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Just Wanna Be the Boy You Like (Take All of Me)

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“Seriously?” Jensen takes a peek because it’s Jared and Jared can go no more unnoticed than a planet to a satellite moon. Apparently there is nothing his stepbrother can’t rock: knee high boots, billowy shirt, and breeches so tight Jensen can see the shadow of his dick on his thigh.

“So that’s what you’re going with? Prince Charming?” Jensen tries his best to bristle and emanate how much he’s not going to the stupid party. Jared is making a terrible mistake by inviting him along.

“What?” Jared aims at him, gathering his hair at the nape of his neck in a queue. “Don’t hate me because you didn’t think of it first.”

“You’re so fucking gay,” Jensen says, stretching his arms overhead in a well-calculated move, hoodie riding up his scant-haired belly, allowing Jared a good long look at what Jensen is offering, here and now.  No questions asked. Jensen would simply spread for him, grip Jared by the roots of his hair and lick the Twizzler sweetness right out of his mouth until all that’s left to taste is Jared.

On some level, Jared knows what Jensen is up to, because he doesn’t once part a glance in his direction. Asshole.

Instead, quite nonchalantly Jared says, “Yeah, so me sticking my dick in your ass isn’t plenty gay enough?”

“I dunno.” Jensen’s shrug is casual, but the intent behind it is not. “I think you need to stick it in some more.”

Jared sighs deeply, trying for exasperation but falling short. His quick-darting eyes catch on Jensen’s mouth and follow the flicker of his tongue over his lips. Stares like he wants to kiss it, suck it, stick his cock in it.

Which would be an awesome idea, except Jared is making no move. So it falls to Jensen to reel him in, reaching out with his leg to hook an ankle around Jared’s thigh and nudge his stepbrother forward till he’s fallen over Jensen on the bed. Even now he’s careful not to crush Jensen, balancing himself on his forearms as Jensen presses his face to the side of his neck.

“Why can’t we stay?”

“We gotta keep up appearances.”

“You mean you do,” Jensen answers, his breath ghosting into Jared’s candy-pink mouth. “I’m being me.”

“You’ll like it.”

“No I won’t.” Jensen’s hands trail down Jared’s back, settle into the hollow above the steep slope of his ass. Jensen loves this no man’s land, the luminal quality of it, where a simple friendship can stumble into something decidedly less wholesome.

“We’ll be home early,” Jared insists. Jensen can feel Jared’s hard-on, not fully grown yet but getting there in fits and starts. Jensen’s body answers without effort, the tip of his dick growing slippery and warm in his boxers.

“Why leave at all?” Jensen is impatient now. They should be fucking. Why aren’t they fucking?

Something unsettling comes over Jared, invisible but palpable.

“People expect things from me,” Jared goes on. “And I made a commitment. I don’t go back on my word.”

“Is it really that serious?” Jensen asks, faces so close together he can hear his lips rake over the stubble on Jared’s chin.

“It’s my word, Jensen.” Jensen’s hands slacken and fall away. He’s disappointed. Clearly he won’t get anywhere tonight.
Jared is obviously struggling with something. Something big.

Jensen can be sensitive. He can. He’ll prove it.

“Okay,” he says.

It earns him a happy little smile, but Jared continues anyway. “It’s just that I try not to lie. And I definitely don’t flake. My mom . . . she used to. And I don’t want to be like her.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Jensen huffs. “I don’t have to like it, though. You still can’t make me wear a stupid costume. I have to draw a line somewhere.”


This, this is exactly why Jensen did not want to come to the party in the first place. It’s like being at school, except ten times worse because no one has to worry about excessive physical contact.

If he were at home, he would be blissfully ignorant to it.

And Jared is a magnet for touch; hazy torchlight sets his skin and hair ablaze, comma-shaped dimples underlining his laughter. Laughter Jensen can feel in his belly without standing next to Jared at all. And the sight of Jared warms Jensen considerably.

Desire does very little to dampen Jensen’s jealousy. Its sharp, hooked claws cleave deep into the meat of his heart and takes flight with his imagination. Jensen wants to be the only one to touch Jared, wants Jared’s hands on him and only him, slow-moving and familiar, or hard and brutal. Anyway Jensen can have him, really.

Trying not to lose his mind, Jensen puts some distance--and a wall (sliding doors, really)--between the two of them, which leads Jensen to a kitchen, and a keg, and consequently, a fraction of the school football team.

Looking at them, Jensen thinks Jared’s costume is not so bad when confronted with a man in a loincloth, a gladiator, and a giant, life-sized Elmo.

Heysquirt! Where’s your brother?” asks the gladiator, swaying a bit. Jensen recognizes him as Chris Kane. Kane should look imposing, except he isn’t very tall. Elmo, identity effectively concealed, departs unsteadily toward the sliding glass doors Jensen just came through and into blaring raucous laughter.

“Outside,” he says, succinctly. Jensen is not in the mood to indulge any drunks. Tom Welling, the school running back--loincloth leaving very little to Jensen’s imagination and there is nothing little about what lays behind it--smirks as he pours himself a plastic cup full of beer and hands it to Jensen. Or tries to, anyway.

“Take it.”

“I don’t drink.” Jensen eyes the intended gift distastefully. He really doesn’t. “Just came in for a glass of water.” Emphasis on water.

“C’mon, loosen up. You’re all . . .” Kane makes a fluttering gesture in the air, “tense and shit. You gotta relax.”

“I don’t think I should. Jared—“

Welling grabs Jensen’s shoulder and bends to whisper conspiratorially into his ear. For one terrifying second Jensen thinks Welling will lean too far and send them both crashing to the ground. Guy is almost as tall as Jared. “We won’t tell. Promise.”

“Jensen!” All eyes shift away from Jensen as Sandy McCoy barges in wide-eyed and white-faced, glossy dark hair like oiled rope over her bare shoulders. Jensen is having trouble not looking at her cleavage with its demure peep of lace and he’s a far cry from straight. He can easily imagine Jared doing the same. Jensen’s face heats and it has nothing to do with desire.

“Honey, glad you came,” she doesn’t give him a chance to move away and embraces him--simultaneously glaring at the boys trying to coerce Jensen into having a drink. He grits his teeth and fake smiles. The boys give her a sheepish grin and back away. Perhaps the first intelligent thought they’ve had all night.

“We’ll see you outside,” Welling throws out as they move away from the two of them, somewhat conflicted between enjoying the sight of Sandy—Jensen can admit she’s ridiculously sexy--and incurring her displeasure.

Her delicate nose flares at them. “We’ll talk later,” she says cryptically. “You two should know better. Jensen’s fourteen.”

Jensen is surprised she knows that.

“Where’s your costume?” she asks, tuning them out.

“Don’t have one.” Jensen looks over her shoulder--calculating an escape route--toward the figures gathered around a fire-pit just beyond the glass, sepia-toned like an old photograph. He can’t find Jared. Jared’s not there.

“Well, I have my work cut out for me, then,” Sandy persists, her hand sliding down his bicep to grip his elbow.

“Look, I’m okay. Really, I am.” If only she would let go of him, Jensen can spend the rest of the night in Jared’s car. There’s a blanket with Jensen’s name and Jared’s scent on it in the backseat.

“Follow me. We’ll see what we can muster up in my room. There's no way I'm gonna let you be the outsider here.”

Shit with a triple side helping of fuck.


Understandably, there are things Jensen never considered doing, not so much because he held a disgust for them, so much as them never crossing his mind in the first place. Dressing up as a woman is one of them. Dressing up as a cheerleader, even less.

Jensen is not under any delusion that he couldn’t have knocked Sandy out on her ass and ran for the trees. Between his curiosity and her determination his habitual reserve did not stand a chance.

Obviously Jensen must have lost his goddamn mind. He looks fucking strange and not in a ha-ha, dude-looks-like-a-lady way, but a buy-me-a-drink-and-get-lucky way. Jensen is so not fucking comfortable with that. Jensen doesn’t even know where to start.

Or maybe he does and it has a lot to do with his very sheer, very new, very girly panties. Because--hello, it’s all about authenticity and no one should do anything half-assed! And Sandy would not tolerate Jensen’s boxers showing beneath his pleated skirt.

Jensen is so screwed. He looks over his shoulder and bends forward, gauging how much leeway he has before people catch an eyeful of satin riding high on the crease of his ass. It’s not much because as soon as Jensen flexes the fabric travels further inward. Last thing Jensen wants to do is spend the remainder of the evening picking cotton out of his ass crack.

Things could be worse, he reasons, suddenly thankful for his blondness and general lack of body hair because he’s pretty sure Sandy would have tied him down and shaved his legs and armpits by force.

Breaking the silence, he asks, “You sure my ass isn’t hanging out of this thing? It feels pretty breezy back there.”

Sandy smiles, her generous smile and smoothes her small hands over his skirt, patting it down. “Your ass is fine. Quit being a sissy. You’re the prettiest girl here.”

“Except for the part that I’m not actually a girl.” Jensen reminds her and chews on his lip viciously, looking as venomous as the poison apple gleam of his lipstick. He had to draw the line at applying mascara. Jensen’s eyelashes are flawless. Thank you very much.

Stop it! You’re smearing it!” Her brow creases between her eyes.

“I can’t do this.” Jensen throws up his hands in a near panic. He couldn’t give a hot damn about his makeup (Jeezus! Makeup!). “I can’t go out there like this.”

“Yes, you can. Have you seen Chad yet? He came in as a hooker and he’s wearing heels! I didn’t even know they carried them his size. And you get to wear your own shoes! So stop whining and have a little fun, yeah?”

Their eyes meet in the mirror and there is something warm and fond in the way she looks at him. He can feel himself responding to her with equal tenderness. Jensen doesn’t understand what it means.

“Don’t take it the wrong way, but you’re beautiful? And no that’s not why I dressed you up as a cheerleader. What I’m trying to say is stop hiding. I want us to be friends. I’ll admit I like your brother, but I like you more. I don’t have very many people to talk to—“

Incredulous, Jensen snorts. “What? Your house is packed--”

“With acquaintances. Who like me because my parents are rich and I happen to have the biggest tits on campus.”

Okay, Jensen can see that and he’s beginning to feel bad for judging her so harshly, brushing her off as just another one of his brother’s many groupies using Jensen to get to him. She doesn’t have to be here with Jensen when she could be with Jared.

She’s making room inside him and Jensen is not happy with it. It doubles his chances for hurt. But it doesn’t seem like he has much of a choice.

“You and me,” she continues in the same voice she used to talk him out of his clothes and into hers, “We’re different. I like different. I need a friend like you. An honest one. A genuine one. And something tells me you could care less about my tits.”

He coughs and pointedly does not ask her where she gets that idea. “Is it . . . noticeable?” He hedges tentatively. Alarm bells go off in his head. She sees too much. She knows too much.

“No. I’m just extremely sensitive to these things.” She looks sad, suddenly. “I had an older brother who didn’t handle coming out very well. He killed himself. It’s why we moved here from Georgia.” Her eyes brighten when they look to him again. “I miss having a brother.”

“Sorry,” Jensen says. He really is. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he lost Jared.

“Don’t be. He chose the easy way out.” He can see she means it.

He watches her breathe deeply and put on a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

It occurs to him that she’s hiding too.

“You hear that? I think that’s our cue. Someone just turned up the bass.”


Jensen struggles not to run or collapse. A tremor like a wave racks his body and steals the breath from his lungs.

Sitting on the settee, and riding Jared’s lap is Genevieve Cortese. They’re not kissing, but they might as well be. Her small mouth spills blue smoke into Jared’s lungs, fingers splayed wide over Jared’s cheek, thumbs on his jawbone. The light from the tiki torches catch on the orange glitter on her tits—ha, nowhere as nice as Sandy’s. The sight of them blinds Jensen like a beacon, nothing but concentrated light in Jensen’s long shadow.

Not a single drink to his name and Jensen is about to puke. Perceptive as Sandy is, she’s quick to redirect him away from the crowd, looking confused and worried. She asks him a question, but she sounds too far away to make out any words and he’s surprised he’s able to get any out of his own.

She nods at him and he reads her lips, use the one in my bedroom.

There must be an explanation, because downright cruelty and dishonesty is not in Jared’s nature. It doesn’t make much difference, doesn’t make Jensen feel any less like a dumbass.

He stumbles twice on his way to Sandy’s room. Nearly knocks over a lamp or two. He unsettles a few picture frames on her dresser and he’s pretty sure he overturned her jewelry box.

Closing the bathroom door behind him, Jensen sinks down to his heels, clutching his knees tight to his chest. He has to put a hand over his own mouth to keep from screaming or sobbing or something, because it would be an admission that yes, Jensen played his hand and lost.

Jensen is smart. He gets it. Or hopes he does. Jared is maintaining his reputation. He has a role to play and any deviation would invite questions, which would invariably lead back to Jensen. For Jared to become a monk would be social suicide.

It doesn’t stop Jensen from wanting to go home. Thankfully he knows of someone who can get him there. Sandy. But Jensen is still wobbly and he’s still wearing women’s clothing and he needs to gets a grip.

Just as he gets to his feet, three knocks resound at his back. It’s exactly what Jensen needs least: company.

Wait a fucking second!” Jensen responds, moving away from the offending noise to lean over the marble lavatory.

His cheeks flush red and his lips redder. He wipes at them with the back of his hand and succeeds only in smearing it into a deranged-looking gash. Carrie-at-the end-of-prom-night deranged. Unshed tears transform his mirror image into a fog of red and tangerine and white, lemon and indigo-blue where his uniform should be.

The next set of knocks come in a series of bangs. His reflection jumps and shimmers.

“It’s Jake! Lemme in!”

There should be a limit to the amount of stupid things that can go wrong in a single night. Jensen's karma is fucked. He must have been Hitler in a past life.

“Try another bathroom or piss in a bush.” He’s not in the mood to put up with anyone, least of all Jake Abel.


Thinking Sandy would not appreciate finding a stain on her bedroom carpet, Jensen opens the door to let Jake through, keeping his gaze firmly planted on the floor. Jensen is about to scramble past, but a suede-clad arm blocks his path. He follows the line to a blue Letterman’s jacket, then up to Abel’s grinning face. His expression is anything but grateful. It’s downright wolfish with a mouthful of guile.

He crowds Jensen back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him, snick of a lock clicking into place as loud as a buckshot. Abel’s lips form a pale white line.

“Thought it was you.”

“What? You wanna cookie?” Jensen crosses his arms. He’s not about to be bullied by a douchebag, even if he is a running back. “Lemme out.”

“What if I don’t want to?” The meaning is clear and it’s ugly. Abel leans forward and Jensen takes a step back. He smells like Jager and pot, sweet and pungent.

He smells like a threat.

Jensen makes no effort to hide his disgust. “Quit playin’.”

“I’m not.”

“Dude, I’m straight. You’re straight. Just because I’m dressed as a girl doesn’t mean you get a free pass.” Jensen should be afraid, but all he can feel is anger, because who the fuck does this guy think he is? Telling Jensen what to do and talking to him like they know each other.

Sure, Abel is a good-looking guy, with a purring voice that can charm the teeth off a Doberman, but Jensen has always been creeped out by him. He’s told Jared as much. Jensen has watched Abel enough times interacting with others to see there is something notably predatory about him.

Jensen isn’t ignorant and he’s hardly a casual observer. There is very little that escapes him. And Abel, Abel is not a good guy.

“Yeah well, I think I’ll make an exception.” Liquor is not only on Abel’s breath but seeping from his pores, sign that he’d been drinking pre-party. “You look pretty hot in a skirt.”

Jensen thinks he just might have to knock Abel off balance to get past him. Given how drunk Abel appears to be, it might not be an impossible feat. But then again it isn’t like Jensen has many options to choose from.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Abel continues, creepy fucker that he is. Jensen isn’t sure if the guy is narcissistic or just plain stupid. Both are equally dangerous, Jensen knows.

“Let me think about it,” Jensen patronizes him, pursing his lips thoughtfully. He gives Abel a lopsided grin, the one he uses for predatory animals.

When Abel takes another step, Jensen stands his ground, spotting a weakness in his gait.

Jensen seizes the opportunity to rush him. Abel grunts as Jensen shoves, but Abel does not fall. Instead he latches an arm over Jensen’s waist and swings him around to the ground.

Of course, this would happen, Jensen laments as his head hits the edge of the pristine water closet. Jensen has never passed out from pain before. And it’s a near thing. It feels like trying to swim out of a tunnel, peripheral vision fading to black.

It’s incredible and makes his ears ring. For one terrifying moment he thinks he might be paralyzed until he feels Jake’s hands on him, turning his body over onto his belly. Jensen manages to prop up on his forearms, sliding a knee underneath himself. He's going to crawl away if he has to.

But his movements are slow, too slow, and clumsy. Warmth spreads across Jensen’s scalp, gathering behind his ears. Jensen is pretty sure it’s blood, but he’s not worried. Head wounds bleed more than they should. He might not need any stitches. What he does need is for the vertigo to stop.

Distantly, he gets the impression of Abel moving behind him, reminding him that yes, he’s not alone. And yes, Abel has dishonorable intentions. He grips Jensen’s shoulders and shoves him back down, lifting Jensen’s skirt (okay, that will never not be weird) and tugs at the underwear underneath until it is left clinging to one ankle.

“Pretty panties—you sure went all out, didn’t you?” Abel’s breathing turns strained. “Slut like youwould.”

Abel presses his knuckle against the tight dry heat between Jensen’s buttocks. If Jensen could move his mouth he would tell Abel to go to hell. Even if Jensen is a slut, it still doesn’t mean he’ll put out to an asshole like Jake Abel.

If only. If only Jensen could stop the slow slide of Abel’s hands along his spine, the backs of his thighs and behind his knees, forcing them apart. Jensen can’t believe he’s about to be fucked on a bathroom floor, smelling of bleach and Abel’s boozy sweat, and there is nothing Jensen can do about it.

Very quickly, the whole night has gone from bad to foul.

Behind him, Abel shuffles about, the sound of a belt buckle and zipper coming apart, the rustle and bustle of denim sliding over denim. “Bet all you need is a good dicking to loosen you up. Stuck up little bitch like you.”

Jensen kicks out into empty air and is rewarded with the violent press of a forearm across his shoulder blades.

Jensen could laugh. He most definitely already has Jared fulfilling his needs, but that’s not something Abel needs to know. It’s funnier still that in spite of all the fliers out there about underage drinking and date rape and peer pressure, Jensen has done nothing wrong and yet he’s here. Rape must not apply to someone like him.

“Little whore,” Abel licks the side of Jensen’s neck, stubbled chin like sandpaper on his skin. He presses himself all along Jensen’s spine, not bothering to lift his own weight. He twists Jensen’s neck, worms a tongue past Jensen’s lips, but Jensen’s teeth hold fast. “If I were Padalecki, I’d fuck you every night.”

The night is full of ironies.

If Jensen could breathe he might be able to shout, but it wouldn’t make a difference. He can’t compete with Sandy’s sound system.

Adjusting himself, Abel slides over him to get a hand between their bodies and grab hold of his own dick, slapping Jensen’s hole with it like he’s starring in his own porno. Shithead.

He doesn’t fuck in. He cups Jensen’s asscheek for a moment like he doesn’t know what to do next. Then, because he is a stupid asshole he pushes his unpracticed fingers straight into Jensen’s un-slicked, unprepped, too-dry ass. And it hurts. His football-scarred knuckles catch on Jensen’s rim, gritty and quick.

“Look at that . . .” Abel says, sounding awed. “Prettiest hole ever, almost prettier than your mouth. Jeezus, and so fuckin’ tight. How’s a slut like you so tight, huh? Fuck, don’t know how I’m ever gonna get my dick in there.”

Running commentary aside, Jensen had already reached his quota of irritation; he wants it all over with. It’s taking way longer than it should. If Jensen has to suffer through the worse fuck of his life, at the very least it shouldn’t last very long.

Abel wiggles his fingers and forces in further and Jensen grunts, disliking the alien texture of Abel’s skin. He attempts to move, test if the option is viable, but Abel is quick to grab the collar of Jensen’s shirt, cutting off Jensen’s air.

“Don’t move.”

Jensen gets the picture.

It may have occurred to Abel he could lose a layer of skin if he doesn’t use some sort of lubricant. He lets go of Jensen and rises to his knees and spits. It still burns when he fingers Jensen again, more so since he uses three fingers instead of the previous two, pumping into Jensen with no rhyme or rhythm.

Jensen is overcome by nausea, either because he’s utterly repulsed by Jake or because his concussion does not appreciate the rocking motion of his body as Jake fucks Jensen roughly on his fingers.

Yet all Jensen can think about is Jared, sitting on the settee with Genevieve in his lap--shotgunning him full of pot smoke. Maybe Jensen should count his blessings he doesn’t have to put up with that, which is infinitely worse than being fingerfucked dry by Jake Abel.

Physical pain he’s indifferent to. Emotional pain is something he’s not.

At the sound of tearing foil, Jensen realizes Abel must have gotten impatient and he finds himself grateful that Abel has sense enough to use a condom although Jensen is certain it has less to do with responsibility and more to do with not leaving behind any evidence.

Jensen refuses to accommodate for him. He’s not going to make it any easier for himself or Abel, not that there is anything Jensen can do to prepare for what is about to happen. Jensen wishes for the cup of beer he’d turned down earlier.

This is going to fucking suck.

Abel’s arm comes down over his upper back, pinning Jensen unnecessarily, because Jensen isn’t fighting him anymore. He’d like to, but it’s obvious he’s outmatched and he’s not going to give Abel the satisfaction of seeing Jensen fight and fail.

“Ugh, fuck.” Jensen can feel Abel’s hips buck, the hot tip of his cock prodding ineffectually, not doing much of anything except poking Jensen. But he’s persistent. He pushes harder and Jensen grunts in pain, sucking air in short bursts. Jensen almost breaks down to tell Jake to quit it.

Impatient, Jake hoists Jensen’s ass up in the air. Refusing to let up. He keeps pushing and pulling away. Over and over until the head of his dick pops through Jensen’s opening and Jensen drives the heel of his palm into the floor in a loud smack, his lungs hiccupping in his chest and his own blood filling his mouth from a cut in his lip.

It takes a good five excruciating thrusts before Jake’s in to his balls. It does feel like too much all at once, the burn and sting almost more than Jensen can take. And the feel of Abel’s pubes up against his ass, nuts crushed against Jensen’s perineum, is not something Jensen wants to remember.

If Jensen’s head weren’t so fucked up, if it wasn’t stinging like a motherfucker, and any sound might make it worse, he’d be howling his discomfort.

Startled, or because he has less stamina than Jensen would give him credit for, Jake freezes behind him, just holds himself securely inside Jensen with his sweaty balls sticking to Jensen’s skin.


“Shit, so good. So fuckin’ good,” Abel mutters. “So tight too, shit.” Jensen can all but hear the guy’s eyes roll up in his head. “Oh God, gonna plow your sweet ass.”

The guy is painfully inarticulate and it's almost worse than having to put up with having his dick in his ass. No, Jensen takes it back. He is pretty sure it is worse.

Abel’s weight bears down on Jensen as his thrusts drive sharp and hard and Jensen loses the fight trying to control the urge to push him out. It only gets Abel in deeper, gets Abel groaning and moving, slow at first, then faster and faster until his hips slap noisily against Jensen’s ass, forcing him open, friction unrelenting, so Jensen bites into his own arm to hold in any noise he might end up making.

“Pretty little bitch taking it so good.”

Jensen really wishes Abel would the crap and come already so Jensen can pretend he’s in his room alone and that this whole encounter is in his head. But then when he feels Jake’s tongue lap at his bare shoulder, then at the length of his neck, Jensen wishes he would go back to talking trash.

If Jensen’s treacherous dick had felt like crawling back up into his body before, it’s definitely changed its mind now as Abel hits Jensen’s sweet spot unintentionally every third stroke or so. It gets Jensenhard, really hard and loosens him up, makes it easier for Abel to pick up the pace.

Panting, Jensen becomes dizzy from hyperventilation or the redirection of blood flow to his dick, stiffer than it should be. Lubricated condom makes the drag of Abel’s average dick that much better.

There must be something really wrong with Jensen if Jensen is overly excited by the sheer inconsideration with which he’s being fucked. Jake is only out for his own selfish pleasure and Jensen is undeniably getting off on it. Jensen's head lacks the decency to even remember how to ache properly with how much Jensen's getting off on it. Getting off with Jake Abel holding Jensen's head on the floor with a hand to the back of Jensen's neck. His hips hitching like a dog's in short jerky thrusts right into Jensen's ass.

Jensen’s anything but completely immobile, his hips begin to twitch up to every thrust. He’s humiliated by it and he hopes that Abel is too out of it to notice, too out of it to notice Jensen’s giving it up, all of it, like he’s been pumped full of liquor, like the easy lay Jensen obviously is, lit up from the inside like he has sparklers in his belly.

Oh God, Jensen is drooling on his arm, drooling on the marble tile, rubbing his cheek in it. He’s going to drown in his own spit and it isn’t Jared who has Jensen’s muscles fluttering and nerves zinging needily. It isn't Jared's flesh slapping into his, fast as a jackrabbit.

Abel loses it with a flurry of curses, his balls no longer swinging and smacking wetly against Jensen. He collapses over Jensen and twitches and huffs and laughs, high from endorphins and orgasm, right into Jensen’s ear. Jensen shrugs him off violently with his shoulder, angry.

Abel pulls out with little regard for Jensen’s comfort, careful to keep the condom from slipping off. Jensen won’t look at him. Won’t get up either since he has plenty to hide. He listens to Abel shuffle, listens for the splat of a used condom hitting a plastic lined wastebasket.

“Thanks, Jenny. We should do it again sometime,” Abel says to him and walks right out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Jensen wipes his mouth on his knuckles, rolls onto his back to get a hand on his own hard dick. It only takes two pumps for Jensen to come into his own hand, completely ashamed at being utterly degraded and liking it.

First thing Jensen does is look around for anything to clean up with and decides a shower would be the best thing. He can’t deal with Abel’s sweat and spit on him and he’s got to get rid of the blood in his hair.

When Jensen’s done, he peeks out the bathroom door into Sandy’s room and is seriously pissed off to find he can’t visually locate his clothing anywhere.

He’d left his jeans and shirt on the chest at the foot of Sandy’s bed. Sandy must have hidden them away knowing full well Jensen could have run back to her room to change.

He’s not happy about it. He slips back into his improvised costume.

He’s not walking out the front door in a towel.

Rummaging through Sandy’s medicine cabinet, he searches for a pain reliever-- aspirin, ibuprofen, cyanide--anything for the burgeoning ache in his head. He comes across a familiar green container, breaks through the safety cap. He swallows the capsules dry.

The door slams open and startles the shit out of Jensen.

“Fuck! I’ve been looking all over for you! Sandy told me where you were.” Jared embraces him like they’ve been apart for decades. “Why is your hair wet?”

Jensen completely disregards his question. He’s not going to beat around the bush. He’s not going to pretend he’s okay with any of it.

“I saw you with Genevieve. Thought you were playing it sober tonight?”

Jared’s hand releases Jensen and rubs the back of his neck guiltily. “Yeah, she caught me by surprise and the guys were watching so . . . I had to play along, but I started looking for you right after.”

Like it excuses anything. Like it can stop the way Jensen feels, can stop his vision from sparking fire. Jensen is tired and furious and wants nothing more than to punch Jared in the face.

“Where’d you get the outfit?” Jared asks, trying pathetically to change the subject or make amends or something equally as pointless. Jensen can’t help but question his intelligence. “It’s kinda hot.”

“Take me home,” Jensen demands.

He’s so done with this shit.

“I wanna go home. Now.”

“Yeah,” Jared answers, hurriedly. Maybe sensing wrongness in Jensen, maybe feeling guilty, which is as it should be.

“Sure, I’ll go get my keys.”


The car ride is an awkward one. Jensen insists on keeping his window open so he can’t hear a single thing Jared’s saying through the roar of wind, smelling of cold and weeds and oncoming rain, passing through the vehicles's cabin.

After a while, Jared’s lips stop moving.

Things do not get any better when they enter the house. Jared’s genuine concern, his tenderness, his regret—these things work to drive Jensen up the wall. 

But it’s too little, too late, if you ask him.

Jensen stomps up the stairs, feeling ridiculous in a skirt. Jensen can’t imagine anyone being taken seriously in one. Why in hell do women wear them?

Jared follows close behind, his presence unyielding and organic and firm, at home in the dark. Jensen gets as far as his bedroom door before Jared’s hand closes on his bicep.

“What’s wrong? Talk to me, Jensen,” Jared begs, his face flushed and his clothes smelling of pot, hair curling in ribbons and framing his heavily creased brow and high cheekbones. “Please.”

There isn’t much to say. All Jensen can think of is Genevieve. Genevieve so close to Jared they could have been kissing. Could have been fucking. Could have been anything that utterly invalidated Jensen’s existence.

“You know exactly what’s wrong.” He swings around violently to break Jared’s grip. “What more do you want from me? I’ve spelled it out for you.”

He has.

Sensing that Jensen is about to make his exit Jared grabs him again, crushing his shoulder, violent with imminent sex, because that’s what it’s about. What it always comes down to.


Jensen makes a frustrated noise. He’s tired of having to subjugate to the whims of 

“I’ll beg if I have to,” Jared continues.

Jensen holds Jared off with a palm on his chest as much to keep himself away from Jared as to keep Jared away from him. It’s too easy to forgive Jared and Jared deserves to hurt for a little while.

“Won’t make a difference to me,” Jensen needs to stop the conversation. He’s tired, sore, wearing women’s underwear and he’d had a rather discomfiting encounter with Holly Oak High School’s premier douchebag.

And when it comes down to it, if Jensen is honest, none of it would have happened if Jared hadn’t talked Jensen into going to the stupid ass party in the first place.

But furious as Jensen is, Jensen can do no more than bounce on his toes like he has someplace to be. He’s tying himself up in knots when he should be sleeping, shouldn’t have his hands clenched into fists against his bare thighs debating whether or not to take a punch and if he were, where to land it. Because Jensen would like more than anything to be left alone and Jared is getting in his way.

“I’m not fucking you tonight. If that’s what you’re going for.”

“That’s not—“

“Bullshit,” Jensen knows what he needs to do. He doesn’t like it, but Jared is leaving him no choice. He delivers a verbal blow. “You weren’t the only one out there having a good time and I’m tired, to be honest.”

A deep, dark, fire-scented pause.

“What?” Jared sounds small, the note in his voice plaintive. “I don’t think I understand.”

“Really? I think you do. You’re not stupid, Jared.”

There’s blood in the water and it isn’t his own. Jensen creeps in closer, rubs his palm over Jared’s broad chest, the ever-growing twin swells of his pecs; nothing boyish about Jared at all anymore save his smooth cheeks and his megawatt smile.

Jensen tilts his head and lifts his chin to give Jared full view of the snake-cold play of a grin on his lips. Jensen needs to see the pain he’s about to inflict. He’s due some restitution after all. 

Swallowing hard, Jared says in full denial, “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt.”


“You’re going to have to spell it out for me.”

“How ‘bout I show you?” Jensen says in his throatiest, huskiest, sex-kitten voice.

He takes Jared’s hand and twines their fingers together, drags Jared’s palm over his hip and across his flank, right up under his skirt, moving the panties aside before encouraging Jared to push into him.

At first, Jared is hesitant; circling rather than penetrating and it’s good, so good. Even pissed off, Jared can turn Jensen on like no other. Can make his hips hitch back into the cradle of Jared’s open hand and get Jensen ducking his face to nuzzle Jared’s chest, open his mouth and taste Jared’s nipple through his shirt.

Jensen moans like he’s being paid to do it and greets Jared’s fingers with a cant of his hips and a spread of his legs to allow them to sink easily into his butter-soft hole, parting him like a hot knife. 

Jared is shaking, violently. Could be the fury of betrayal or tears. Jensen doesn’t care, just whimpers and holds on to Jared’s wrist to encourage his knuckles in deeper as if Jared were a virgin in need of guidance.

And Jensen would like to say, just like that and, so good, baby. But he doesn’t.

Roughly, Jared grasps Jensen’s jaw with his free hand and wrenches his head back to close his teeth sharply on Jensen’s lower lip. He’s angry and Jensen can help but smile right over Jared’s mouth.

It must be the last straw for Jared because he seizes the tight rise of Jensen’s asscheeks, pulling each buttock apart in his claws. It’s painful, but Jensen won’t acknowledge it.

He gets where this is going.

Obediently, he climbs Jared, legs winding tight around his waist and his hands on Jared’s shoulders for balance. Jared walks them across Jensen’s room like that.

“You’re lying,” Jared insists, even as he drops Jensen onto the mattress. “You’re not wet.”

Jensen laughs. 

“What makes you think I wouldn’t use condoms?” 

Jensen is a freight train running and Jared is on the tracks. “I can be responsible when I want to be.”

They’re at a momentary standstill and for one terrifying moment Jensen thinks it will all backfire in his face and Jared will leave him there, alone. Then it will be the end of it.

But if Jensen has his way it will never be an option.

Jared doesn’t leave. He’s staring at Jensen, looking up his skirt. Jensen would totally call him a perv if he weren’t already on thin ice. Jensen feels the familiar jump of his swelling dick, sheathed in satin and his legs jerk in protectively.

Jared’s face is unrecognizable, but it’s clear what he wants, his hard-on struggling to free itself from confinement. Slowly, Jared’s fingers find their way to the front of his breeches, white-tipped and paler than the rest of his hand with how roughly he’s tearing at the cloth to reveal himself, the tip of his dick gleaming wet; collar of his shirt yawning open, clavicles highlighted by the sulfurous light coming through the bedroom window.

“You gonna fuck me, Jared? Gonna show me how much better you are?” Jensen is pretty turned on by the thought, can’t think of a better way to purify himself from a stranger’s hands.

No one will be ever be able to scratch that itch quite like Jared, but that’s definitely something to admit to later. Not now, not when Jensen is about to receive the dicking of his dreams.

Jared doesn’t answer. He simply pulls off his shirt to reveal a chest slick with sweat and Texas-dark and the darker crisp of hair of his exposed armpits. Jensen is miffed by how hot he finds it. So much of Jared’s body has no right to exist outside of myth.

Humid with their shared heat, Jensen’s mouth parts to taste the air and Jensen’s eyes slit to the surge of attraction pulling them together. He can almost believe he shares the same cage as his stepbrother, that they’re bound by not only the same tethers, but a shared history.

Jared ruined him. He can’t help the way his legs fall apart like hinged shutters as he undulates on the sheets, rocking and rolling his pelvis in hard-pressed frustration, searching for warmth and friction.

Jared grabs hold of Jensen’s ankles. Pulls him to the bed’s edge. Pushes the blended polyester shirt over Jensen’s head and off like it offended his mother. Their hips come together, slotting like intricate puzzle pieces, Jensen’s skirt bunched around his waist and fuck--it takes all of a second for Jared to soak through the satin, moistening Jensen’s skin, balancing over Jensen, all scrunched up.

Jared startles a gasp out of Jensen as he latches onto his nipple, pinning it between his teeth. Flicking it back and forth just as his dick drips hot, messy trails over Jensen’s spread thighs. Jared pulls hard on it, stretching it into his mouth with the strength of his suck, like he can coax milk from a stone.

It is nothing short of a miracle because it’s got Jensen feeling like he might as well have his dick in Jared’s mouth. It’s that good, like Jared’s about to suck Jensen’s heart right out of his chest and sink his teeth into it. And Jensen will allow it. And love it and streak Jared’s chest and belly with come, because he’s teetering over that precipice already.

Jensen can’t honestly be expected to keep his shit together when Jared moves onto his other nipple, already sensitive from anticipation. The fleeting sight of Jared’s swollen pink mouth, slick with spit, the flush over his cheekbones, rips a wretched moan from Jensen.

Jared keeps a thumb over Jensen’s other nipple and hitches his hips until his back bows over Jensen like a bridge and he has his big dick squeezed between Jensen’s cotton-clad asscheeks, making him Jensen wet. Jensen can feel the spongy-hard head push against him through the fabric, stubborn and needy, but not as needy as Jensen is to have it fucking him up.

Desperately they hump against each other, nothing but a sodden length of tissue-thin material between them. Jensen’s got his hands clutching Jared’s ass, tugging their hips tight together, brutal and importunate. Jared’s dick worries over Jensen’s cock-hungry hole, burbling precome, so much so Jensen thinks Jared might have come already. Would be convinced if Jared wasn’t so hard.

Jared is relentless, building a current of pleasure between Jensen’s nipples and his groin. Keeps rubbing the peaked nubs with his thumbs and his tongue like he might a clit, has Jensen writhing and leaking and hovering on coming with no more than the promise of opening Jensen up on his cock and Jensen’s nipples in his mouth.

“Please,” Jensen pleads, openly, because Jared just messes him up like that, has Jensen’s eyes watering like he’s blowing Jared. 

“Fuck me. Please. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Jared crawls back down Jensen’s body, pausing with his face just under Jensen’s skirt, nose and mouth panting wetly over his dick, his nuts, sucking through the slick-covered fabric, outlining them with his soft velvet tongue.

Jensen’s dick peeks over the waistband, eager for the attention his balls are receiving. Jared pays it no mind, keeps worrying the skin of Jensen’s plum-heavy sac, right through the cotton barrier. Keeps right on suckling like he can pull flesh through the woven threads.

Shuddering all over, Jensen’s blood rushes to his ears as pulses of precome run over his belly and he’s holding Jared’s head in his hands, pushing his face right up where he’s ready to take Jared inside his body, his thighs clamped tight around him, urgent with dirty-hot want.

The groan overtaking the room isn’t Jensen’s, but Jared’s and it surprises Jensen, because it’s Jensen that’s been reduced to a needy mess. Not Jared. Jared is taking his time, enjoying Jensen’s torment. Jared isn’t as fucked up over Jensen as Jensen is over Jared. Jared isn’t the one that loses his mind whenever someone stands too close or touches what is his.

“Tastes so fuckin’ good,” Jared mutters right into Jensen, “better than any fresh, wet pussy. I swear. Just wanna eat you out all the time. Wanna listen to the gorgeous sounds you make. Wanna hear my name on your lips.”

On cue, Jensen does say his name just as Jared’s tongue pushes against Jensen’s panties, right over his hole, displacing the emptiness with his breath and sealing it out with a kiss.

He sweeps the cotton aside until Jensen’s the fullness of his balls fall out. He licks around the edges, swipes a tongue over them, never lingering long enough, making a complete sopping mess of Jensen.

He tugs at Jensen’s sac like he intends to swallow it, skin clinging to Jared’s spit-tacky lips, unwilling to part. It’s a filthier echo of the care he’d given Jensen’s nipples and it’s too much.

“Jared, you gotta stop,” he warns. “I’m gonna come. I’m gonna fuckin’ lose it.” Jensen can feel pressure in his throat, his dick, his twitching hole; sees stars highlighted against the skin of his eyelids, spatters like ink in negative. 

Jensen has no choice but to give up the ghost, bucking and thrusting into the air, arcing his back, feeling like it might snap and Jared covers the tip of his cock, catching Jensen’s come in his mouth.

Shifting away, Jared hurriedly manhandles Jensen on his belly, seizes his hips and legs to position him how he wants him. 

Yanks Jensen’s panties just under the curve of his ass, where his thighs begin, and peels Jensen’s buttocks apart, pressing his mouth right over Jensen’s rim, letting Jensen’s come spill right out, uses his tongue to push into the delicate skin inside and when it’s not enough uses his fingers too.

He’s unstoppable, relentless, nearly angry as he does it. Jensen is almost afraid when Jared climbs back over him.

“He do this?” Jared asks, venomously. “Did he make you come?”

“No,” Jensen rasps, truthfully. “No. Had to get myself off.”

There’s no warning. Jared not so much slides as slams right in, not painful, but not easy either. Jensen doesn’t think he could ever stretch out enough to accommodate Jared, even though there can never be a better fit for Jensen.

He doesn’t bother to let Jensen adjust, ignores when Jensen’s muscles cling to him tightly with the ebb of Jared’s hips or when they protest as he shoves back in, his cock like a fiery brand inside Jensen’s belly. 

And Jensen has no choice but to shape himself around Jared, around the broad ridge of his head, his circumcision scar, each bulging vein, flesh straining to fuse together. Jensen breathing out as Jared breathes in. Instinctively coming together as though they choreographed it.
 Their bodies in constant movement like the sea.

Jared gains traction with his hands, palms firmly seated on the mattress and his heels crushed into the high pile carpet. Jared’s dick reaches deep inside Jensen, so deep he could be fucking the back of Jensen’s throat in reverse until Jensen’s sobbing and screaming around Jared because it’s the sort of thing you fly apart around or explode.

Jensen has to shout himself through it, yell himself hoarse and silent. He can feel the pressure building in Jared’s cock with every mile-long stroke, building and spilling, ebbing and flowing. And Jensen only gets louder, because he’s embarrassed at the filthy sounds their fucking makes, squelching, sucking noises that can only come from an excess of come and spit and sweat. It’s so dirty Jensen shoves his face into the sheets, the tip of his nose rubbed red and stinging.

Dick trailing wetly inside Jensen, Jared groans and grunts behind him, pumps him quickly, shakes with the feeling of almost there.

And Jensen wants to get him there, wants his own name shouted into the dark so he grits his teeth and settles his weight on his hands and grinds his hips back into the thick heavy width of Jared’s dick, squeezing it, or trying his best to, too stretched-out to do anything except ripple and cramp.
 The fabric of Jared’s breaches scrape along Jensen’s thighs and his panties limit the sprawl of his legs, but Jensen is unstoppable.

“Oh fuck, Jensen!” Jared shouts, spittle scattering over Jensen’s neck and shoulders. “Just like that. Oh, God, do it again. Just like that, baby. Fuck yourself.”

Jensen does, over and over, unable to breathe deeply or quickly enough like he’s running a full sprint and his thigh muscles ache with a build-up of lactic acid. He’s surprised at his own strength, his ability to lift Jared’s body up into the air by fucking back on his cock. Jensen is going to fuck Jared speechless, going to blow his fucking mind, wants Jared’s load dripping out of him because he’s too well-used and open to hold it inside.

Jared moves his hands to clutch Jensen’s shoulders, keeping him smashed against the mattress as Jensen’s hips snap back invariably. Undeterred rhythm set. There’s nothing Jared can do about it. There’s no fighting Jensen.
 Jensen might be a tight, hot, little mess, but Jared is the one submitting. Jared is the one that has been transformed into nothing but a long continuous sound. 

Jared is the one breaking tonight.

The control Jensen’s gained gives him the necessary boost to fuck back harder, until Jared has to wind his arms underneath Jensen’s stretched-taut shoulders and grip onto Jensen’s chest because Jensen is fucking with his balance.

When Jared comes, it’s with a shout, a scream, a variation of Jensen’s name that consists of mostly vowels and intermittent cursing. Jensen doesn’t stop pumping as Jared floods him with slick, keeps working at it like he can work the moisture into his own muscles, urging his ass to take deep swallowing movements. But he’s also stimulating his own nerve endings, because Jared is that big, that inescapable. 

Jensen orgasms dry, nuts drawing up and his eyes rolling back because holy fuck, that was totally unexpected.
 He totally didn’t see it coming.

They pant together, unable to move.
 Jensen is kind of speechless and a lot lost.

Jared is the first to speak. “No one else anymore, okay? No one else gets to touch you. No one. And the same goes for me.” 

It isn’t a command, but the nervous, pleading request of someone that just might be as in love with Jensen as Jensen is in love with Jared. 

“Please, Jensen. I can’t . . . I can’t deal with it.”

Jensen doesn’t answer for a long time. He doesn’t know if either of them can stick to it. Forever is a long time. And never is a promise. And a broken promise is something neither of them can come back from. They can’t control the actions of others. Jensen has experienced it first hand.

It’s also a little much to talk about at the moment. He’d like to enjoy his afterglow, thank you very much. He fumbles a hand around on the bed until he finds Jared’s hand and squeezes it.

“Can we not talk about this right now? I think there’s more to address. It’s not so cut and dry. Tonight is proof of that.” Jensen already feels like he’s given away too much information. Pillow-talk is dangerous.

Jared kisses his shoulder before rolling off of him to strip out of the remains of his costume--which is more difficult than Jensen imagined--leaving Jensen to deal with the mess left behind by his come. Jensen is seriously considering using condoms, because . . . yeah . . . for obvious reasons.

He flicks on his bedside lamp to search for something to wipe himself off with.

“What the fuck, Jensen--is that blood?”

Just when he thought things were looking up. 

Instinctively, Jensen finds the wound on his head and it comes back wet. It must have reopened at some point while they were fucking. It really isn’t anything to worry over, except that its presence denotes a secret Jensen would rather keep to himself.

He’s not even facing Jared and he can feel the moment Jared comes to the dreaded conclusion Jensen has been trying to sidestep. What afterglow he felt dissipates in an icy wash of reality.

“Don’t you dare fuckin’ lie to me, Jensen. Don’t you fuckin’ dare.”

There is nothing Jensen can do but swallow his growing anxiety. He settles back quietly on his heels with his fists on his knees, but does not hide his face, fully resigned to answer truthfully.

“Was it consensual?”


Jared explodes in a fury of flailing limbs and before Jensen can stop him he punches the wall, leaving a smear of blood behind.

Jensen is pissed. 

“Don’t you dare make this about you—“

“How the fuck can you say that to me! In what world do you think I wouldn’t want to be involved! Someone hurt you! They hurt you, Jensen! I was supposed to keep you safe—“

Before Jared can cause himself any more injuries, or further damage to Jensen’s room, Jensen flings himself at him, wrapping his arms around his waist. 

He doesn’t want to have to explain Jared’s stupidity and the cause for it to their parents. 

“I want a name. Give me a name. Give me anything—“

“I don’t need a white-fucking-knight, Jared. I know exactly how I’m going to deal with him. I’m not the victim you’re turning me into. Not at all. And neither you nor that douchebag is going to turn me into one. He will pay a consequence, but it will be under my terms. You get me?”

Jared doesn’t answer. 

“Do. You. Get. Me?” Then because he needs Jared to agree, he explains himself. “I don’t want my Mom upset. She carries so much guilt already because of me. I’m not going to add to it—“

“She needs to know!”

“And what then, huh? What will come of it--rape kit and a police report and a trial where I come off as an asshole because it’s my word against his? I’m an old hat at this. There is no evidence, Jared. In fact, the only evidence they will find points directly to you.”

Jared sags in his arms and goes down for the count on his knees, his bones and muscles failing him like a burden. Jensen goes with him, squeezing his shoulders and letting Jared tuck his face into his neck.Mea Culpa, implicated by silent tears.

Jensen pretends not to notice and cups the back of Jared’s head and says, “It’ll be fine. I’ll take care of it. I promise.”