Jensen’s indifference is pushing all
kinds of buttons Jared didn’t know he had - making him arch his spine as he
bends to tug another thick bramble out of the earth, making him drop to his
knees to dig the plant out with his hands, knees spread a little wider than
necessary, hips tilted up.
Yard work shouldn’t be erotic - probably isn’t, actually, outside of Jared’s
mind - but every minute that Jensen’s eyes stay fixed on Jared, he gets harder
and more desperate to make Jensen feel a fraction of what Jared’s feeling right
now.
***
It’s four a.m. and Jared’s eating dinner - frozen pizza, quattro formaggi,
drizzled with honey and chili oil - while he flips through his comic. He hasn’t
worked on it in weeks, hasn’t really given it much thought, but he’s starting
to miss the struggle of drawing out a story. He pictures what his character
might be doing right now - okay, so Jared pretends his comic exists in an
alternate universe, whatever, he never said he was cool.
He’s trying to learn from an older, experienced superhero, Jared decides. A
superhero with green eyes and long eyelashes, who wears a skin tight suit and
doesn’t have any interest in training young, clueless heroes. Yeah, apparently
Jared’s imagination isn’t reaching too far. Still, the image is enough to have
Jared wiping the grease off his hands and reaching for his sketchbook.
***
When Jared drops his sketchbook on the porch the next afternoon, there’s an
extra twist of nerves in his stomach. The new, as-yet-unnamed character is
wearing a full superhero disguise, but there’s really no mistaking that
straight, freckled nose, those full lips.
When Jared dares to look up at the porch a half hour later, Jensen has the
sketchbook open in one hand, but he’s not looking at it. He’s staring off into
the hedge, other hand drumming frantically against his thigh.
The next time Jared looks up, Jensen’s writing. He’s got his laptop propped on
his knees and he’s typing furiously, bottom lip caught in his teeth, eyes fixed
so intensely on the screen Jared half expects to see smoke. Jared’s never seen
Jensen write, and the sight almost makes up for the fact that Jensen hasn’t
looked at him once today.
The sun’s still far from the horizon when Jared decides to go home for the day.
Jensen’s still typing, hasn’t moved in hours, in fact, and there’s a restless
energy building in Jared’s bones. When he goes up to take back his sketchbook,
Jensen surprises him by actually looking away from his laptop.
“What did I tell you about drawing people without their permission?” Jensen
asks. Jared blushes pink and tries to look innocent.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he manages to push out, but there’s a
twist of guilt in his belly. He should have asked; he just didn’t know he was
going to draw it until he did.
Jensen gives him an amused look and holds out the sketchbook.
“You have my official permission, Jared.” Jensen pauses, eyes scanning Jared’s
face and fuck, he always feels so exposed when Jensen’s watching him like this.
With a hot flush of shame, he feels his cock growing hard. “The drawings are
good, but you need to work on the story. What kind of things can this new
character teach his boy? You’re capturing the tension perfectly in the images,
but you need that tension to go somewhere, to push your characters to do
something about it.”
Jared blames his hardening cock for the fact that his mind immediately fills
with images of the new character bending his apprentice over and teaching him
all sorts of new things. He gives a quick nod and mumbles “thanks” before
turning away, sketchbook awkwardly shielding the bulge in his shorts. Just as
he’s about to step off the porch, Jensen speaks again.
“I want another drawing,” he murmurs, eyes back on his laptop. “Like the one
you did of me. But I want it to be of you. From the back, if you can.”
There’s no doubt in Jared’s mind as to which drawing Jensen’s referring to and
the mere fact that Jensen’s asking for this has Jared fully hard, breathing
quick and shallow all the way home.
***
Drawing himself for Jensen turns out to be, for lack of a better term, really
fucking hot. Jared gets naked and tries to take a few pictures of himself
before finally arranging two mirrors: one propped on the shelf above his bed,
tilted and rigged with string and tape and a couple of rubber bands, the other
in front of him on the bed. He draws himself spread out on his bed, tries to
make the angle exactly what it would be if Jensen were about to fuck him from
behind.
He lies on his stomach and sketches for a long time before setting down to draw
the final copy, and he’s hard the whole time. It’s a gentle distraction,
pressure he could ignore but doesn’t, lets it fuel, pours all that arousal into
the motions of his hand across the page. It’s sort of embarrassing, cataloguing
every detail of his own back, his own ass, the curve of his spread legs, but
Jared’s slowly getting used to the way embarrassment just pushes his arousal
up.
He can’t resist adding two broad, freckled hands to the picture - stark
contrast of lightly tanned skin against the backs of his own pale thighs. He
draws those thick fingertips denting his own skin, like Jensen’s gripping him
hard, pushing, like he’s in the middle of spreading Jared even further.
Jared’s face is in the drawing - he’s twisted back, looking over his shoulder -
but he draws his eyes closed, his lips parted, his hair falling into his face.
He debates whether to add color before finally leaving it half colored - the
shades of his skin and Jensen’s in gray, but the blush spreading over his
cheeks and in the places Jensen’s touching him in deep pink.
***
The back of Jared’s neck prickles like Jensen’s staring at the real thing
instead of ink and paper. He’s been holding the drawing for a few minutes now,
eyes moving over it slow and lazy, and Jared feels completely naked - can’t
seem to push away the thought that Jensen is seeing him naked, is seeing every
inch that Jared meticulously put down on paper.
By the time Jensen puts the drawing aside and looks up, Jared’s heart is
pounding in his chest, sweaty palms and weak knees. He feels like there’s a
spotlight on him, standing in the middle of the living room with Jensen,
sitting calm and steady in his chair, as his audience.
“It’s good.”
God, Jared shouldn’t be going hot all over from those words but he is and he
can feel Jensen notice it, can feel Jensen’s eyes on his cheeks and his neck
and his clenched fists.
“Thank you,” Jared manages to push out and even his voice is evidence of his
arousal. Jensen smiles, a dangerous, knowing smile and Jared holds his breath.
“Come here.”
Jared stumbles on the first step, but he manages to move until he’s standing
directly in front of Jensen.
“Good boy.” Jensen says it quietly, with his eyes steady on Jared like he’s
checking for something and there’s nothing Jared can do to stop the heat from
rising in his cheeks, his breath from stuttering. Jensen nods to himself and
rises to his feet while Jared tries to subtly shift in his pants.
“You like that, right?” Jensen’s voice is going low and rough, a hint of gravel
under all that smooth whiskey. He’s crowding close up to Jared and Jared hardly
dares to breathe, every inch of his body screaming to get closer, to move into
Jensen’s touch. “You like it when I tell you how good you are?”
Jared manages a hard, jerky nod.
“You wanna be a good boy for me? Wanna do what I tell you, wanna let me?” The
words sink straight through Jared to that hot pit of need in his belly and he’s
about to start begging, but there’s something more to the question, something
lurking behind Jensen’s hard gaze. He’s actually asking, checking if Jared
wants to do this right now, and Jared suddenly needs it so much harder. Of
course Jensen would check, because Jensen is the kind of person who makes sure
that the sixteen year old kid in front of him really wants this and Jensen is
exactly the kind of person Jared wants to get on his knees for.
Jensen starts to pull back when Jared doesn’t answer right away but then Jared
is nodding desperately, forcing himself to look up at Jensen through his lashes
in spite of the rush of embarrassment.
“Please.”
Jensen smiles and it’s all sharp, white teeth and dangerous intent. Jared
swallows hard.
The next thing Jared knows, there are big, warm hands on his hips, backing him
up until the backs of his legs hit the couch and he falls back onto it with a
quiet oof. Jensen’s beside him in seconds, one hand still heavy on Jared’s hip,
the other slipping through the strands of Jared’s hair, tugging his head back
gently.
“You ever done this before?” Jensen asks, moving close to breathe the words
against Jared’s bared throat. His body’s thrumming with the tension, caught
between wanting this and feeling too exposed, too visible. He’s spent most of
his life being damn near invisible and now here’s Jensen, looking at him like
he can see straight into Jared.
“No,” Jared manages to gasp out as Jensens teeth graze up his Adam’s apple.
“Never - never done anything like this.”
“Good.” There’s that word again, sending a molasses-slow thrill down Jared’s
nerves, making him want to put his hands on Jensen, his mouth, anything.
But it’s Jensen’s hands on him, one tugging his pants open while the other
rucks Jared’s t-shirt up, neat fingernails grazing over Jared’s skin, running
carelessly over one nipple in a way that has Jared arching up.
“Been desperate for it, huh? I’ve seen you in your room, fuckin’ need someone
to take care of this.” Jensen punctuates the statement with a squeeze around
Jared’s cock through the cloth of his boxers and Jared lets out a strangled
moan, knees spreading further, hips lifting.
Jensen has Jared’s cock out in seconds, and his hand is fucking perfect -
squeezing up to the tip, running the pad of his thumb over the precome beading
there and sliding it all over the head, down along the shaft while Jared tries
to hold back the more embarrassing sounds coming out of his mouth.
He’s blushing, feels completely out of control and at Jensen’s mercy and this
isn’t what he thought it would be like at all. He thought Jensen would put him
on his knees and make him take it, in his mouth or his ass or whatever Jensen
wants, just use Jared to get himself off. Jared wanted that, still wants it,
but Jensen’s hand feels so damn good.
Jensen’s watching Jared closely, eyes flicking between his eyes and his open,
panting mouth while his fist moves over Jared’s cock in a slow, steady rhythm.
There’s heat and a tingling pleasure building in the Jared’s body, in the tips
of his toes and the pads of his fingers and base of his spine and this is going
to be over really fucking quickly but he couldn’t stop it if he tried, right up
until Jensen puts his lips to Jared’s ear and whispers “Don’t come.”
And just like that, the need to come goes from a pleasant, warm tingle to a
hot, urgent press. Jared can hear himself pleading -
pleaseJensenGodfuckpleaseneedtoplease - before he digs his teeth into his lower
lip, digs his fingers into his own thighs and holds on because Jensen said.
The hand on his cock moves infuriatingly slow, each slide of skin on skin
dragging sparks from what feels like every nerve in Jared’s body while he begs
through gritted teeth. His hips try to push up but Jensen’s arm is suddenly
there, holding him down while Jensen whispers “hold still” against Jared’s jaw.
So Jared stills his hips, forces his body down and tightens every muscle
against the onslaught of pleasure coursing through him.
“Good boy,” Jensen murmurs, hand speeding up, and that’s it. Jared’s going to
come, can feel it in his bones, wants it so bad he can almost taste it. “Such a
good boy for me. You can come.”
Jared lets out his held breath in a sharp huff of relief and then he’s coming
all over his own stomach in thick, hot pulses, pleasure steamrolling right over
any conscious thought left in his head.
Jared’s body is still shaking through aftershocks when his mind comes back
online to find Jensen running his fingertips through the mess on Jared’s
stomach with a glazed-over look to his eyes. Jared’s more relaxed than he’s
been in what feels like years, and it seems perfectly natural to wrap a hand
around Jensen’s wrist and lift one of his thick fingers to his mouth.
Jared licks a drop of come off the very tip of Jensen’s finger before sucking
the digit into his mouth, tongue curling around it to clean every last trace
off. Jensen makes a choked sound that settles right into Jared’s belly and
fuels his courage, gets him sliding off the couch to kneel on the floor.
Jensen looks confused for the five seconds it takes Jared to coordinate his
limbs enough to get between Jensen’s knees.
“Jared -” Jensen starts, and there’s an odd edge to his voice, like he’s...
nervous. That’s can’t be right, and Jared really doesn’t have the brainpower to
linger on it right now.
“Please,” Jared breathes, nuzzling forward into Jensen’s lap, sliding his hands
up Jensen’s thighs. “Wanna be good for you, wanna make you feel good.”
Jensen lets his head drop back against the back of the couch and nods, letting
out a shaky breath as Jared tugs his pants open. Jared’s not sure how to do
this, but he wants it so bad - wants Jensen’s taste in his mouth, wants Jensen
to use him and fuck him and -
He licks a stripe up from the base to the tip before getting his mouth around
the head. It feels bigger than he expected, thick and heavy in his mouth as he
sinks down. Jared gags, predictably, but he only pulls off for a second before
trying again.
Jensen’s fingers find their way into Jared’s hair and Jared groans at the
gentle tug, revelling in the way Jensen jerks at the sound. When Jared starts
to slide his mouth up and down, letting his tongue slide under and over the
head on every pass, one hand working the parts he can’t reach, Jensen starts to
speak.
“Fuck, yeah, good boy, such a - ah - you’re doin’ so good, made for this,
weren’t you?” Jensen’s voice is rough and slightly slurred and every word has
Jared pushing himself a little further, trying a little harder. “Fuck, your
mouth.”
Jensen’s hand slips down from Jared’s hair to his jaw, thumb pressing at the
hollow of his cheek to feel himself pushing into Jared. His other hand curls
around the back of Jared’s head, a light pressure to match the words that come
out of his mouth.
“Think you can take me a little deeper? Oh, yeah, like that, fuck.” Jensen’s
hips are making tiny, aborted thrusts like he can’t stop himself and his hand
is tightening in Jared’s hair and Jared can’t fucking wait, wants to feel
Jensen lose it, wants to know it’s because of him.
Jensen doesn’t exactly warn Jared, just makes a choked sound and holds Jared
still as he finally lets his hips jerk into Jared’s mouth. Salty, bitter come
floods Jared’s mouth and he swallows on instinct, keeps swallowing until Jensen
finally pulls him off.
“Was,” Jared starts, and stops when he hears his own voice, low and raspy.
Jensen’s gazing down at him with an unreadable expression on his face, cheeks
flushed, pupils wide. “Was that okay?”
Jensen seems to pull himself together as he tucks his cock back into his pants,
eyes somewhere above Jared’s head.
“Yeah. That was... good.” Jensen’s eyes land back on Jared for a moment,
skating down over his stomach, still bared and covered in come, down to where
his cock is out and hard again before coming back up to rest on Jared’s mouth.
His lips are throbbing and sensitive and he briefly wonders what he looks like.
“Now why don’t you be a good boy and get that lawn taken care of?”
Jared glances down at the mess on his stomach and Jensen gives a quiet chuckle.
“Just pull your shirt down over it. No one will know how dirty you are.”
Fuck, Jared’s going to need to come again really fucking soon if Jensen keeps
talking like that. He reflexively goes to squeeze his cock but Jensen stops
him. He doesn’t say anything, but Jared gets it. He wants Jared to do it like
this, hard and covered in his own come.
Jared gets to his feet slow, legs still a little shaky, and pulls his shirt
down. He tucks himself back in and tries not to think of his hair, his pink
cheeks or God, what his mouth must look like.
Jensen doesn’t say another word to him, but he watches Jared all afternoon and
Jared knows, with a sweet, sharp thrill of anticipation, that this isn't over. 
***
One Month Later
It’s simpler now that there are rules. Jared comes over and mows the lawn,
cleans the pool, and sits in the shade of the big oak tree while Jensen watches
from the porch, apparently supremely unconcerned. Jared wears his swimming
trunks for all of this - no one questions it; it’s August.
At some point in the afternoon, Jensen will disappear into the house. Jared
invariably follows, already hard in his shorts. He never knows what’s going to
happen when he wanders into the cool, dark living room and the anticipation
sets his pulse pounding, his hands sweating.
Even after a month of this, he can’t help the little voice in the back of his
head - the one telling him that this’ll be the time Jensen changes his mind,
that Jared’s going to be laughed out of that living room for thinking he could
ever deserve this. He pushes it down - it’s worth every moment of uncertainty
to walk into that room and see Jensen sitting in his chair, or on the couch, or
leaning against the wall, one eyebrow raised.
Jared loves that these encounters have a clear, defined protocol, even if
they’ve never really discussed it as such. Jared slides out of his shorts and
waits, unable to stop the blush from rising in his cheeks, for Jensen to tell
him what to do.
God, that’s the hottest part of all of this - Jensen tells him what to do. That
itch Jared couldn’t scratch, that nagging need to obey, to please, is
absolutely and one hundred percent fulfilled by Jensen’s quiet authoritative
voice instructing Jared to get on his knees and suck him, or spread himself out
on the couch and get a hand on himself, or hold still and let Jensen fucking
torture him with that mouth of his.
When Jensen’s done wringing every last drop of agonizing pleasure of Jared’s
body, he stands, zips up, and waits for Jared to put himself back together.
This is the one part of the arrangement that doesn’t quite sit well with Jared.
He’s always shaky, a little weak and a little dazed after their encounters, and
if he could just keep Jensen’s hands on him for a few minutes... But Jensen
doesn’t seem to want that. No, that’s not right: Jensen doesn’t seem capable of
that.
Jared catches the way Jensen’s face shuts down after they’ve been together, the
way he pulls himself in and away. Jared doesn’t know what the hell it’s about,
but he’s not about to risk the mind-blowing orgasms, not to mention the
incredible sense of peace that comes from being so utterly owned, just to ask
for an extra cuddle. If he has to go back to his room and wrap himself in a
blanket to calm himself down, bring himself back from that fuzzy place his mind
goes, so be it. It’s more than worth it.
Sometimes, late at night, if he can see the lights on in Jensen’s house, Jared
calls Jensen. It’s hit or miss - some nights, Jensen doesn’t even pick up. Even
if he does, there’s always the chance he’ll just tell Jared to go to bed and
hang up.
Every once in awhile, though, Jensen’s voice will go low and rough when he
picks up. Those times, he’ll have Jared lay himself out on the bed, or sit in
front of the window like he did that first night, and Jensen will use Jared’s
own hands - directed by that fucking voice - to bring Jared to the edge and
force him back, over and over, until Jared can barely keep his pleading sobs
quiet.
Sometimes, when Jared’s in his own bed and they can’t see each other, he thinks
he can hear something unlock in Jensen’s voice, like a crack in the wall of
indifference that gets Jared so hard and frustrated day after day.
Jared always wonders what Jensen’s face looks like in those moments, before
he’s distracted by the things Jensen makes him do, the sheer hotness of letting
himself do just what Jensen wants him to. He thinks one of these days he's
going to push, not enough to fuck this thing up, just enough to find out. 
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