Like so many of the brilliantly bad ideas in Jared’s life, it starts with his brother. See, the Padalecki’s have this thing; they pick people up. Not just like, for hookups and stuff like that, but just in general, they attract people, pull them into their orbit like gravity. It happens all the time so none of them really thinks anything about it when Jeff finally follows through with his years’ old threat to get a tattoo and ends up coming home with new ink across his right shoulder blade and his new tattoo artist friend, Jensen.
Jared’s family probably doesn’t think anything about because it’s normal – Jared doesn’t think anything about it because he lost the capacity for coherent thought when his big brother walked through the door with the embodiment of every wet dream he’s ever had plus a couple he hasn’t gotten around to yet.
He’d never thought much about guys with tattoos, but then he’d never seen a guy like Jensen before either. Jensen’s, like, perfect. Spiky, dark-blonde hair and grass-green eyes and these ridiculously plush lips with the thin shine of a silver ring encircling the bottom one, resting like a racing stripe in that little divot in the center. Just daring Jared to lick it. And then there’s his skin; pale honey-tones with cinnamon-dusted freckles and rich swirls of ink that highlight the smooth power of his muscles under a shirt so worn-soft and perfectly molded to his body that it ought to be illegal. Not to mention the way he laughs, eyes crinkling up at the corners because he’s not holding anything back, just putting himself out there and fuck anybody who doesn't like it.
And, fine, yeah, Jared might be projecting a little like a girl with her first crush, but whatever, Jensen’s epic.
Inevitably at some point during the dinner, Jared’s mom has to chime in with “Oh, Jared’s an artist too,” which is kind of like saying ‘oh, Jared’s seen birds before, he can probably fly’. Sure, he’s one of the top students in his high school art class, but Jensen - his art gets permanently imbedded in people’s skin. That’s like, a whole other level. All of which he informs his mother of – which, win!, makes Jensen give him this totally soul-melting grin - but makes exactly zero difference in his being ordered to go upstairs and get his sketchbook.
Jensen’s really nice about the whole thing – oh course he is, because he’s perfect – so he looks over Jared’s stuff and they end up talking for a long time, bridging out from art to music and movies and steadily into ordinary things about their lives. By the time Jensen leaves that night, he’s no longer ‘Jeff’s tattoo artist friend’, he’s ‘Jared’s awesome, hot friend/part time boss’.
Working at the shop is kind of great, even aside from the fact that it means he gets to ogle Jensen pretty much on demand. Misha and Chris are both really cool, even if they do make a game out of swapping the most obscene sex stories they can come up with just to make Jared blush. The job is mostly just answering phones and sweeping up, but sometimes he’ll help one of the guys out if they’re sketching out a special request and the money’s better than what he could get flipping burgers or slinging coffee. Jared completely loves his job.
Ok, he loves his job, and maybe just a tiny bit, Jensen. Not, like, in a creepy stalker way, like he’s collaging pictures of himself and Jensen all over his room or something, just in a ‘hey, that freakishly hot guy is also the coolest person I’ve ever known, maybe I’ll try not to faint every time he talks to me’ kind of way. It’s fine, he knows it’s not ever going to happen.
The fact that Jensen happens to be gay – or maybe it’s just bi, Jared’s never really gotten a clear answer on that one – would totally be a bonus, except that Jensen’s also Jensen which means that Jared’s chances with him would be slightly lower than those of banana slugs even if he wasn’t still in freaking high school. Jensen’s just a nice guy who puts up with Jared’s gawky, stumbling attention and helps him with his art and stuff. He’s amazing and any guy in the western hemisphere with even a passing interest in dick would fall all over himself to have a shot with him, so yeah, short of nuclear holocaust, it’s really unlikely that Jared’s ever going to get to do more than enjoy the scenery.
That very practical rationale is the reason he doesn’t think anything of it at first when the white envelope of cash Jensen stuffs into Jared’s back-pack at some point every Friday also has a note in it one week along with a slim, leather cuff-bracelet. The unsigned note explains that he’s to wear the cuff to work every time he comes in as part of his uniform, which doesn’t really make sense because as far as he knows he doesn’t have a uniform, but he puts it on anyway before he goes in to work – it fits perfectly; butter-soft leather, just snug enough – just in case. Nobody mentions anything else about uniforms, but he’d almost swear that he catches Jensen looking over at him a lot more than usual.
He takes to wearing the cuff all the time, because it’s comfortable and he likes the way it looks, and for several weeks, that’s the last he thinks of it.
When the next note comes, it presence is almost as shocking as the contents. See, the bracelet was weird, but it was just a bracelet – hard to read anything into that. The new addition to his ‘uniform’ – or should he say, omission – is, well… The note says, very succinctly and with no further explanation, that he’s not to wear underwear under his jeans anytime he comes into the shop. That’s it. The end. Jared flips the piece of paper back and forth several times as though more information is going to suddenly appear.
He comes this close to ignoring the note all together – he’s never really been a commando kind of guy and it’s tough enough to avoid getting hard all the time around Jensen without any added stimuli – except that he knows Jensen’s the one who always puts the pay envelope into his bag, which means the odds are good Jensen’s the one who wrote the note, which practically makes his dick explode when he thinks about Jensen thinking about him without any underwear on. Wanting to think about Jared that way.
The next time he goes to work it’s with the soft chuff of denim against his not-so-soft cock. This time there’s no doubt in his mind about what that look in Jensen’s eyes is or why he can’t seem to peel them away from Jared for most of the afternoon. It makes something hot and completely foreign curl up in the pit of his belly - he can't remember anybody making him feel like this before.
The thing that confuses him about all of this is that they don’t talk about it – ever – and it’s not like there aren’t opportunities. Jensen’s part owner of the shop and he lives, literally, out back, not fifty yard's from the shop's back door. Because of that, most of the time when Jared does the sweeping and locks up, it’s just him and Jensen shooting the breeze. Their conversations don’t change, don’t even pick up any more innuendo than Jensen seems to throw in with everybody he interacts with, and Jared can’t for the life of him figure out what that means. He’s tried bringing it up a couple of times, but whenever he does, Jensen gives him this look like a warning and changes the subject.
Sometimes, in the darkest parts of the night, with his heartbeat fighting to slow down and jizz clinging to the webbing of his fingers, he worries maybe he imagined it all – that he’s losing his friggin’ mind over this stupid crush. But then he looks down at the cuff molded to his wrist like it's always belonged there and remembers that can’t be true.
Other times he thinks maybe it’s Misha or Chris dicking with him, because pretty much every human being or high-functioning animal who’s ever seen Jared at the shop knows he’s into Jensen and sometimes the guys can be jerks. The problem is, there’s no payoff for it, if it was the guys; they’ve never pantsed him or any other dumbass thing that would reveal that he’s not wearing anything under his jeans, and it’s been like a month – if they were going to get a laugh out of this, they would have done it by now. That only leaves Jensen and… and that’s basically as far as Jared can get with that train of logic.
Jensen’s an enigma, and whatever his reasons are, it’s become readily apparent to Jared that the only chance he’s got at finding out what it all means is to keep going and wait Jensen out. Nobody ever said Jared wasn’t stubborn.
It’s not an awesome plan, but it works – at least up until he gets the next note.
He can see how at most places of employment, routinely – every shift – jacking off in the employee bathroom might be frowned upon. Even in the shop, he would understand if Jensen considered it inappropriate – although if he did, Jared just might have to snap and point out that it’s not his fault he keeps getting hard from all the contact friction and the way his boss walks around looking like sex on a stick – but it’s totally out of left field when what the note says about his jerking it at work is not to stop, but what to do once he’s finished.
Right there in crisp, white paper and black ink, it outlines, in detail, how Jared’s supposed to cup his fingers around the head when he comes to catch it all – he’s been doing that anyway, he’s not some gross freak who’s going to leave come all over the employee bathroom – then slick it down over his shaft and his balls and his thighs until it’s all rubbed in and absorbed. And then he’s supposed to do up his jeans, wash his hands and go back into the shop like nothing happened.
Now he has to jack off twice a day at work because just thinking about the slick heat of come smoothing over his skin, the tight, tacky feel of it drying on him, being absolutely filthy with it underneath his clothes – about Jensen knowing he’s doing it; telling him to do it – makes him too stone-stiff to function on basic levels. Jensen just smirks at him every single fucking time Jared slips into the back of the shop. Jared can’t decide if he wants to kill the guy or marry him.
He’s completely, 100% positive that it can’t possibly get any better-worse than this because if it does, his sanity is going to crack into tiny, shattered pieces that he'll never be able to puzzle back together again. Of course, he’s absolutely wrong.
It’s only two weeks since he got the last note when another shows up in his backpack, only this time, there’s a small, non-descript cardboard box along with it. He opens the note first - still unsigned; both maddening and somehow thrilling all at once - which outlines how he’s allowed to practice with his present as much as he wants, but he’s not to wear it in front of anyone else until Monday. On Monday, he’s to bring it in to work with him in his bag and go to the bathroom first thing to put it in. He’s not allowed to remove it until he’s off the clock that night. Also, it’s apparently called “The Tristan”, which for no good reason at all, makes Jared feel all warm and fuzzy inside even though he doesn’t even know what “The Tristan” is.
His stomach does a funny little salsa step, palm sweating around the cardboard in his hand. He’s stuck somewhere between terrified and ready to shoot off in his pants and it takes a long few minutes of rocket-hot adrenaline trying to shut down his lung functions before he finally works up the courage to open the box.
Pink, is the first thing that hits him. Really, really, really pink. Like, it’s possible it might emit its own source of light, it’s so pink. And it’s not that he doesn’t like pink, it’s just, there’s a difference between a nice pink shirt and a small, flared, pink buttplug. Kind of a lot of difference actually. Because he’s almost certain he’s never had to lie back on his bed and jerk himself off right this second while staring at a pink shirt.
He’s not completely uneducated about gay sex, he’s seen porn, so he recognizes what that little piece of smooth silicone has to be right off the bat. He’s never seen one in real life, though, and he’s certainly never thought about putting one in his ass. He’s not even sure he wants anything going in his ass, let alone something that reminds him, in the most perverse possible way, of his sister’s Barbies. But then it occurs to him that Jensen does want it; that Jensen spent his time and money to pick this out just for him, thinking about what he wanted Jared to do with it, carefully selecting just the right one – because Jensen’s totally OCD about buying things, he does all kinds of research and reads all of the reviews even when he’s just getting a new pair of tennis shoes – and that’s… Christ, Jared’s going to develop carpal tunnel if he keeps beating off this often.
Monday he’s one giant ball of nerves the whole day at school, all anticipation and juddery nerves and this paranoid fear that somebody is going to end up opening up his backpack and digging to the very bottom and unwrapping the two pairs of socks he’s got the thing wrapped up in because it keeps tell-tale hearting on him like a neon sex-show stuffed next to his AP Econ book. That worry is enough to distract him from the fact that he’s going to have to actually do something with that thing in the near future until the little bell over the shop door dings as he enters and snaps him back to reality.
Crap. Oh really, truly, crap.
Jensen’s eyes are on him like a starved animal sizing up a steak and Jared’s just standing there in the middle of the doorway, having lost whatever shot he might have had at making his brain communicate with his legs. The tension just hangs and hangs and hangs, Jared’s heart trying to claw its way out of his chest at the same time that his dick is mimicking the move against his zipper.
It seems like everybody has to see, has to know what’s going on because how could they possibly miss that Jensen is sending him telepathic messages to shove some pink plastic up his ass and that Jared’s absolutely going to do it, even if it makes him feel like he’s about to piss himself he’s so nervous.
Then Chris shouts, “Not refrigerating the street, kid!” and something in the atmosphere just breaks, allowing life to slide back into rhythm. He still feels like several important organs have settled into electro-shock twitching but at least he can move again and smile when the guys say ‘hey’ and respond when they ask him how it’s going. And, on the plus side, when he covertly shoves the roll of sock-wrapped surprise into his pocket and excuses himself to the bathroom, he gets to walk out with the image of Jensen crushing his still-full Starbucks cup in his fist with this incredible, shocked/turned-the-fuck-on expression twisting his face.
Jared’s worked on this a little, but the plug doesn’t exactly slide right in. The silicone's not perfectly smooth, there's a very fine, almost velvety texture there like... not, like skin, because that would be weird and totally inappropriate to think about some part of a person's body going into him like that, especially if there happens to be a face and a name to that person he might theoretically be thinking about and super-especially if that name and face belong to a person who happens to be his hot-like-the-sun boss who may or may not have been leaving him sexually-overtoned notes and gifts for the last couple of months. Yeah, wrong. And definitely not what he's thinking about. Jesus, where's the fucking lube, he needs this thing in him, like, now.
It's really not that big, but it still feels like an impossibly tight fit as it slides through the mess of too much lube that his fingers forced up inside. Somewhere around what should be the widest part of the flare - it's unbelievably hard to measure around the heat swamping him that just flat our refuses to settle into either pleasure or pain - he's positive he's not going to make it. It's been up in there before but it's not going to fit this time, it's just not, at least not before he collapses from the overflow of sensation rattling from his fingertips to his toenails. Then he thinks about Jensen; Jensen watching him, Jensen thinking about him, Jensen unguarded and overwhelmed like he'd looked when Jared had snuck back here and he feels his body relax just a fraction and it just goes, just slots right in like it’s a part of him.
Once it’s there he knows without a doubt that he’s going to cream himself without so much as a finger on his dick but he does manage to get in three lightning-fast, unsteady strokes before he makes a mess of his hand – and subsequently his dick and balls and thighs because the note didn’t say anything about not doing that anymore and maybe Jared kind of gets off on it now, a little. He has very rapidly come to the realization that this is entirely too fucked up for him to be enjoying and also that he in no way cares because it’s the most stupidly hot thing in the history of ever.
He knows he's still flushed and maybe a little hazy looking when he makes his way back to the front desk, every inch of his body tingling like his nerve endings spontaneously quadrupled in the last couple of minutes, but nobody says anything. In fact, nobody but Jensen seems to notice and if the way his tongue keeps compulsively wetting his lips and he reflexively palms the bulge at the front of his jeans is anything to go by, he doesn't disapprove.
He doesn't take his eyes off of Jared for a single moment from the time he walks in, plug shifting inside of him with each step like a whisper of a tease, until he sits down at the desk and nearly loses it all over again because holyfuckinghell. He didn't even know his body was capable of containing that much sensation.
That afternoon Jensen has to excuse himself to the bathroom almost as often as Jared.
They still don’t talk about it, and for the most part, Jared’s ok with that. He really doesn’t need to have some big heartfelt discussion or hash out all of the whatever they’ve been doing. He’d sort of like to be able to kiss Jensen though, because his lips were seriously made for it, and in a weird, maybe childish way, he’d also like to know if he’s the only one Jensen’s messing around with. Not that what they’re doing exactly qualifies as messing around since they’ve never even done anything within five feet of each other, nor does he have any actual right to ask or expectation that Jensen would not be getting his rocks off with someone else, it’s just he’d really like to be the only one.
Maybe more to the point, he’d really like to think that this is more than just a little kink with some one-sided pining. But even if that's all it is, it’s so much better than anything else Jared’s ever had that he doesn’t want to push and risk ruining it, because he knows that if Jensen doesn’t feel the same and he found out that Jared was all doe-eyed over him that he’d call it off and probably feel really bad about leading Jared on. He’d honestly just prefer to be led.
That’s how things go for a few weeks; the two of them hanging out and joking around and pretending that Jared’s not getting occasional little notes that tell him when he should and shouldn’t wear The Tristan – which, yes, does mentally announce itself in Jensen’s sexed- up gruff every time he thinks about it - and introduce him to the wild world of cockrings – God, that was a day – and once, provide him with a shirt that is about three sizes too small for him to be wearing but which makes Jensen spend the entire day dropping things and run long on every single appointment he has. It’s a pretty good relationship as far as Jared’s concerned, even if it’s mostly just pervy teasing with a guy who has somehow along the way become his best friend.It lasts until the Friday after Jared’s birthday. He’s expecting to finish cleaning up the breakroom – why does Chris keep putting the powdered coffee-creamer in the fridge? – and get home as fast as he can, knowing that there’s bound to be something new and exciting waiting in his bag when he gets there because Jensen's been giving him a look all day, but instead Jensen walks in and takes a seat at the little table behind Jared, not saying a word.
“What’s up?” Jared asks after a second – Jensen can really rock the silent stare but it’s sort of making him uncomfortable right now. Something in the air feels off.
“Nothing,” Jensen shrugs, “Just waiting on my last appointment.”
“Oh! I- there wasn’t anything on the books,” Jared fumbles, reaching automatically for the coffee grounds to put on a new pot. Working after hours Jensen will probably need some.
“Yeah, I know, it’s kind of an under the table thing.”
There’s something funny about the way Jensen says it like there’s more behind the words but Jared can’t seem to put it together.
“What time are they supposed to be in?” Jared prompts, suddenly unsure whether he’s supposed to hang around or if that was the signal to get lost, all the while wondering if ‘under the table’ is code for ‘someone I’m going to take home and fuck after the tat’ and trying to quell an irrational surge of jealousy at the thought.
“Already here,” is Jensen’s reply and Jared’s heart slinks down to rest somewhere between his ankle bones.
“Oh, well I’ll, like,” Jared jerks his thumbs toward the front of the shop, “get out of your way.” He doesn’t exactly mumble it like a petulant preteen, but it’s a close thing.
Jensen’s hand snags his wrist as he makes for the door, his heavy rings cool against skin that suddenly feels feverish.
That pouty, decadent mouth smirks up at him, lip ring catching the light, lip-merizing Jared, and says, “Gonna be hard for me to ink you if you’re not here.”
His brain just grinds on the words like a wrench thrown into his gears. He’s- it’s going to be- what?!
Jensen laughs and tugs a little harder on Jared’s hand, uses it to pull himself up to a standing position, hips brushing against Jared’s just enough to have him raging hard instantaneously.
“C’mon,” is all Jensen says, half dragging Jared down the hall into one of the rooms they use for privacy when someone’s getting a tattoo or piercing some place the rest of the world wasn’t meant to see.
“So, you got something in mind?” Jensen asks, patting the padded chair next to his fully-prepped tray for Jared to sit down. He does so without thinking, though it's contradictory to the answer that follows.
“Yeah, I’m thinking about not having needles shoved into my skin, thanks.”
He smiles and Jensen smiles back, rolls his eyes.
“Jay, you can’t work in a tattoo shop and not have one! Come on, you have to have thought about this.”
“I don’t like anything enough to have it on my skin forever. Plus, my mom would murder me, and don’t even think I won’t totally sell you out, man, that woman is scary.”
“Jeff has one,” Jensen argues easily as though he’d been expecting this reaction. “Besides you can always get it somewhere she won’t see.”
“And we’re back to the commitment-phobic thing again.”
“Please," Jensen sneers, "You make lifetime commitments to brands of mustard.”
“Yeah, but I’m not going to get mustard engraved into my skin.”
Jensen's lips thin out just a little, like maybe he's more frustrated than he's letting on. “Alright, well, how about a ‘J’. Don’t plan on changing your name, do ya?”
“No, but I’m not going to walk around with my own initials written on me, like a douche.”
Jared laughs and shakes his head but then Jensen's leaning in, his voice dropping into something dark and sweet that Jared never heard before, to say, “People don’t have to know what the ‘J’ is for.”
The entire room's air supply turns to lead in the space of a heartbeat - which, at the moment, is about three times faster than usual - as Jared's brain flitters to one and only one other thing in the whole world of 'J' words that it could stand for. The cover on the chair squeaks when he shivers.
“No,” he breathes out on the last scrap of oxygen he's got, more a reminder to himself that that isn't what Jensen meant than an actual answer to the question, but his friend takes it for one anyway.
“Fine,” Jensen huffs, backing up and magically kicking time back into gear along the way, “it doesn’t have to be ink. You could go for steel.” The lift of his eyebrow is a challenge Jared refuses to rise to, shaking his head again and finally getting his act together enough to start to stand. Jensen’s at his side in an instant, the hand on Jared’s shoulder a barely-there touch that Jared couldn’t fight even if he wanted to.
“Come on, Jay,” Jensen cajoles, lips sticking out coercively, “You can’t say no to your birthday present.” Then Jensen’s fingers are brushing across the collar of his shirt to the bare skin of Jared’s neck. Everywhere Jensen touches leaves a trail of white-hot sparks that seem to melt out over his flesh until everything’s too hot, too sensitive. It’s like the air got bored with being nice and breathable and decided to thicken up all over again, tension in it heavy enough to drink, to lick right off of Jensen’s skin and God he wants to.
“Whad’ya say, babe?” Jensen’s voice is rough like barbed wire and cheap liquor set on fire – not nearly as unaffected as he’s trying to play it with the way his touch trembles. “Could do your eyebrow, your lip,” his finger traces out the map of his words and Jared has no intention of letting his tongue snake out and tickle at Jensen’s fingertip as it feathers the outline of his mouth but he’s working on a very limited ration of control here and most of it is going toward not pouncing on Jensen like a rabid dog. The move gets Jensen gasping, pupils visibly expanding to eat away at green, finger pushing in even further to pet along the center of Jared’s tongue. He strokes it like the slick muscle is connected directly to Jared’s cock and if the way his hard-on jerks and blurts precome in his jeans is any indication, it agrees.
“Mmm, yeah, could do your tongue. You know what those are good for, right?” Jensen’s out and out purring now, leaning in so close Jared can feel the heat coming off of him like an oven. The best he can do is moan his encouragement and rub his tongue against Jensen’s finger – hell yes, he’s going to have to remember this finger licking thing if this is the reaction it’s going to get him.
“You know what’s even better?” Jensen murmurs, finger slipping free to paint Jared’s lips slick with his own spit, his other hand brushing a slow tease down Jared’s shivering belly. Viper-fast Jensen’s hand is on him, really on him, his dick, thumb tweaking over Jared’s sloppy-wet slit through damp denim like he's got a map. It can only be through the power of several deities working in concert that Jared doesn’t lose it right fucking then, every scrap of air punched out of his lungs as his muscles lock down and brace for impact. It never comes, he never comes, Jensen’s hand sliding down to rest just over his knee instead of where he wants it and he doesn’t give a fuck that he’s whining like a lost puppy because Jesus H. Christ!
Jensen is either oblivious to the way Jared’s balls are trying to climb into his intestinal tract from orgasm denial – unlikely given the way he’s smirking like this is some sick parody of Christmas morning for him – or else unwilling to do anything about it – much more likely; again, the smirking. What he does seem willing to do is tease the ever-loving shit out of Jared and while he’s very excited that for once it’s happening in person, he’s not sure it wasn't significantly less overwhelming when he got to read all of the filth in the privacy of his own room and beat off repeatedly before actually facing Jensen.
“You wouldn’t be able to top for a while, though,” Jensen warns like an enticement, two fingers rubbing crazy-making little circles a bare inch from the tip of Jared’s dick. It’s going to be embarrassing as all hell when he creams himself over it in about five seconds. “You don’t seem to mind bottoming, though, not with the way you look every time you’ve got that plug in.” Wait, they’re talking about this now? Now?! While Jared’s brain is busy migrating south?! “Bet you’d look even prettier on my cock,” and, fuck, Jensen’s kneeling up on the chair to straddle Jared’s hips and he just cannot. Fucking. Think. “Something big and thick splitting you open. You like that, Jay? Want something you can clench up around? Feel it moving inside you? Using your tight little body?”
Jensen’s hovering right there, two inches and an eternity shy of his lips and Jared wants it more than oxygen, would give goddamn anything for it because he doesn’t know what he did to make this switch flip and he might never be able to do it again if he misses out now! He succeeds in moaning and nodding his head vigorously, which appears to be enough an answer for Jensen because then their mouths are crushing together and breathing’s a goddamn moot point.
Jensen’s lips are just exactly as soft and perfect as he could have imagined, hard edge of metal right in the center that Jared is instantly, irreparably obsessed with. They’re licking and nipping at each other, hardly enough solid connection to call it kissing as much as eating at one another's mouths. Their tongues battle and swirl, slick tickles along the roof of Jared’s mouth as Jensen finds a weak spot and exploits it mercilessly, nothing but harsh, hard breaths and the unstoppable flood of sounds feeding on a loop between them to break the silence.
“Fuck,” Jensen turns his head away, gulping in breaths like a drowning man, “Ok, Jared, you gotta listen to me.”
Jared squirms and attempts unsuccessfully to get his mouth back on Jensen’s, ends up settling for the tender line of his throat instead, messing up whatever else his friend was about to say on a pathetic groan.
“Shit! Jared, Christ. Killing me. Come on, just- just give me a second here,” Jensen babbles and Jared goes right on ignoring it because seriously, shut up, Jensen. Except Jensen seems to think whatever he’s trying to say is pretty important, since all of a sudden, Jared’s being rammed hard against the back of the chair, wrists pinned above his head in a grip he hadn’t even realized Jensen had gotten on him until just now.
Jensen's face is flushed red, eyes a stark contrast in green and black, lips bruised and beautiful, still slick from their kissing. There has never been anything sexier in the whole wide world.
“Listen, ok?” he huffs against Jared’s mouth, more desperate than forceful, “We’re in a red light, green light situation here and I need you to pay fucking attention." Jensen's kind of screwing over any chance of that happening since he won't quit rubbing their faces together, lips catch-dragging on one another's through half-dry spit. Like fuck has Jared got anything even remotely resembling concentration when that's going on. "Now, look, this has been… fuck, I don’t even know Jared, you drive me out of my damn mind. I’ve been waiting fucking months to get my hands on you and in case you hadn’t noticed I kinda suck at taking it easy.”
As if to prove his point, Jensen rolls his hips. It shoots rivers of sensation right up Jared’s spine like Jensen tapped the column with a syringe and injected him full of liquid sex. Jared tries not to tug at Jensen’s hold on him because Jensen wants him to hear whatever point he’s trying to make and he really wants to do what Jensen wants. The problem is trying not to tug once he discovers how goddamn good it feels to do it, fighting against Jensen’s hold and feeling how – even as strong as Jared is – Jensen can just hold him down like this, completely at Jensen’s mercy. His pants are going to be fucking soaked with precome by the time they get this show on the road.
“Jesus, if you hadn’t been so close to eighteen there’s no way I coulda waited, man. Don’t know if all this really counts as waiting anyway, but if you wanna stop, this is it. Right here right now, say you’re not ready for this or you don’t want it or whatever and I swear we’ll forget the whole damn thing ever happened. I like you, Jay, I really, honestly do and if you we aren’t… you know, that’s not gonna change. Everything will be fine between us, I swear. I’ll just, buy a whole bunch of porn or something and… and I’ll get over it, ok?”
“Jen, I want thi-“
“Wait, just fucking listen. Shit.” Jensen scrunches his eyes but and tosses his head like he's trying to clear it and when next he looks back up the seriousness in his face finally makes Jared stop trying to hump up against his friend’s ass. “Like… like I said about the not taking it easy thing; I mean these last couple of months, that’s me holding back - so when I say I’m serious, I mean it Jared. If you want to go with this and really do it, I’m gonna go full throttle. I’m gonna learn every single one of your buttons and find every single line you won’t cross and I’m gonna push, farther than you think you can go. But I will take care of you, I promise, and I will never give you more than you can handle, even if you don’t realize you can handle it. It will blow your fucking mind, I swear to God, but it’s all or nothing – give me an inch and I’ll take every last mile you’ve got. I know that’s intense and you’re so fucking young, Jay – God I’d give anything for this to not all be brand new for you – and I absolutely, totally understand if it’s too much, but I’d be lying to us both if I said I could go any other way with it.”
Jensen sits back, resting on Jared’s thighs and lets the grip he has on Jared’s arms ease until they slide down by his sides. He looks worried, eyes still thick-pupilled but filled with concern too that leaves Jared reeling because, wow. Like, really, wow. It had never even crossed his mind that Jensen might want to legitimately do this. Sure, he’d thought sex might be on the menu at some point, but what Jensen’s talking about - or what he thinks Jensen is talking about, the details are still a little fuzzy - is way bigger than that.
It occurs to Jared that he should potentially be a lot more freaked out about the limit pushing and the all or nothing and all of that other really intense-sounding stuff Jensen just said, but mostly he just keeps thinking back to those notes; how many of them he’d looked at and thought ‘there’s no way I can do that’ and then he’d just gone and done them anyway, gotten off stupidly hard on it to boot. How much he’d thrived on that feeling of knowing he was doing it for Jensen, that Jensen was loving it. And there’s probably plenty more stuff out there way more serious than anything Jensen’s pulled on him yet, but even the nervous, churning parts of him are still fully on board with finding out exactly what all of those things are.
That pretty much seems like a yes to Jared.
Very slowly he nods, gaining confidence as Jensen’s eyes track him like it’s the most important motion in the world. “Yeah,” he chokes out, has to swallow and then again to make his voice work the way it’s supposed to, “Yeah, I’m in.”
Whatever it was that was holding Jensen back - and sweet mother of god, he wasn't kidding about that being him holding back - it's gone now. His hands are everywhere, fingers digging in hard enough to hurt, like he just can't make himself let go and yet they're moving on a moment later to some new territory. His tongue takes up residence in Jared's mouth, fucking in over and over until Jared feels completely out of his head with it. Grinding down against Jared’s erection so the soaked fabric rasps over the sensitive head, teeth-grindingly painful and so motherfucking good.
He doesn't even realize he's whimpering and pawing at Jensen's clothes until his wrists are caught again, forcing him to stop.
Jensen shushses against his lips, follows it up with a couple of quick, soft licks like the world's worst fucking cocktease. "'S ok, Jay, gonna take care of you," he smears along the ridge of Jared's jaw, coming up to breathe ticklishly over his ear, "Take such good care of you. Not gonna ever want to leave me."
Jared's finding it pretty unfathomable at the moment that he could ever want to leave Jensen any way around, but he nods regardless. Jensen's fingers are warm against his skin, slipping up under the hem of his shirt and steadily pushing it upward, pausing every now and again to map out a dip in the muscle or the pointed nub of a nipple. Then the shirt’s up over his head, sliding further up his arms, leaving a rash of pebbled, lit-up flesh in it's wake. He's about to pull his hands free when Jensen stops him, instead wrapping the fabric around itself tighter and tighter until Jared's trapped in it. Bound. And hell if that one word doesn't ring through his system like a gong, setting everything aquiver.
The rumble of Jensen's laugh against his throat as he shudders doesn't ease the sensation any. Neither does the way Jensen eases his captured hands up over the headrest of the chair and hooks them around the back. Reasonably Jared knows he could get out of this, wouldn't even take much off a struggle, but the thing is he doesn't want to. Messed up as it is - and he knows it's messed up, like it's own special brand of messed up - he's been addicted to the faint shadow of this feeling for a while now, and getting the full-force version is even better than he'd have imagined. He likes having Jensen in control of him, likes doing all of these nasty, fucked-up things because Jensen told him to, likes the look in Jensen's eyes as he runs his hands whisper-soft down Jared's chest; dark and smoldering, with this sense of entitlement in them like he owns Jared. It's just so, so wrong and Jared's loving every last second.
"Perfect, Jay," Jensen mutters, cool air rushing in as he slips off of the chair and starts unfastening Jared's jeans. "Like you were built for me." His voice is steady but his movements aren't; hands jerky and uncoordinated as he flings Jared's flip flops across the room, tears bunched denim down his legs and off.
The rigid length of Jared's dick slaps loudly against his belly in the process, leaving him gasping with the momentary jolt to the system. Jensen's crawling back onto the seat then, but instead of straddling Jared's hips, this time he's sliding his legs underneath Jared's so he's straddling the chair with Jared practically in his lap, bodies meeting in a V, his hard-on a firm pressure against the curve of Jared's ass.
He ghosts a caress over the tight film of come dried onto Jared's skin; thighs and hips, just barely touching his sac, the nerves under his fingertips igniting so it feels like he should be glowing red-hot by the time Jensen's thumb makes a home for itself against the cut of Jared's hip.
"Do you trust me?" is about to qualify as one of the stupidest things ever asked as far as Jared's concerned. He's laying here, naked, hard, with his hands tied up, after months of - in his admittedly limited experience - seriously kinky foreplay and Jensen wants to know if Jared trusts him? He's kind of wondering what Jensen's definition of trust is, if this isn't covering it, but he's also completely over this whole talking thing so he just nods fervently and grinds against the press of Jensen's denim-trapped cock.
His friend - or whatever the hell Jared's supposed to call him now; at some point after he's finished coming his brains out, they really need to clear up some of the specifics here - still looks less than convinced, brow furrowed before he seems to decide on something. His whole energy seems to shift as he says, "There's this thing... Like, a fantasy thing. I've always wanted to do it. You know, sexual bucket list or whatever. And... and I've been thinking about it a lot since we started... doing this and- if you're cool with it, if you want to. You don't have to or anything, I know it's a lot for right here at the start and we can always get around to it later maybe-"
It's sort of blowing Jared’s mind right now that any of this is even happening, that they're even here, doing this, and it's not just some pornlicious dream he's having. But Jensen - Mr. Awesome-Badass, Mr. I-Can-Handle-This-No-Big-Deal, Mr. Come-Into-My-Web-Little-Fly being nervous? That's just too weird. And kind of hot; to think that all of that bravado of his is really just a front and he's willing to let Jared of all people behind the curtain. He speaks before he gives himself another second to think about it.
Just like that, Jensen sling-shots back into that black-eyed, sex-soaked place that makes Jared keep thinking he's going to bust out a growl any second.
"Don't," he warns, low, like he's forcing the words out against his better judgment, "Don't offer me something like that without even knowing what it is, kid."
Jared stares back at fuse-blown green eyes and swallows back the thickness of worry building in his throat. "Anything."
He can tell by the smirk lighting up Jensen's face that it’s the right answer.
Before he knows what's going on, he's got two fingers, still coated in the acrid taste of latex dust from the gloves they work in, shoved into his mouth along with an order to, "suck them wet." Meanwhile Jensen's jostling his other hand between them, knuckles digging into Jared's flesh, and it's not until firm, damp heat touches the dip of his spine that he realizes Jensen was getting his dick out.
After that he doesn't have time to think because he's got the one-two punch of those spit-slick fingers pushing underneath him, up into him, and the fire-and-ice rasp of Jensen panting out grade-A obscenity.
"Gonna fuck you, Jay, gonna get so deep in you, you can't breathe around it and then I'm just gonna hold you there, make you feel every last inch of it rubbing at all your soft, sweet places while I put my mark on you."
Fingers twist and curl, pushing at his tender insides as he opens up. It's going fast, easier than usual; might have something to do with the couple of his own - alright, fine, four - he had up there in the bathroom before he started cleaning up for the night. That smug look on Jensen's face says he knows it too.
It takes far too long for anything besides the ‘fucking’ part to make it into Jared's brain - he is extremely pro-fucking - but finally that bit bout Jensen putting his mark on him gets through and apparently that's what Jensen was waiting for.
"Yeah," he flat out grins, a wicked, mischievous thing, "Mark you all up. Get some ink on that pretty skin. Really shouldn't have said 'anything'."
There's a chance, a small one, that Jared was coherent enough to argue that point, at least until Jensen's fingertips nailed his sweet spot and refused to let up. After that, the best he's got is a series of broken consonants and something that sounds a little too much like 'please'.
The cold touch against his lower hip is a shock, making Jared's eyes fly open to find Jensen wiping down the area, carefully prepping it with anticipation boiling over every line of his face.
Prepping. That's... Jared can't stifle the whimper bubbling out of his throat. Jensen's fingers are still in him even as he gets Jared's skin readily, the touches stilted and uncoordinated with most of his attention elsewhere. He wants badly to rock down on them, get more out of it than just the thick weight of them in there. Then he remembers that soon it's going to be something much bigger holding him open, filling him up, unyielding inside of him as Jensen makes a permanent mark on the outside. His muscles clamp down around the incredible need to come.
Jensen wriggles strangely underneath him. For a flash of a second, Jared sees a small tube of lube and the foil of a condom as he extracts them from his pocket and then all he can do is hear the wet sound of Jensen coating himself, getting ready as his fingers slip free.
"Breathe for me, Jay." Jensen's voice is smoother than it has been since they started touching, calm and steady where Jared feels like he's about to fly off the rails. His hand is a soft warmth on Jared's belly, gentling him through a couple of unsteady inhales until the world stops blurring around the edges.
"That's it. Just relax. I'm gonna make you feel so good." He leans in and lays a tender line of kisses over Jared’s sternum, against where he can feel his heart tapping out an erratic tempo. "Just let me in, baby. Let it all go."
The lube on Jensen's dick is cool, especially when Jared's body feels super-heated, but he doesn't pull away from it when Jensen lines up, waits for Jared's next, deep exhale and just slides in.
It aches bizarrely. Deep and hot and all-consuming and yet, somehow still with that razor-edge of good. Jensen goes very slow, but he never stops, body rolling in these tiny circles that push him further and further in when Jared's sure he has to be out of room. He tugs at the fabric tying his hands until he hears seams pop and keeps right on going until he feels the solidity of Jensen's body resting against his own, all the way inside.
Jared wants to kiss him. Badly. Like he's about to overflow with all of this feeling if he doesn't pour it over into something. But Jensen's eyes are closed, head tipped back as he mouths something that looks kind of like 'fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck'. His hips buck, seemingly of their own volition considering how floored Jensen looks too by the tiny, slick motion inside Jared's body. Christ! That's... holy shit. They need to do some more of that now.
"Hold still," Jensen commands when Jared starts to swivel his hips to pick up the rhythm. He's about to bitch, but Jensen fixes him with this stern look and for some stupid reason the words shrivel up and die in his throat. Might be because Jensen's reaching for the tattoo gun.
How, Jared will never understand, but somehow, Jensen's hands instantly stop shaking, like the machine in his hands is absorbing all of his anxiousness. Jared's still a nervous wreck - there's just way too much happening to process and it's left him feeling flayed raw - but he wasn't lying before; he trusts Jensen, even with his internal alarm bells sounding the retreat.
He's never seen Jensen do this freehand and if that's not the most ludicrous thought to be having with - his first ever - dick up his ass and his boss/friend/maybe-boyfriend lowering an ink-loaded needle to his skin, Jared really doesn't know what is.
The first sting is surreal, time delayed by all of the endorphins white-washing his veins. When it really hits it's better and worse than he'd thought it would be; smoking-hot, radiating out along the skin all the way around. At the same time, though, Jensen's still circling his hips, not even enough to move Jared's body, just enough to keep the thickness inside of him churning sweetly against that spot and the two sensations keep getting mixed up, all of it feeding straight into his dick as it throbs in time with his pulse.
The longer it goes on, the more intense it gets; feelings blending and building, oozing through him like warm syrup. It's screwed up how good it feels, like every swipe of the needle is a touch to his cock. Then again, he can't think of anything he's done with Jensen that wouldn't qualify under that heading and he keeps crawling back for more, doesn't he?
The shock of gauze wiping up the blood is just enough to trip it over into pain for a second, and still Jared finds he doesn't mind. These might be revelations about himself he's better off not having, but fuck it. The second Jensen finishes rubbing the mark with ointment and covering it with plastic, Jared’s going to bear down and come like it's his sole purpose in life and honestly? That's totally worth being royally screwed up for.
Except he doesn't really get a chance at that last plan, because as soon as the plastic's taped down, Jensen's yanking the shirt off of his wrists, pulling him into a sitting position - that does sweetmotherfuckeryesyesyes things for Jared - and bucks up into him hard.
"Ride me, baby," he pants, the sound scratched all to hell, like he’s been chugging battery acid. He looks wrecked, sweat shining on his flushed skin, pupils spread so far they're getting friendly with the whites of his eyes. Now that the tattoo gun's out of his hand he's shaking again, all the way down like he's the one who's been up here getting tortured with pleasure-pain.
Jared does what he's told; he'd have just liked to see Jensen try to stop him. He gets his arms wrapped tight around Jensen's shoulders while Jensen mimics the hold at Jared's waste, helping to lift him when he can't get much traction on the linoleum floor at this angle. His fingers slide through Jensen's hair, can't get a grip so he just keeps flexing them, too focused on the slick, perfect slide of Jensen in his channel to pay it much mind. It's so right. He had no idea, he'd never even dared to think it could be, but it is, it absolutely is and he doesn't want to stop; ever, if possible.
Jensen won't shut up, or maybe can't, and the things he's saying keep snagging on the frayed edges of Jared's sanity, making him want when he can't possibly take any more. All about how he's going to fuck Jared bare with Chris and Misha just down the hall, wondering where they are - leave him sloppy wet so he'll have Jensen's come dripping down his legs all afternoon and nobody will know but them. How he's going to make Jared scream his name until his voice is hoarse and then show him what his throat is really good for. How Jared's his, all his, only his. And Jared can't do anything but mewl an agreement and ride the rough fiction of Jensen's t-shirt against his dick because he hasn't got anything close to enough coordination to jack himself.
Jensen's hand's slip through the film of sweat coating Jared's body, one briefly - probably accidentally - brushing against the aching place on his hip where the new mark gleams and Jared slams into orgasm like a brick wall at 100 mph.
Somewhere in the wave of prickly heat sweeping through Jared's body and the pileup of gasped breaths clogging his throat, he feels Jensen's arms crush them together and the very distant, disconnected throb of Jensen pulsing inside of him.
"So hot, so good, God, Jared," Jensen moans steamily against the curve of Jared's neck. It makes him shiver, the motion rocking down through him and back up through Jensen where they're still connected. Jared nuzzles against him like they can possibly get any closer.
As his heartbeat - finally - begins to slow down, Jared gets it together enough to ask with a soft laugh, "Was it everything you hoped?"
Jensen groans pitifully and Jared can vaguely feel the much softer length still holding him open jump feebly. That's going to take a while to get used to.
"We are so doing that again one day," is the answer he gets. He can't help but agree. Just, you know, maybe not tonight.
He manages to bite back a whimper as he lifts himself off of Jensen and lube-slick latex pulls at the rim. From there, he's essentially worthless though - several important muscle groups have recently turned to pudding, so his chances of moving any further are slim - laying back and watching as Jensen cleans up, grinning like a maniac the whole time. Jared has a feeling there's a very similar expression on his own face.
It's not until Jensen comes over to carefully inspect where he'd accidentally pulled off the protective plastic wrap over the tattoo that Jared realizes he doesn't have a damn clue what design Jensen put on him. He didn't even know he was expecting it to be a 'J' until he looks down and sees it's not.
The black ink looks slightly lighter in contrast to the reddened skin around it, a simple mark like a 'V' turned on its side or the tip of an arrow. He tilts his head this way and that trying to make something more out of it than it is, but eventually he has to give in and look up questioningly at Jensen. His friend - or whatever; they have got to deal with the logistics here or Jared's going to go nuts - is still flushed, but Jared doesn't think it's from the exertion any more. He's biting his lip - man, that's distracting - and looks kind of nervous again which is still just as trippy now as it was earlier.
"It's, um," Jensen clears his throat and suddenly finds the floor exceptionally interesting, "it's kenaz. It means art and creativity and stuff." He adds, "And sex," so quietly Jared's not sure he's supposed to have heard it. "I always kinda liked it and it suited you and... I mean, it's an easy design to turn into something else if it's not your thing."
Jared catches Jensen's hand as it fiddles nervously with a tube of antibiotic cream, and smiles at the uncertainty in the other man's eyes when he looks up.
"I like it," he promises.
The edges of Jensen's lush - bruised, and damn if that's not sexy as all get-out - mouth quirk up for a second before his teeth drag away the beginnings of a smile. "And, um, the... you liked that too?" he shrugs like he doesn't really give a shit if Jared enjoyed the sex. Maybe if Jared had never met him before, he might buy it.
He hooks a finger in the hem of Jensen's t-shirt, drawing attention to the dark splotches of drying come Jackson-Pollocking the surface. His only answer is to lift an eyebrow, because that was one dumb fucking question. Right up there with the trust thing. It gets a smile-blush combo out of Jensen that makes Jared's guts do a happy little twist.
"You're kinda bipolar, you know?" he jibes, at last feeling steady enough to try and stand.
Jensen smacks him in the arm and rolls his eyes while Jared’s whole world seems to roll right back into place along with them. "I'm a complex individual. And this is why the notes were better," he grumbles.
"I'm kinda liking the live show," Jared argues. Bending over to get his pants is about twelve times more challenging than he thought, between the faint, pleasant ache in his ass and the sharper sting of abraded flesh on his hip. Jensen seems to get it, though, giving Jared a hand getting the denim up over his knees.
"Yeah, me too," Jensen echoes quietly, not quite, but almost the purr from earlier. His fingers dip into the open fly of Jared's jeans, absently toying with bare skin and dark hair.
"So, I'm thinking," he says, fingers traveling a little deeper, lightly curling under the softness of Jared's cock. Well, the semi-softness now. It's like Jensen's got a remote control for his body's responses or something. He looks pleased as punch about it too.
"I'm thinking you should call your folks and tell them we're hanging out and you're gonna be home late." His wrist slips into the loosened fabric as well so he can palm he weight of Jared's balls. The denim just grazes smooth plastic, sending a hit of pain-adrenaline through Jared that his body's already starting to interpret as 'fuck me now'. "And then I'm thinking we should go over to my place and order a pizza and then maybe later," the tip of his middle finger delves even further back to the sensitive stretch of skin behind the sac, "we'll see how good you are at following orders in person.”
This shivering thing might get embarrassing if it keeps happening every time Jensen uses that tone of voice. As Jared smiles and spreads his legs a little bit further to let Jensen's finger slide those last couple of inches to where he feels raw and wide open and increasingly needy, he figures he could learn to love that.