Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12421944.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural_RPF
  Relationship:
      Jensen_Ackles/Jared_Padalecki
  Character:
      Jensen_Ackles, Jared_Padalecki
  Additional Tags:
      Age_Difference, Tragic_Romance, Top_Jensen, Bottom_Jared, Murder,
      Suicide, 1990s, Blow_Jobs, Anal_Sex, Rimming, Dirty_Talk, Rough_Sex,
      Possessive_Behavior, Dubious_Consent, Forbidden_Love, Pedophilic
      Undertones, mild_Self-harm, Mild_Necrophilia, One_Brief_Bottom_Jensen
      Scene, grunge_rock
  Series:
      Part 2 of fifty_states
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-10-19 Words: 11883
****** celebration, florida ******
by weefaol
Summary
     When sixteen-year-old Jared Padalecki's family moves to Celebration,
     a too-perfect Floridian suburb run by the Disney Corporation, he
     thinks life as he knows it is over. Because how could he, with his
     ratty Pearl Jam tee and Goosebumps book in his back pocket, ever
     belong here? From what he’d seen, there was no one remotely
     interesting in Celebration.
     What he didn’t know yet was that all the interesting people came out
     at night.
Notes
     This is a dark love story between Jared Padalecki, sixteen and sulky,
     and Jensen Ackles, a gorgeous groundskeeper at twenty-nine. Set in
     the mid-1990s at the height of grunge rock and suburban oppression,
     this tale explores the darkness lurking beneath picture-perfect
     houses and family-friendly villages. It is based on the real-life
     rise and fall of Celebration,_Florida, a utopic American small town
     invented by the Disney Corporation in 1994.
     This story contains disturbing elements, including an underage
     relationship (and sometimes dubiously consensual sex), pedophilic and
     predatory undertones, a romanticization of death, and brief mild
     instances of necrophilia, self-harm, and violence. Please heed the
     warnings and do not read if you are sensitive to any of the tags.
     For those who want to go gently into the night with me, I hope you
     will be rewarded with a dark romance between two beautiful, sex-
     crazed boys, whose forbidden love transcends time and space. Almost
     like two other star-crossed lovers we know...
     With them, our story begins.
These violent delights have violent ends
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder
Which, as they kiss, consume.
~ R & J
~~~
There’s a town in south Florida, just an hour’s drive from Disney World. A town
where everyone knows your name. Where streets are swept clean and people sit on
front porches, waving to the neighbours.
Celebration, Florida. The happiest place on earth.
That was before the murder.
~~~
July 22 — Thirteen nights until the murder
Jared Padalecki sat in the backseat of a Ford Grand Caravan, head pressed
lazily to the tinted window. There was plenty to see beyond the squashed bugs
and asphalt dust that clung to the outside, but he made a point not to look too
closely. His parents and twin step-sisters twins oohed and ahhedat the passing
scenery as they drove through the little gate that opens up into Celebration,
their final destination.
The cobblestone streets were so narrow his father had to slow the van to a
crawl. Jared felt like he was stuck on the clickety-clack part of an ascending
roller coaster. Buckled in and chained. Just before it plummeted, he opened his
eyes and his stomach dropped. Free-falling.
Outside, there were shops with perfect paint jobs, pastels and neutral
palettes; window displays dressed to the nines; grocers and confectionaries and
stationary shops that looked like giant doll houses, pristine and put together.
Everything closed at five.
“It’s charming,” said Jared’s step-mother, gawking through the front
windshield, smile plastered on.
“It’s creepy,” replied Jared. He frowned at the gleaming newspaper boxes (“A
Nickel Each!”), grimaced at the lush palm trees that lined Main Street. At
sixteen, he was much too old for this level of delusion. They all were.
“You’ll get used to it,” said his father, eyes darting to his in the rearview
mirror. He’d changed jobs for this, found a gig as an Account Executive for the
Orlando Magic. Had a spare million in the bank and decided moving to the
happiest place on earth would be well worth the drop in salary. Even more well
worth appeasing the new wife and kids.
Jared’s the only one who had fought him on it. In return, he’d been called an
ungrateful little shit between gritted teeth. Fine. It wasn’t like it was a
lie. Jared hated his life, his new family, his everything.
There was a bump in the road and, at once, cobblestones turned to smooth
concrete as they reached the end of Main Street. Half a mile from downtown,
they turned into Yew Court, a cul-de-sac with twelve houses, like hands on a
timepiece. Pulled into number five, sitting pretty at the one o’ clock spot
with a colonnaded porch and neatly trimmed topiary. No carved mouse ears or
loopy “Ds”, just boring bush circles. Humdrum shrubbery.
Jared got out of the car, making sure to slam the door shut in protest of it
all. He gave the neighbourhood a once-over. Using one hand to cover his eyes,
he squinted down the suburb, the seven o’ clock sunset burning his retinas.
Took a good long look at the manicured lawns, the sidewalk flower gardens,
people waving cheerily from porch swings, not a piece of trash in sight.
It made him want to puke.
Because how could he, Jared Padalecki, with his ratty Pearl Jam tee and
Goosebumps book in his back pocket, ever get used to this? Ever belong? From
what he’d seen so far, in publicity pamphlets and passers-by, there was no one
remotely interesting in Celebration.
What he didn’t know yet was that all the interesting people came out at night.
~~~
Two days in a doll’s house and Jared was clawing at the walls. Once boxes had
been unpacked and posters plastered up with sticky-tack, there was quite
honestly fuck-all to do. It was the height of summer in Florida and too damn
hot to brood in his bedroom. Even laying stark-still, the sweat pooled on his
chest in saline puddles. He’d spent a whole hour dragging his fingers through
the dew, painting pornographic pictures on his belly, just to pass the time.
To put it simply, he was bored. Bored out of his skull. He’d already taken his
twin sisters to Mr. Tastee’s Ice Cream Truck. Twice. It was impossible to
avoid, what with its tinkling bells and tinny tunes, hitting the neighbourhood
at least once a day. The flavours weren’t even real ice cream flavours —
Cinderella Pumpkin Pie, Minnie Marshmallow, and the real kicker, Prince
Charming’s Nutty Surprise. (Jared had snickered at that one. Made the ice cream
man frown.)
There were other kids around, of course. Their neighbours, the Nelsons, had
already come by with an extravagant gift basket and two-year-old Tommy in tow.
Jared had gotten a severe talking-to from his step-mother after making fun of
Tommyboy’s formal attire.
“He was wearing a bow-tie, Dad. A bow-tie,” he’d later explained. A perfectly
reasonable critique. Or so he’d thought. But his father wasn’t having it — he’d
sent Jared to his room. As if that wasn’t where he wanted to run to, anyway.
These days, when he looked at his father, part of him still held out hope the
man hadn’t lost all of his edges when he’d remarried. The other part of him
knew that ship had sailed with the Fairy Tale Wedding™.
Jared spent the end of his second day in Celebration in his room with his
headphones on. Full blast. Dad had gotten him an MP3 player, so he could
shuffle all his friends around — Eddie, Layne, Kurt and Courtney. The only ones
who really knew him. The ones who understood. Who would think this model town
was bullshit too.
No place like home.
He fell asleep early and awoke to the frenetic drums of Nirvana’s “Bleed” at
three AM. He got up, stretched his bones and slipped over to the window. Looked
out at the neighbourhood, the cabbage-rose colours muted in shades of grey. It
was almost beautiful like this.
Every now and then a flicker of movement would catch his eye and, as he
watched, he realized — there were people out there. Dark shadow figures
collecting street trash and pulling up weeds. Repainting and repaving. Quiet as
graves.
The night shift.
Jared rubbed his eyes, watching in morbid fascination as the blurs in black
coveralls darted in and out of shadows, armed with trimmers and topsoil. After
a few minutes, his eyes caught onto a particularly interesting shape — a six-
foot-something creature with neatly cropped hair; well-built, but soft somehow.
He was already Jared’s favourite.
Innocent minutes turned to over-keen hours and, still, Jared watched. His
chosen one, the tall man who kept close to house number six, had been quietly
tending to the Nelsons’ lawn — filling in divots, sprinkling grass seeds at the
patchy edges, touching up the picket fence from damage done during an afternoon
croquet game. He was very good at his job, Jared could tell. He was careful,
meticulous, took pride in it. So much so that Jared’s blood thrummed in his
veins just watching him work. Admired his patience. Was awestruck by capable
hands. He wondered what they must feel like. Rough, calloused. Immaculate.
When the first glow of sunrise threw light on the sleepy suburb, Jared watched
his worker tidy up. Watched him pick up the paint can and sidle along the strip
of lawn between the two houses, towards the backyard. Jared tiptoed to his
other bedroom window, following the man as he tucked the paint can away in a
little toolshed Jared hadn’t noticed before. He felt a thrill, like he was
privy to a secret, when the man ducked behind the shed and lit up a joint,
smoking it slowly.
Jared licked his lips, watching the white smoke curl in and out of the man’s
lungs. He wished he was out there too. Wished he was pulling the blunt to his
own lips, inhaling a thick cloud to make his brain all fuzzy. He longed to open
up his lungs and breathe it all in, feeling light and floaty and —
Shit.
The man was staring back at him.
Jared froze. All he could do was let his mouth hang open, dumbstruck. He
blinked twice.
The man was still staring. His eyes were curious, inquisitive. He took another
James Dean drag. One that made Jared’s belly flip.
Jared dared to stare back. Didn’t cower. Didn’t back down. Too late to duck and
cover.
Although it was only seconds that ticked by, it felt like an eternity. And,
when the man slid back against the toolshed and out of sight, Jared’s feeble
heart sank. He watched the smoke furl dreamily from behind the shed until it
disappeared completely, along with its inhaler.
After a futile scan for movement in the bushes, along trimmed trees and
pristine picket fences, Jared withdrew from the window and crawled back into
bed, wide-awake and wired. He wrapped his hand around his cock and jerked
himself off, slow and sentimental, imagining the taste of paint chips and pot
on his tongue.
~~~
July 24 — Eleven nights until the murder
The next morning, he was awoken by his step-mother at exactly nine o’ clock.
“Jared, wake up,” she hummed, hunched over his sleepy shoulders, blocking out
the sunlight. “We’re going to Pancake Palace for breakfast.” She jiggled him
once and left the room.
He groaned.
Thirty-five minutes later he was sitting in a vinyl diner booth with his mother
and two sisters, grumbling into his hash browns. The furnishings were criminal
— firetruck red upholstery, green and white linoleum floors, gaudy chandeliers
and chipper waiters on roller-skates. All phony, all fake. Even the smiles.
The food was average. Nothing like fifty-year-old diners on city corners, or
the Mom and Pop shops of small towns. Jared poured salt on everything.
“Mom, she’s looking at me funny,” whined his little sister, the annoying one.
Jared looked up from his pancakes to see his other sister, the tolerable one,
making goofy faces at her twin. She rolled her eyes, a gesture their step-
mother thinks she got from Jared. “Buttface tattle-tale.”
Step-mother frowned. “I don’t want to ever hear that disgusting word again.”
Jared snorted in his orange juice, covered it up with a cough. If she only knew
the kinds of words he used in shitty high school poems. If she only knew the
fucked up thoughts that rattled around in Jared’s brain, tucked underneath the
covers, his hands full and his dick hard. Her head would explode.
Anything to redecorate this town.
After breakfast, they spent nearly an hour at the Day Dreams doll shop next
door. Twice, Jared escaped to light three matches and watch them burn,
scratching at his skin with the hot coals out of sheer boredom. Slid his Alice
in Chains wristband down to hide the evidence. If his step-mother had any clue
about his bad habits, she was too afraid to say anything.
They wasted the day away going from shop to shop in the village, exploring the
quaint little downtown no one in their right mind could ever call home.
Everything from the storm drains to the stuffed teddies was covered in the town
crest, a garish drawing of a pig-tailed girl riding a bicycle with a dog in the
basket. A pastoral signifier of sorts. Hearkening back to the good old days,
some imagined history, where store signs bore “Ye Olde” monikers and kids
played hopscotch in the streets.
Everything was artifice. The fruits and veggies piled beneath hand-cranked
grocery awnings seemed to have been scoured with silver polish, buffing out the
bruises, any spots or imperfections. There were no record stores, no bookshops,
no Quik Stops to buy cigarettes. By some miracle, the town had a theatre, an
old art deco movie palace, but it was wasted on twice daily showings of Disney
cartoons. Jared grumbled.
It was a goddamn Mickey Mouse monopoly. A cult of artificiality. Where lines
were long and people fell into them.
Nothing about Jared lined up properly.
~~~
That evening, they returned to Yew Court, his sisters crying and screaming from
exhaustion. Mother ushered them inside quickly, waved an apology to the ancient
couple across the street, watching unaffected from their porch swing. Jared
watched back, wondering if getting old was as boring as it looked. Surely, he
would kill himself before he ended up like those two — stone-faced and staring,
faces melted and teeth rotted, tongues tied. They probably hated each other.
It was all so depressing. He couldn’t wait until dark.
Because under the cover of darkness is where he could observe the creepy-
crawlies again — the night shift and the tall man in black coveralls.
Butterflies fluttered in his stomach.
With a contemptuous glance at the old people, Jared rounded the corner of house
number five and slinked along the fence, back toward the hidden toolshed he’d
glimpsed from above. He pushed himself between two hedges and, after fighting
off a thorny bramble, there it was… The mythical hovel where his painter had
stashed his implements the night prior.
Jared took a breath. Somehow, between the hedges, the air seemed clearer.
Thinner. Easier to swallow. His heart thumped when he pulled at the padlock of
the shed door, rattling it slightly. It was locked up good. Jared bit his
bottom lip. He wanted closer. Wanted in.
He crept around to the back of the shed, feeling around the ground for one of
those rock shaped hide-a-keys. Everything else in this town was fake, from the
Celebration Coins to the plastic palm trees, so why wouldn’t the stones be? He
searched and searched, but there was no key to be found.
Just when he was about to resign himself to another night of voyeurism, his
fingertips nicked something hard and plastic, hidden in the grass. He held the
object in his hand, fingers trembling.
It was a left-behind lighter, lime green and laced with little stoned happy
faces.
His.
He flicked his thumb over the igniter and watched the flame dance, a twitch at
his mouth. The man left it there on purpose, he knew it. It was a gift. A
promise.
Grinning, he extinguished the blaze and tucked it safely in his pocket, holding
his thumb over the end as it singed.
Like a moth to a flame, Jared would burn.
~~~
Later that night, after a dismal domestic dinner (meat and potatoes), Jared
retired to his room like always. This time, however, he couldn’t sleep.
Couldn’t even focus on Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness blaring in his
ears. All he could think about were the night people and how desperately he
wanted to meet someone normal. Someone strange. Someone like… him.
At a quarter to two, Jared sat up and slipped on his high-top sneakers. Crept
down creaky stairs. Snuck out the back door and into the midnight with the rest
of the misfits.
The streets were near deserted, the suburb silent save for the occasional
cricket chirp. As he shuffled along, Jared wondered sadly if the crickets had
little cricket houses and little cricket-fences and if everything closed at
five. If the lone midnight chirp was one wandering, just like him.
The tinny sounds from his earbuds, dangling from the collar of his shirt,
punctuated the queerish quiet. Meandering through streets, he became so drunk
on cherub rock and stoned on lithium metal, he almost didn’t see the man. The
one he nearly tripped over, the one knee deep in sidewalk flower beds. The
horticulture creep. Him.
“Rape meee, my friend.”
Jared’s ears prickled. He stopped dead in his tracks. The hum, the low voice.
The man in the garden was singing. And not just any singing — singing along
with Jared’s MP3.
“Rape meee, again.”
Jared had spent precious red-glow moments under sweaty bedsheets imagining what
his nightcrawler sounded like. It was nothing compared to this sweet melody.
The man in the flowers caught his eye. Smiled and nodded at him with those
bright green eyes, glimmering in the moonlight. They were so much prettier up
close.
Jared swallowed, took a step closer. “You like Nirvana?”
The man raised an eyebrow and stood up. (And, Jesus, he was tall, over six
feet.) “You really asking?”
Jared shrugged, hands in his pockets. Blushed a little. Ran his eyes over the
man he’d only ever seen from above — his black coveralls, steel-toed boots,
soil caked under his fingernails. About twenty-nine. Green eyes, cropped hair,
and grime-ridden.
Jared already liked him too much.
“I’m Jensen,” the man said, stepping forward, his voice low and somehow
seductive. “Groundskeeper.”
“Jared,” he replied, shy. “I live down the street.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Jensen with a half-grin. “Picture perfect family. House
number five.”
Jared blushed, kicked at the pavement with his toe until a piece came loose.
“Uh-huh.”
Jensen stared, appraising him carefully. Observing and assessing. After a
moment, he hummed. Narrowed his eyes and added, “But you don’t really belong
there, do you?”
Jared met his eyes. They were kind and captivating. Sinister and alluring.
Everything all at once. “No, I don’t.”
His toes tingled when Jensen leaned in closer, beckoned to him. He held his
breath and hardened.
“No offence, kid,” he spoke low, his words unspooling, “but if anyone sees me
talking to you, I’ll get shit-canned.”
“Oh,” said Jared, deflating, as if all the warmth in his chest had been sucked
out through a straw.
“We’re not really supposed to be seen. Much less talk to grunge kids about In
Utero.” His grin was like the Cheshire Cat, perfect and predatory.
“Okay, then,” Jared fumbled, “I’ll just —“ He couldn’t bring himself to say the
words go home, so he just trailed off and gave a perfunctory wave down the
street. He sighed.
There was no way he was going back there, not when every cell in his skinny
body was rooting him in place, like one of Jensen’s shrubs.
“Actually, I’ve got something of yours,” Jared offered, digging in his pocket
and withdrawing the lime-green lighter. He held it out, half-heartedly. Dared
him to take it.
Jensen glanced at the lighter and then back up at Jared, a smile at the corner
of his mouth. He reached for it, careful to avoiding touching. Caught Jared’s
eyes and got a twinkle in his own. “Wanna smoke?”
Jared nodded, his heart bouncing off his ribcage.
He followed Jensen through someone’s backyard to a gap between two sycamore
trees. Got a rush when Jensen caught his eye and craftily pulled aside a loose
board in the fence. He led him through the wormhole into a small thicket.
The air was clear and free of oppression.
When he was satisfied with their concealment, Jensen lit up a blunt and
inhaled. He looked so beautiful, the hazy smoke curling in and out of his pouty
pink lips. And he looked even more beautiful looking at Jared with piercing
green eyes, his thick fingers offering up the joint.
“Ever done this before?”
“Yeah,” Jared lied, taking the blunt, holding it to his lips and sucking in. He
held in the smoke like he’d seen on MTV, but he wasn’t used to the way it
unfurled inside his dewy lungs. He spluttered a little on the exhale.
“It’s okay,” said Jensen, grinning at him. “You get used to it.”
Jared nodded. He was used to feeling invisible, at home, at school, in
Celebration. But now, under the cover of dark, earthy smoke in his lungs, he
took comfort in the fact that Jensen could see right through him.
“High school?”
“Whuh?” said Jared, after a more successful hit.
“You in high school?” Jensen surveyed him, taking the joint back.
“Yeah, tenth grade,” said Jared, scuffing at the grass. “But I’m sixteen. I
failed grade eight.” He looked at Jensen, who was watching him. “Not because
I’m stupid, though.”
Jensen took a drag. Shook his head, breathed out the smoke. “No way you could
be stupid. Ever.”
Jared’s chest swelled all warm and fuzzy. It had nothing to do with the pot.
Jensen bit his bottom lip, almost shy. “I didn’t graduate. Dropped out. But I
watch a lot of movies. Good ones…”
Jared didn’t know it yet, but Jensen learned how to live from Fritz Lang and
Fellini; how to love from Visconti and Van Sant. He blushed. “I like
Ghostbusters.”
“Course you do. It’s a fuckin’ classic.”
Jared grinned. He liked anything with ghosts or gravediggers and could tell
that Jensen did too. He took another long toke, let the smoke swirl around in
his lungs. Exhaled smoothly. He was getting good at this.
“So,” he said, handing the joint back. “Do you sleep all day like a vampire
bat?”
Jensen barked out a laugh. It echoed deep in Jared’s ears like a swan song.
They smoked in shrubbery shadows until their fingertips burned and their
eyeballs vibrated. Until their voices were thick and syrupy, like sweet
molasses.
“Can’t leave shit like this lying around,” said Jensen, pinching the roach and
tucking it away in his pocket. “Bosses check up on that stuff. Always trying to
get us in trouble.”
Jared moved closer, feeling dazed and daring. He shimmied along the hedge’s
edge until he nudged his shoulder against a strong arm. He grinned,
“I’m trouble, aren’t I?”
Jensen turned his head, gazed down at him through half-lidded eyes. Licked his
lips.
“Yeah, you’re trouble, alright,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “But not
more trouble than you’re worth.”
Jared trailed his fingertips down Jensen’s sleeve until he felt skin. He
tickled at the inside of his wrist.
“My hands are dirty,” said Jensen, as serious and as silent as a grave.
Jared smiled, smoke curling around his soul. Slid his hand down, slotting their
fingers together. Blinked up at those deathly green eyes. “So are mine.”
Their first kiss was whisper bliss. Warm, easy, and quick. Like Jared’s beating
heart.
~~~
July 26 — Nine nights until the murder
Jared was keyed up and bone-weary, a deadly combination for a teenaged shit-
disturber.
It had been two days, one night, since their clandestine come-by-chance—the
clasp of calloused hands, a salivary exchange of cigarette butts. A turn of the
earth, twice-over, since he’d laid eyes on his lonely nightwalker, the one who
prodded loose pavement and preened flower petals. If there were cemeteries in
Celebration, Jensen would be the crypt-keeper.
Jared had spent the entire previous night at his bedroom window, watching and
waiting for his prince, desperate for one glimpse, one wave, one smile. Nearly
squished his eyeballs shut from squinting into the dark. There’d been men, as
usual, ducking in and out of the shadows, drilling and digging and delivering.
But none with the bow-legged gait Jared had fondly regarded while following on
his heels, the night prior.
At five in the morning, he’d fallen asleep on the sill, dreaming of silken lips
and sticky fingers. Slept until noon, twisted in his bedsheets, hot and
bothered in the streaming sun. He rutted, half-hearted, against the mattress
until he spilled pollen, a dewy patch blooming on his shorts.
Soaking in the light of day. Smouldering.
The hours, the minutes, dragged by. And Jared’s lungs hurt from holding baited
breath. He spent the sweltering afternoon scouring Main Street, seeking out
green eyes and freckled fingers. It was all he could do to pass the time. There
was no squashed gum on the pavement to count.
Downtown, the Good Place, was ungodly. A Stepford simulation, only the wives
weren’t models. They were weird and ugly, wore creepy smiles and creepier
clothes. Fanny packs and scrunchies. Nothing like the leather-bound city
chicks, who gave no fucks and flipped dudes off. Jared respected city girls.
These suburban soccer moms could get bent for all he cared.
It was a manufactured landscape. A Mickey Mouse menagerie, from the 1940s muzak
played on street corners to the “DO NOT PET THE ALLIGATORS” sign by the fake
pond. Two nights ago, he’d heard from a reliable source, one with keys to all
the buildings and a non-disclosure contract, that the fake pond became a fake
ice rink in the winter, covered over with silver glass. And every night, at the
top of the hour, a light sprinkle of shaving cream snow would blanket the town.
It was surreal; an unreality. It was making Jared paranoid. More than usual, he
felt like the only black sheep in a flock of Disney freaks. Except at night,
when everything turned to black and blue.
That’s when Jared felt most alive.
~~~
Tick. Tick.
It was the dead of night—a Thursday, to be specific—and something stirred in
the hollows of Jared’s ears. A little ping. Or was it a rap?
Tick.
He blinked open his eyes, let them adjust in the dark. Watched the moonlight
stream through his side window.
Tick.
A-ha, that’s it.
A small pebble nicked against the glass. Abruptly awake, Jared threw off the
covers and tiptoed to the window, staring down into the space between the
houses.
His heart skipped a beat.
Jensen was standing there in street clothes — jeans and a black Joy Division
tee, hair slightly rumpled. He was smiling, radiant. Nodded his head to the
side, beckoning Jared to him.
Jared’s cock twitched. He would always come for Jensen.
After throwing on clothes that weren’t too smelly and half-lacing his Converse
shoes, he slipped out the back door of number five.
Jensen was waiting for him, looking at once as pretty as a peach and dangerous
as a knife’s edge. The most perfect predator. The kind that took their time,
lured you in and groomed you pretty before pressing a heavy hand to your
airway, grinning with asphyxiation, whispering little I told you sos.
Jared knew this, but he still walked willingly into the tiger’s maw. Anything
to get closer. Because the closer he was to Jensen, the closer he was to death.
And it made him feel alive.
“It’s my night off,” said Jensen, half-smiling at the boy already at his beck
and call. “I wanted to show you something. Wanna see?”
God, he was beautiful.
Jared swallowed and choked out a stuttered, “Y-yeah,” low and breathy, at the
completely mercy of Jensen’s cocked brow and cocksucker lips.
Jensen grinned. Hook, line, and sinker.He stepped closer and pulled Jared’s
hood up over his head, obscuring his face. “Come with me.”
They walked through the suburbs to the downtown, the streets deserted save for
the occasional night worker, filling in cracks or changing olde world lantern
bulbs. Some ignored them, some gave Jensen a wave, and some whispered friendly
Hey, man, whatchu doinsor Who ya got theres? It gave Jared a rush when Jensen
placed a hand on his hood-covered head, tussled him, and answered back, “My
little brother’s in town.”
And when the night-crawlers turned back to their paint jobs, Jensen would
squeeze Jared’s shoulders, lean down and whisper in his ear, “Little brother…”
It was hard to walk straight with a raging seven-incher.
Eventually, Jensen led him down an alleyway between two downtown shops, past
the trash bins and beyond the wire-cut hole in the fence, to a door that read
“Employees Only.” He procured a key from the ring in his pocket and opened it
up.
“Come on,” he said, with a quirked brow and a half-smile, leading Jared inside.
Shut the door behind and pitched them into darkness.
He felt Jensen grab his hand in the black and let himself be tugged forward,
his arm trailing along the wall, eyes blinking into the abyss. He couldn’t see
shit, just allowed himself be blindly pulled along, up three sticky stairs,
through a door, and down a gentle slope.
Jensen turned to him in the dark, stopping them short, his warm breath ghosting
on Jared’s lips. “Wait here,” he said and guided Jared down into a chair. “Be
right back.”
He breathed in the dark, feeling an anxious weight on his chest, but an
exhilaration nonetheless. He blinked his eyes as they began to adjust, stark
blacks turning to dull greys. Heard a few clicks and a whrrrrr in the silence,
footsteps here and there.
All of a sudden, a splash of white light blinded him. A giant screen lit up,
brilliant and bright, flashing with film frames. A countdown from ten to blip
splashed across the screen, followed by the title card for Kenneth Anger’s
Scorpio Rising. Jared’s face lit up, strobes of light dancing on his skin.
Jensen rejoined him in the next seat over, put his arm around Jared’s bird-thin
shoulders and squeezed him once. “Got the whole place to ourselves.”
The movie palace was beautiful and old and not as gaudy as it looked during the
day, when kiddie cartoons played on loop. This was different. This was real.
There were celestial bodies floating on the screen and a warm one beside him,
all promises of a life he couldn’t have imagined in the light of day.
He looked to his left. Chiaroscuro flickers lit up Jensen’s profile, dancing
along the bump on his nose and in-between his eyelashes, illuminating his
freckles like fairy dust.
Jared leaned over and whispered in his ear. “It’s perfect.” Even in the black
and white, he could see the apples of Jensen’s cheeks flush pink. Beautiful in
Technicolor.
They watched, Jared tucked up under Jensen’s heavy arm, as the gay boys on
celluloid pranced around, loving each other splendidly. They were heavenly
creatures. But they weren’t the only ones.
Halfway through the movie, Jared got antsy. He fidgeted and squirmed in his
seat, teenaged prick insistent in his jeans—horny and achy and not quite
knowing how to tell Jensen about all the things he would let him do to him in
dark theatres. How he would let him take his time, savour it. Open Jared up and
push inside till he was beautifully fragmented.
He must’ve been breathing heavy, lost in his thoughts, because Jensen leaned in
just then, pulling him close. Whispered hotly at Jared’s ear, “I can’t stop
thinking about what you're gonna taste like…”
Blood rushed to Jared’s cock as Jensen ran his lips, the edges of his teeth,
along the curve of his ear and down, till he was kissing and nibbling at his
neck, desperate and wanton.
“Wanna make you come,” he breathed, hot and heavy, lost in the youthful perfume
of Jared’s skin. “Will you let me?”
Jared exhaled, closed his eyes as those lips — those perfect lips with their
perfect words — alighted his skin, his blood, his heart.
“Yes. God, yes.”
He almost cried with angst and anticipation when Jensen, his master, his saving
grace, slid off his chair and down onto his knees in front of him. When he
worked shaky fingers at the button of Jared’s jeans, snicked the zipper down.
Caught his honeybrown eyes just the same way he caught his honeypink cock,
teenaged-new and never touched.
Not like this.
Not with Jensen’s hands on his thighs, pressing gently, pulling himself in and
fastening his pretty mouth, sweet and sugary, on Jared’s dick, licking the
salty bead of want from the leaky head before sliding in, wet lips at the base
and tip nudging the back of an eager throat.
Jared didn’t know where to put his hands, so he just let them lay loosely at
his sides until Jensen, sliding sweetly on and off his swollen cock, took them
and placed them on his own head, guiding Jared to tug and pull in the rhythm he
wanted. Teaching him the proper way to fuck a willing mouth. Not that Jared
knew what he liked yet, other than the slippery silk of Jensen’s tongue
suckling along the length of him. He wouldn’t last much longer. Couldn’t help
himself.
It took one long look at Jensen, closing his eyes and sinking beautifully on
Jared’s cock like it was a goddamn heroin popsicle, one long listen to the
moans and hums and wet slip-slop-slipof his pretty mouth, before Jared reached
the edge. He pushed at Jensen’s head in warning, trying to slide him off. But
it only made Jensen pull in closer, sinking down till he was deep-throating the
boy.
“Unh, hnn, I’m gonna —“
Then Jensen moaned, his mouth vibrating the whole of Jared’s cock, and it made
him come like he’d never done before—hard and long and messy. A goddamn
revelation. He grabbed hold of Jensen’s cropped hair and tugged, spilling hot
seed into his mouth, down his throat, warming his belly.
Later, when Jensen kissed him, he would taste his own come on his tongue. It
changed his whole world.
Made it worth living in.
~~~
July 27 — Eight nights until the murder
The next morning, Jared was all smiles and belly-flutters. His family thought
he was up to something.
“Mom, Jared’s smiling…” whined his sister, the brown-noser.
He reset his face and refocused his eyes once he realized he was being watched.
Observed, inspected, scrutinized.
“What’s wrong with you?” asked step-monster, her lips pursing. She was highly
suspicious of his change in mood — from sullen to lovesick. “Why’re you so
happy?”
Jared shot her a glare, his eyebrows raising. “I’m plotting to kill the ice
cream man.”
His sister screamed and started to cry. Her twin giggled. (She would turn out
okay.) His mother rushed to soothe the sooky one.
“Don’t joke about things like that,” she hissed. “What if it came true? It
might be your fault.”
Jared rolled his eyes. He was so sick of this family and their mindless
proverbs and imbecilic aphorisms, snatched from thin air. He couldn’t wait
until nightfall, when the world turned right-side up again. Where beautiful
creatures whispered how perfect he was, how good he tasted, how lucky they were
to have him.
Toolshed. 2:15. Tonight.
The Imagineer overlords kept pretty close tabs on their sundown slaves, but not
enough to police a midnight meeting, when gutsy grown-ups took fifteens with
filthy teens.
Jared hadn’t showered since Jensen’s mouth had been on him.
~~~
Tennis courts and wading pools. That’s where mothers liked to take their
crotch-monsters. Jared didn’t join them. (What was the point of a wading pool,
anyway?) Instead, he lay on the lawn all day, basking like a kitten in the sun.
Taking naps and nudging his achy cock against the grass, daring the neighbour
porch-swingers to watch.
The weirdo boy from number five.
~~~
He couldn’t sleep that night, wired and electrified for moonlight trysts. Too
curious about the gifts his special friend would bestow upon him.
Jared was eager to receive.
He watched the minutes tick by, slower than hell-burned molasses, until the LED
numbers read 1:45. Took his time slipping out of bed and into his clothes,
tugging at his hair till it fell just right — rumpled and ready. He made his
way through the stone-silent house, out the back door and around to the
toolshed, hidden from view. Pulled on the left-open padlock and stepped inside,
into the dark, to meet his maker.
He didn’t have to wait long.
The sound of Jared’s breathy exhale filled the silence when he caught a glimpse
of Jensen’s dark silhouette trudging up the path, a rake in his hand. Metal
spikes and green-grey eyes glimmered in the moonlight as Jared watched, a
secret gift hidden away. Blood rushed when Jensen stepped over the threshold.
“Hi,” Jared murmured, voice dripping with teenaged thirst.
Jensen nearly dropped the rake, so surprised and seduced by the boy’s
eagerness. Jared had come early and come prepared. Like a good little pupil.
“Hey, you,” said Jensen, catching his breath. He grinned like a wolf at full
moon. “Tryna give me a heart attack?”
“Yeah,” said Jared, silky and sweet. Twisted his torso to and fro, shy-like.
“What will the neighbours think when they find us both dead in here?” Blood-
burst hearts.
Jensen hung the rake on the rack. “They’ll know we belonged together. After
life and forever.”
The heat in Jared’s cheeks tickled pink. He batted his boy-lashes as pretty as
he dared. Because he was loved, and loved deathly. Could hear his own heart
pounding in his ears when Jensen closed the shed door and bolted it shut from
the inside. Felt him step closer in the dark, dead serious.
“You came,” said Jensen, a whisper in black, an admission of gratitude, of
disbelief. For no one could be this lucky. “I’ve only got fifteen minutes and
you came…”
“Yes,” hushed Jared, heart-hitching, romantic and brave. “I’d come for fifteen
seconds.”
Jensen’s fingers teased at his jawline, ran his thumb over his lips. “You love
me. Don’t you, boy?” He pushed his thumb inside Jared’s mouth, spreading skin
and sweat and topsoil over his tongue.
“Mmm,” Jared moaned, sucking on the tip. “God, yes, I love you.”
Jensen’s whole body shook, his ribcage trembling like a thousand sparrows had
just spread their wings and taken flight. Those three little words changed him,
took him out of himself.
Made him wild. Breathy and bestial.
He growled as he shoved Jared to his knees, bruising them on concrete. Held his
head down with one hand and unzipped his coveralls with the other, stripping
them off each brawny shoulder and pushing them down past boxer shorts.
Jared watched him from below, heart pounding and head dizzy with pain. Felt his
stomach flip when he caught shadowy glimpses of torso and hips, hidden under a
sweat-stained wife-beater. Got terrified and tongue-tied when Jensen pulled his
dick out, pumping it a few times as he gazed down at his obedient boy.
Jared had never done this before. Didn’t mean he didn’t want to.
“Open your mouth,” husked Jensen, an edge to his voice and a devil-glint in his
eyes.
Jared obeyed, half-afraid and wholly aroused, parting his lips and letting
himself go slack. Let the silky slip of Jensen’s grown-up cock sink into his
virgin mouth. Gagged when Jensen shoved it all the way in, a little too hard, a
little too fast, a little too lust-ridden and lascivious. Like he’d been
harbouring underage urges for far too long.
Fucked his teenaged mouth like he owned it.
“That’s it, baby,” purred Jensen, thrusting in and out of Jared’s mouth, rough-
tugging on his head. “Relax your jaw. Breathe through your nose.” He forced
himself down Jared’s throat like he was his equal. Like he could take it.
Jared loved it. Loved him.
Loved the rough claw of fingernails on his scalp. Loved the stretch at the
corners of his mouth from the obscene thickness. Loved the way Jensen was
gazing down at him, his eyes green-black and brutal and loving his boy-child
with everything he had, raping Jared’s mouth like his favourite fucktoy.
“Take it, take it,” grunted Jensen, an invocation, a devotion, a prayer.
Jared spluttered and choked with every thrust, every thud of cock-head bruising
beautifully at his throat. But he kept going. He was half-hard in his jeans,
being pummelled like this, and his heart-skyrocketed when, in no time at all,
he felt the base of Jensen’s cock flutter and pulse. Alighted fire when Jensen
murmured,
“It’s coming, honey… It’s all for you. Swallow it. Take it all.”
Jared relaxed his jaw and let Jensen’s salt-sweet seed spill all over his
tongue, flood his mouth, down his throat. Hot, honey-head. Pre-babies. He
gagged, throat tightening like Jensen’s balls, but strong hands held him to the
hilt, humming, good boy, good boy.
At last, Jensen released him, pulled off so Jared could catch his breath. He
sunk the rest of the way down, collapsing from his knees to the filthy toolshed
floor, feeling utterly spent, beautifully used. He closed his eyes in a
blackout daze until he felt two strong hands grip the front of his T-shirt,
pull him to his feet, and fasten his swollen lips to Jensen’s mouth, kissing
and licking the come from his boy-toy’s maw. Romantic and earth-moving.
The kiss made Jared’s knees buckle, but Jensen caught him, let him slump
against his chest, hugged him tight and held him gently. Petted his head and
whispered soft in his ear, “I’ll die without you, forever-mine.”
The most beautiful night murmurs.
~~~
July 31 — Four nights until the murder
It was everything after that. Intense, vulnerable, fast. Like the whip and
thrash of Space Mountain. Hurtling through the night.
Jared spent the days dragging his feet around Main Street, scoffing at faux-
Parisian teahouses and antiquated cobbler shops, counting the seconds till
sundown. Every breath he took without Jensen felt like he was breathing through
a straw, gasping, wheezing, drowning.
Then, at night, when green eyes would gaze adoringly at him and thick, slippery
fingers would press inside of him, the air would flood Jared’s lungs again,
making him high, light-headed and lovely. And Jensen would give and give and
take and take until near all of him was used up, like an old paper bag. But
instead of discarding him, Jensen would uncrinkle his tan skin, stretch and
smooth his edges out again. Kiss him and tell him he meant everything to the
unworthy man who’d been praying his whole life for such a gift. Who didn’t
think he deserved it.
How Jared was the one.
The first time he saw Jensen’s apartment, it was early one morning after the
nightshift. The witching hour, the final shades of blue-grey before the sunrise
yellow-reds tinged the pavement.
Jensen led him to the outskirts of town, past the suburbs, past the undeveloped
lots with bulldozer lawn gnomes, through boarded up fence holes and across
railroad tracks until they reached the wrong side. Until there were rows of
rickety apartment buildings with wrought-iron fire escapes and bars on basement
windows. Down where the have-nots holed up. Jared followed his beloved into a
crumbling brick complex, cat piss on the carpets and flickery fluorescent
lights, up two flights of stairs to door number seven.
Jensen grinned sideways at him, pushed the door open. “Home sweet home.”
Jared scarcely had time to look around, for Jensen was already guiding him back
towards the bed, stripping them both as they traded tongues and tumble-walked.
Pinned Jared down and sucked his pretty dick until he made those pornographic
kitten mewls. That’s when Jensen shoved his legs up and folded him over,
tongue-lapping at his tender spot. Licking and sucking at virgin boy-pussy.
“Hnnnn,” Jared whinnied, coltish and untamed, as Jensen opened him up, pushing
his tongue past the tight muscle-ring and sliding inside the impossibly soft
pink. Tasting like cotton-candy heaven.
Jensen couldn’t wait for the day when he could shove his dick up there and
colour him white.
~~~
Two orgasms later and Jared was finally given a breather to look around the
one-room studio. He craned his neck to scan the space, careful not to disturb
Jensen, who was gently dozing on his chest.
It was a neat place. There was a little kitchenette with mismatched dishes in
the drying rack and a small corner for entertainment, furnished with a couch
and a television and shelves upon shelves of CDs and VHS tapes. By far the most
spacious section was the one they currently occupied — the double bed took up
half the living space, with a little bathroom and closet off to the side. It
was modest, with scratches on the wood floors and nail holes in the walls,
posters of grunge bands and dirty work boots by the door. It looked lived in.
It felt like home.
He smoothed his fingertips through Jensen’s hair, massaging little love bands
into his scalp. Smiled when he heard Jensen’s dreamy sigh and felt the warm
puff of breath tickle his ribcage as he curled up against Jared’s side like a
kitten, purring and petted sweetly. Jared shifted to face him, wrapping his
arms around his beautiful groundskeeper and drawing him into his chest,
protecting him. Keeping him safe.
“Love you,” whispered Jared against his sweet-smelling hair. He kissed his head
gently.
“Mmmm,” hummed Jensen, worn out and bone-tired from a night of repainting,
repaving, and rearranging Jared’s insides.
They drifted to sleep in each other’s arms, knowing they would meet again in
dreams.
~~~
Shit.
Jared knew before he woke up. He’d really gone and done it this time.
Shit, shit, shit.
Stupidly, he’d fallen asleep, curled under the drowsy weight of his beloved,
well past the sunrise and straight through mid-morning.
“Fuck, Jen, wake up.” He nudged at his sweetheart’s shoulder, prompting a
sleepy ssmmhht sound from the great hulk of a man currently nestled against his
rail-thin ribcage.
Jared nudged him again, shook him a little. “Jen, please. I fell asleep. I’m
late.”
Jensen groaned, nuzzled his nose into Jared’s collarbone. “Late for what?”
Late for what. Good question. And one Jared couldn’t quite answer. But the
thing about being sixteen and, well, trouble, was that there didn’t really need
to be anything to be late to for moms and dads to freak out. Teenaged boys
missing from their beds was plenty.
“I’m dead,” said Jared, shaking his head and laughing mirthlessly at how much
step-monster must be seething. If it had been one of the twins, she’d already
have their faces on milk cartons. “They’ll kill me.”
Jensen kissed up the crook of his neck, shifted so his mid-sleep stiffy rubbed
against Jared’s thigh. “Can’t kill you if you’re already dead, sweetheart…” He
sucked a mark under Jared’s jawbone and licked it tender. Got vampire blood
lust. “Better stay with me. I’ll fix you up real nice. Make you pretty for the
funeral.”
“You’d fuck me on the embalming table,” breathed Jared, eyes rolling back when
Jensen’s hand found his stiffening dick and fist-fucked the head.
“Course I would,” hummed Jensen, his other hand dipping lower. “You’d let me do
whatever I wanted.” He slicked his finger with his own pre-cum and circled
around Jared’s hole before sliding inside.
“Ohh,” moaned Jared, little teenaged grunts at the strange and wonderful
penetration. Thick fingers, slick innards. The breaching of bodies and crossing
of hearts.
Jensen rutted against Jared’s thigh and breathed against his neck, half-sleep
kisses and lazy lip drags, sleek finger-fucks in boy-cunts.
“I want you to remember this feeling,” he whispered against Jared’s neck,
biting ears, cheeks, lips. “Tonight I’m gonna fuck that ass for real.”
Jared’s stomach flipped and his dick watered, spilling honey-milk all over
Jensen’s fist, virgin ass clenching around fat fingers, knowing half the boys
his age would never know how it felt to be touched like this, or to love
someone so completely.
Jensen smiled, wiped the jizz on his sheets and placed a guiding hand on
Jared’s head, eased him down until wet boy-lips engulfed his swollen cock.
“Take care of daddy before you leave.”
~~~
Jared was in deep shit.
“Where have you been?” squealed his step-mother, relieved and raging when Jared
strolled through the front door of number five at two in the afternoon. He was
ten minutes late for the arrival of his father, who’d driven home from work to
help look for his missing idiot.
Jared hadn’t been missing them at all.
“What the hell is your problem?” bellowed his father, stepping to him and
spitting vitriol for making his wooden wife worry. “You think it’s funny to
pull this shit?”
“No,” said Jared, dripping with sarcasm, a strange, sadistic grin at the come-
stained corners of his mouth. “I think it’s deadly serious.”
There was a finger in his face. “Cut it out, Jared, or so help me God…”
Jared gave a short, mirthless laugh. “So help me God what? You haven’t done
shit since Mom died and hckk —“
There were father-fingers on his throat and a fist in his face as he was shoved
back into the wall. Jared’s pupils flared, fear and fragility alive in them as
he watched the blaze of fury beneath his father’s greying eyes. They stood
there, unmoving, for a moment, until the fist unclenched and his father backed
off, calmed down. Released his choke hold.
Jared collapsed against the wall, trying to catch his breath. He touched the
fingerprints at his throat. They were nothing like the other fingers that’d
been on him that morning. Nimble and nice fingers. Ones whose harm he welcomed
with open arms and open hearts.
Still, as he rubbed at his neck, he held eyes with his trembling father,
watching him seethe. It was more emotion he’d seen from the man in years. The
first time he’d ever laid a hand on him. Step-mother whimpered in the
background.
“Get your ass to your room,” he said quietly. “And don’t even think about
coming out until I say.”
Jared’s lip quivered. He was stuck — sixteen and servile. With stair-climbing
sneakers and solemn spirits.
He trudged along the upstairs hall. Locked himself in his tower and prayed,
under penalty of death, for a star-crossed lover.
~~~
August 3 — One night until the murder
Jared never had to wait too long.
At a quarter past three AM, he’d moved from his window to his bed and back
again, pacing and pining for his Prince Charming. At three seventeen, he smiled
at a bow-legged shadow moving up the path. He opened his bedroom window.
Jensen gazed up at him like he gazed up at the stars, faraway, lonely, and
twinkling. “You stuck?”
“Trapped,” Jared hushed back, the gentle wind carrying his whisper to Jensen’s
lips. “I can’t leave. My Dad’s sleeping in a chair by the back door.”
Jensen pursed his lips. It was a dangerous truth, Jared knew, that Jensen would
stop at nothing to rescue his Rapunzel, even slitting the throats of sleeping
giants. So Jared was relieved when his saviour settled on a softer solution,
went round to the toolshed and unfastened the padlock, disappeared inside until
he re-emerged with an extendable ladder. He clicked it into place, propped it
up against the pastel pink siding.
Jared grinned as Jensen started to climb. “You’re insane.”
“Certifiable,” he replied, reaching the top as quick as a wink. He leaned his
dusty elbows on the windowsill and batted those moonlit eyes. “You’re
beautiful.” Leaned in and kissed Jared through the window pane. Sweet, not
quite chaste.
Jared blushed, his blood rushing south. “Come inside.” He grabbed Jensen by the
arms and helped him through the window.
Once they were both upright again, Jared waved a hand and whispered, “This is
my room. Duh.”
Jensen nodded, slipped off his stompy work boots and tip-toed around the
floorboards. He took a minute to look around at Jared’s knick-knacks — piles of
grunge rock CDs, torn and haggard notebooks with scribbles on the covers,
posters of Kurt Cobain and Courtney Love.
“You play soccer?” said Jensen, raising his eyebrows at Jared’s old
participation trophies, tucked away, gathering dust.
“Played,” said Jared, embarrassed. “I don’t anymore.”
Jensen grinned, touched the little bronze boy with his fingertip and eyed Jared
up and down. “I can picture you in short-shorts and shinguards…”
“Shut up,” Jared whined, his cheeks pinking. Crossed his arms over his chest as
Jensen sidled up to him.
“Little cleats and knobby-knees,” he hummed, lips hovering over Jared’s. “Sexy
as hell.” Kissed him deep and loving, pressed a warm palm to the small of his
back. Made Jared’s eyelashes flutter.
He reached for the zipper on Jensen’s coveralls and pulled it slowly down. It
was only faintly filth-ridden tonight, he hadn’t pulled a full shift yet.
“Won’t someone notice you’re gone?” Jared rasped, lust-ridden. Anticipatory.
Jensen took Jared’s hand and tucked it inside his coveralls, held it against
his swollen cock. Rubbed him up and down. “Let them find me like this…”
Jared trembled, kissed his lips as he palmed Jensen’s dick, over boxers and
underneath, soft pink skin, hard as rock.
They helped each other out of their clothing, letting it quietly fall to the
floor. Helped each other into the double bed, between faded Star Wars sheets.
Helped work each other open with fingers and tongues and Jared’s secret jar of
coconut oil for lube.
“You like to touch yourself in this bed?” whispered Jensen, fistful of slick
fucking furious over boy-cock.
“Y-yeah,” said Jared, at the mercy of Jensen’s grip.
“You do it real messy like this?” Slip, slip, slop. “You think of me?”
“Yes, every time,” hushed Jared, eyes rolling back in his head with each slide
of slippery fist. “I - I think of you fucking me.”
Once Jared was too-hard and leaky, Jensen kissed him sweetly on the cheek and
whispered, rougher, “Turn over.”
He helped Jared flip onto his belly, face pressed into the pillow and arms
tucked underneath. Tried to relax as Jensen petted him, kissed a trail down his
spine to the cleft of his ass. Shivered when Jensen dragged his tongue down the
crack, nipping and biting at his cheeks.
Jared mewled and pushed his ass up, begging for it, as Jensen circled around
the hole, swirled and prodded with pointed tongue and softened licks. Listened
as Jensen hummed and moaned, muffled, into Jared’s sweet ass, kissing his hole
like an undeserving mouth until he slid inside with silky licks and fervid
French kisses.
He kept at it, worshipping his honey-child’s ass until Jared was sweating and
shaking, his cock leaking pre-cum all over the bedsheets. Then, and only then,
did Jensen crawl back up the length of him, press his body flat to his frame
and wrap his arms under Jared’s stretched out body. Whispered hotly in his ear,
“Remember what I said this morning? What I was gonna do?”
Jared breathed into the pillow, tried to turn his head to meet Jensen’s lips
but couldn’t quite manage it, pinned down on his belly. “You were gonna f-fuck
my ass…”
A smile at his ear, a low huff of laughter. “That’s right, baby boy.”
Jared was terrified and thrilled at once, knowing Jensen would surely go too
hard, too fast, too much. It was everything Jared prayed for in darkened
bedrooms during dick-wet daydreams. And everything he was afraid of.
He didn’t have much time to think, however, because Jensen was already
breathing heavy at the back of Jared’s neck and rubbing his heavy cock wet with
coconut oil. Sinful sounds. Slip, slip, schlop.
Jared’s heart skyrocketed when Jensen slid his palms behind his knees and
maneuvered his Bambi legs so his knees were bent under him, ass in the air. He
inhaled, a gasp of fear and eagerness, when he felt the wet nudge of cock-head
against his hole. Spilled a blurt of pre-cum on the sheets when Jensen hummed,
“Tell me you love me, sweetheart. Please, tell me you love me.”
“I love you,” said Jared, muffled and breathless into the pillow. “I love you,
forever.”
There was a breathy rasp and then Jensen, whole body quivering, eased into him,
past the tight knot of muscle, stretching and sculpting his insides.
Jared clenched his eyes shut at the brutal burn, the gorgeous ache of fullness
and of being complete. It hurt like Hell, his final resting place.
“Shhh,” hissed Jensen at his ear, quieting youngling whimpers and mewls as he
fucked himself in, slow and deep, bodies pressed together. He held Jared down,
doggy-style and submissive under the smooth slide of his dick. “It’ll be over
soon…”
It hurt and it burned and he couldn’t move and it was everything he could’ve
possibly imagined because it was with him. And Jared would do anything in the
world to please him, to keep him, forever. He would submit under the slow,
shallow drags in and out, Jensen speaking in tongues at his ear, nonsensical
little sweet sweet boys andgod forgive me pleases and I won’t hurt you like he
hurt mes.
He would bite into the pillow under all of Jensen’s grunting and humping and
clutching him so tight Jared thought his ribs might crack and puncture through
his throbbing heart. Thought his own dick would be rubbed raw from rutting into
the sheets until, finally, Jensen’s merciful hand crept under his belly and
made a wet fist for Jared to fuck into.
With a final murmur of “Here it comes, honey. Gonna fill you up good,” Jensen’s
body wracked with orgasm, stutter-fucking into Jared and painting the pink
white.
Jared, too, let himself spill into Jensen’s hand at the feeling of the warm,
wet bursts of Jensen’s love coating his insides. He vowed that no one else
would ever get to have him like this. It was too late, he was too far gone. He
was Jensen’s through and through.
His happy ending.
Ever more, ever after.
~~~
The sun was pinking over the horizon when Jensen climbed back out the bedroom
window. Jared held him steady, gripping his arms as he planted his workbooks on
one of the top ladder rungs. Belly-fluttered when Jensen leaned against the
sill and kissed his lips. The sunrise painted his skin soft.
“Sometimes I wonder if you’re just a dream,” said Jensen, soft and careful. He
brought Jared’s hand to his mouth and kissed it, touched his cheek with his
fingertips. “I never want to wake up.”
Jared blushed, “I’m real.” He leaned into the palm of Jensen’s hand and nuzzled
it. “I have scars to prove it.” The love bite on his neck ached as Jensen
circled his thumb around it.
“My sweet, sweet boy,” he smiled. He leaned in and kissed Jared on the lips,
sweet and chaste. Closed his eyes and whispered, “I don’t know how you love
me…”
With everything. With all that I am. With all I could never be.
“I’m yours,” he answered, lashes tickling Jensen’s cheeks as he planted soft
kisses on them. “I’ll always be yours.”
Jared would remember the shudder against his lips forever.
A sudden slice of red sunlight rounded the edge of the house, painting
everything blood-red, blinding their eyes.
“I have to go. I’ll miss check in.” Jensen kissed Jared once more, deep and
sweet, before grinning and climbing down the ladder.
Jared watched, bathing in the crimson glow, as his prince quietly retracted the
ladder and slid it back inside the toolshed. Went weak at the knees when those
green eyes winked up from below, sending a wry smile his way. Made his head so
dizzy that all Jared could do was sigh and sleepy-smile as he watched him walk
away, down the empty sunrise streets in black coveralls and boots.
His stupor was interrupted, however, when a sudden movement caught the corner
of his eye. The pulling shut of a sheer curtain. His eyes flashed to the next
door neighbour’s upstairs window.
He stared for a moment, frozen in terror, until… there.
The peek of a prying eye. The horrified gape of a nosy neighbour.
Mrs. Nelson was standing there, half-hidden, with bulging eyes and rubberneck.
She ducked back behind the curtain, out of sight.
Jared’s stomach dropped. His mouth went dry and his brain buzzed with fear and
adrenaline.
If she’s been watching the whole time… if she saw the ladder… Jensen climbing
out the window… oh god, oh god, oh g—
BRINNNNG.
The sound of the downstairs phone made Jared’s heart stop. He scrambled to his
bedroom door and put his ear to it. After two more terrifying rings — BRINNNNG,
BRINNNNG — he heard his father’s feet scuffling from his sleeping chair to the
kitchen. Heard the punishing echo of the receiver being picked up.
Clk-click.
“Hello? … Oh, Mrs. Nelson … Yes, yes, I’m listening…”
Jared’s mouth went dry because, at that very moment, he knew Miss Next-Door-
Nosybitch was telling his father everything — how she saw a man twice Jared’s
age climbing out his window, how they were kissing, how he was part of the
nightshift. How depraved and illicit and illegal it was.
“You can’t be serious…” His father said in hushed tones. “One of the garbage
men?”
Jared’s blood burned. It was now or never. There was nothing he could do but
run.
With a burst of adrenaline he bolted through his bedroom door and into the
hallway, leaving everything behind. His bare feet bounded down the hardwood
stairs (skipping the last four), thumped across the main level towards the back
door. Heard the voice of his father, hurrying to hang up the phone and pursue
his son —the victim, the abused, the molested.
Nobody would fucking understand.
So Jared ran.
He ran barefoot across the backyard, as fast as his legs would carry him. He
hopped the fence and snagged his T-shirt on the chainlink, weaving in and out
of wild bushes, discarded paint cans, nails and broken glass, his ravaged feet
and sex-ridden body aching like hell. He didn’t care. The only thought that
consumed him was that he had to get to Jensen. All he could do was cut through
the secret service pathways he’d been shown during their nights together and
hope to god he wasn’t too late.
At the edge of the downtown core, Jared finally spotted him scuffling along
past The Linksgolf shop, whistling even. He sprinted on cobblestones and
grabbed Jensen by the sleeve.
“Come on,” he urged, breathless and tugging.
Jensen jumped back, startled. “Jared? What the —“
“Someone saw us,” he wheezed, pulling desperately at Jensen’s arm. “My
neighbour. She called my Dad.”
“Wha—” Jensen’s eyes blazed. He bit his lip, unfocused gaze darting from side
to side, quick thinking and panicked. “Come with me. I know a place.”
He followed Jensen through a few more back-alleys, twisting and turning. A left
at the third trash can, a right at the burnt out fluorescent bulb stack,
straight on till morning. Until they were out of the downtown, away from prying
eyes, and stumbling quietly onto Idelwylde Crescent.
They crept through backyards, careful to keep themselves in the shadows of
trees and shrubbery. The houses were nicer here. Even nicer than Jared’s. These
were mansions. Rich people palaces. Plantation-style, with fountains and self-
cleaning jacuzzis and master bedroom balconies. Colonnaded porches and neo-
classical windows. He followed Jensen until they reached the end of the street,
crept alongside a federal-style home and slipped onto the back porch.
Jensen pulled a keyring from his back pocket, one much smaller than his
official set. These keys, Jared imagined, were procured through less than
honest means. Hands shaking, Jensen grasped an old brass key and inserted it
into the lock. It clicked open and they stepped inside.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
“Shit,” said Jensen, moving quickly to the keypad on the wall. The alarm
system. He opened the little plastic door and took a breath. “Please, please,
please…” He keyed in a six-digit sequence.
Jared held his breath, heart thumping, head spinning.
Be-be-beep!
The beeping stopped and the keypad lit green.
“Oh, thank god,” breathed Jensen, exhaling in relief. He closed and locked the
back door and ushered Jared further inside.
“Where are we?” he asked, watching as Jensen crept through the living room,
peering carefully out of the windows. The sun was starting to really rise now,
a glowing red orb over the horizon.
“Bella Guardia,” said Jensen softly. “An old house I took care of last year.
The family only visits for Christmas and Easter.”
“Good thing they’re too stupid to change their security code.”
“Yeah, good thing,” he huffed. “Here, come help me with these curtains.”
They spent a few minutes scouring the house, shutting any curtains they could
find, staying close to the centre of rooms, away from prying eyes. After they’d
finished, they stood in the middle of the grand living room and just stared at
each other.
For the first time since Jared had met him, Jensen looked truly afraid. His
eyes were wide with fear, vulnerability. Inevitability.
Jared closed the space between them and snaked his skinny arms around Jensen’s
waist, pulling him close. “It’s okay,” he purred, his voice quiet against
Jensen’s chest. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Jensen lowered his head and pressed his lips to the top of Jared’s head,
humming into his soft hair. “No, it won’t,” he whispered with finality. Without
hope.
Tears welled up in Jared’s eyes because, deep down, he knew Jensen was right.
It was destiny. That Jensen would be caught, questioned, incarcerated.
Lambasted by the media, by people with fire and pitchforks. Thrown in a high-
security prison with the rest of the child rapists. Left to the system. Left
for dead. Left him.
That’s the moment Jared decided. That he made up his mind. It all made easy
sense. That the only inevitability was that they would spend forever together —
that no judge or jury or armchair psychologist could define them, could stop
them.
Their love was eternal, forevermore.
And so too would be their bones.
~~~
August 4 — Night of the murder
It was their last day on earth and they spent it wise and luxurious. They laid
for hours under shadows of grand pianos, soaking in magnificent clawfoot
bathtubs, tangled up in one-thousand thread count sheets. There were police
sirens and amber alerts ringing in their ears, but they barely noticed them
anymore. Because under the sweet cover of dusk, when day turned to night and
the stars crossed, they only existed for each other.
They would live and die together.
Jensen sighed, dreamy, as the last sliver of sun slipped below the horizon.
Gazed into his baby’s eyes with adult adoration.
Jared bit his bottom lip, sucked shyly into his mouth. Felt the twinkle and
burn of bright green eyes, searing his skin. Whispered, “Is it time?”
Lids heavy and lips wet, Jensen brushed his mouth against Jared’s cheek and
breathed, “Yes.” Kissed him on the forehead and pushed up off the bed, trod
careful and naked to the ensuite bathroom and its well stocked pharmacy. Pulled
a bottle of hydrocodone from the medicine cabinet. Shook the pills twice. There
were enough to tranquilize two elephants in the room.
Enough to euthanize his bleeding heart.
Jared joined him at the mirror, cradling him from behind, skinny arms wrapped
around his middle. Eyes peeking over his lover’s broad shoulder, his own heart
pounding.
“I don’t —” Jensen’s breath hitched, his voice scratchy and scared. “I don’t
want you to watch me do it.”
Jared ran his shaky lips along Jensen’s tricep, across his shoulder blades.
“I’ll close my eyes,” he hushed, tightening his hold and soothing his face
against the knots in Jensen’s spine.
“Okay,” whispered Jensen, a deep inhale. “Here we go.”
The sound of little pills sliding against plastic and into a warm palm made
Jared’s eyes clench and burn. He fluttered little butterfly kisses along
Jensen’s spine, tasting his own tears, as he felt his lover swallow, again,
again. Two at a time, ten times over. Until the loud rush of tap water and the
slurping from pill-free palms made his eyes snap open. The mirror revealed them
red and watery, like blood.
Jensen turned around, wiping the water droplets from his trembling lips.
Brushed a damp hand through Jared’s hair. “We… we don’t have much time.”
Jared’s lip quivered. He wouldn’t whimper. Wouldn’t cry. Soon they would have
all the time in the world.
Soon they would have no need for it.
They fell into each other, kissing and caressing and fusing in frenetic
desperation. Somehow they stumbled back to the four-poster bed and tangled up
like only true lovers could. Tore and clawed at each other. Ravished and
revered. A soft graze here, a biting bruise there. An apocalypse of sex and
love and violence. Orgasmic catastrophe.
Jensen stretched Jared open with beautiful fingers, one, two, three, his
insides aching but eager. Indulged in the tender burn and craved for more. An
imploring glare, a hushed pleease inside, and Jared was full again, savouring
the sweet slide of Jensen’s cock. Nudging at that perfect spot, over and over,
the thrust, the drag, the pummel.
“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” he summoned, biting into the meat of Jensen’s
shoulder, tonguing at sweat and skin.
“So good for me, baby… so perfect… mine…”
Jensen’s whole body was quivering, high on the adrenaline of the hydrocodone
cocktail sloshing around in his belly and high on his boy-child’s love,
whispers of sweet adoration and whimpered fuck-lust. Shoved his fingers into
his sweetheart’s mouth and then wrapped them around the head of sweet-hard
cock, jerking and fucking his Jared like he was the most precious and
unbreakable thing in the world. Giving him everything.
“Jen…” rasped Jared, fighting to keep his lust-lidded eyes on Jensen as they
rolled toward the back of his head. “N-not gonna last… I’m - I’m almost there…”
A choked sob fell from Jensen’s mouth, quieted quickly by burying his face in
Jared’s neck. He cracked the knuckles on his free hand and slid it up his boy’s
torso, fingering around his collarbone. Met Jared’s eyes one last time,
questioning, reaffirming. “Are you — “
“Kiss me,” whispered Jared, his eyes golden brown, tearful, and sparkling. A
boy on the verge of life-ending orgasm, his lips quivering against Jensen’s
final, frantic kisses.
“Always, my love.”
Jensen fucked into his sweetheart, a resplendent slide, and twisted his wrist
on Jared’s cockhead until he felt the heavenly pulse. Let go and brought both
hands to Jared’s throat and pressed, gentle at first, a languid ligature,
listening to ragged inhales, desperate for air and asphyxiation. Strangled him
lovingly, Jensen’s own tears spilling onto baby blue cheeks. They fucked each
other through gasping breaths and tightening grips, splutters of tongue, the
salt-smell of ejaculate and chaotic caterwauls. Both coming, both loving, both
dying…
“Kill me…”
His last words. The most beautiful boy in the world.
Adorned with hypoxia kisses.
~~~
Jensen lay in the sweet stickiness of their love for some time after, the opium
in his veins at long last making him dreamy, drowsy. He cradled Jared, lifeless
and limp in his arms. Sobbed quietly in the crook of his neck, pressing kisses
to paper-thin eyelids. Ran his thumb along angry finger bruises, purpling in
the sunrise. It was mourning.
When he was groggy enough to know his own end was near, he lifted his loose
limbs over Jared’s lifeless ones and lay atop his adolescent lover once more.
This time, he aligned his own entrance with the dead boy’s dick, stiff and
erect in the aftermath. Rigor mortis. Slid himself down until he was sheathed,
his beloved inside him — a gift he had never willingly given. He carefully
draped himself over Jared’s chest and rested there, closed his eyes and
whispered,
“I love you, Jared. See you soon.”
~~~
Two hours later, the wail of police sirens and the flash of red and blue lit up
their final resting place. For weeks, their tandem deaths gave the neighbours
something to gossip about. And, months later, when the cops and coroners and
columnists had exhausted all their avenues, they called this a grisly case of
murder-suicide.
The Mickey Mouse municipality failed to recover. Concerned citizens called for
criminal checks and surveillance cameras in the town square. The cinema
crumbled in foreclosure. Families moved out, animals moved in.
As for Jared and Jensen, they met again in the happy ever after. Broken glass
and bullet holes on their deathbed.
The Disney dream died in Celebration.
But their love lived on in infamy.
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