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Don't Sleep to Dream

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Little known fact about Jensen, at least to anyone that isn’t Jared, is that Jensen sleeps naked. At least whenever he drinks heavily, and well, it isn’t Jared’s fault for wanting to snuggle up close. He’s drunk enough that he has an excuse for his behavior.

They’ve fooled around before, handjobs really. It started out a joke, Jared walking in on Jensen, porn on the television screen, hot girl with fake tits getting her ass reamed, too far gone to care when Jared sat down beside him and asked if he needed a hand. Jared didn’t expect Jensen’s answer, much less the hand on his wrist, urging him to touch, to have, to hold. It was the most fucked up game of gay chicken ever and Jared had no intention of losing. Not when he’d managed to outdo Jensen every time.

Fuck Jensen and his stupid, fucked-up mind games.

Fuck. Heh. Yeah, Jared wants to fuck Jensen. He wants to fuck him bad.

Jared falls onto the mattress, too drunk to crawl over and tuck himself in the crook of Jensen’s arm. Too drunk to get hard. Or so he thinks, because when Jensen raises a knee and lets it fall open to the side, spread of blue-cellophane light catching on his dark, trimmed pubes, the open wedge of his ass, clean and highlighted with moonlight; dick spongy and semi-hard with sleep on his thigh, Jared just about loses it, mind and all.

Figures that even in sleep Jensen is capable of seduction, messing with Jared. Jared draws in close into the vee of Jensen’s thighs, the heel of his palm on his cotton-clad dick. It only makes him harder. He reminds himself how wrong it is, but what he feels is deep and dark and has no name. Or maybe it does. Jared's in denial.

He finds himself on his knees, hobbling forward, tucking the elastic of his sweats behind his balls, feels himself grow harder at the sight of Jensen, sun-burn-pink and tightly held together. He imagines his dick in there, stretching him out into a bloodless corona, imagines Jensen helplessly writhing on the end of his dick, legs wrapped around his waist, scrambling to get Jared closer, deeper, harder, faster. Imagines himself pressing his face into the dusky salty taste he would find there.

He strokes himself before he can think better of it, unable to ignore the punishing throb in his cock, his fingers spread as far as he can manage to glimpse the skin beneath, swollen blood vessels and all, thinks it would look just like that pumping in and out of Jensen’s body, rubbing Jensen raw and bright as a caldera. He has to will himself to stop long enough to spit on his cock, filthy and thick, bubbling and sticky as sap.

Heart in his throat, fear of getting caught makes Jared harder as he works himself, avoiding the crown, goading. He curls over, holding himself up with his other hand, dropping to his elbow to close the distance between them, so close he can smell Jensen, masculine and dark-smelling sex. Jared’s nose all but brushing the furrowed skin of Jensen’s sac, mouth so close to his hole his breath casts back over his own cheeks.

Jensen reduces him to this, an unwilling spectator to his own depravity. Jensen so open to Jared it hurts, making him weak, making him stupid with it, reckless. He hisses as he glances up to Jensen’s face, the long column of his neck, the sharp right-angle of his jaw. Jensen’s body responding like an echo, dick filling out and twitching even as Jared watches, even as he breathes. He feels dirty. He feels needy. He feels like coming, except he’s too drunk to get there quick enough.

He brushes his lip to the tip of Jensen’s cock and when he doesn’t get a response, he chances a lick, kittenish at first, and then long and filthy, from nuts to slit, briny tang that Jared wants more of. He’s never sucked another man’s cock, never thought of it really, until he met Jensen at a frat party, shy and quiet, sipping his beer. It didn’t take long for Jared to coax him out of his shell.

And now here he is, molesting his best friend in his sleep. Shame crackles over Jared’s too-tight, too-hot skin, settles deep in his belly, but he can’t stop himself from edging ever closer, knees tucking beneath Jensen’s spread thighs, hand sinking into the mattress beside his hip, shy of brushing it.

All Jared has to do is slide his knees down, dick level now against Jensen’s hole. He squeezes his dick, taps it against Jensen’s flesh, eyes darting to Jensen’s face, gets no reaction, no change in the rhythm of his breath, feels safe enough to start rubbing his leaky slit against the blood-flushed rim. It feels amazing, gritty at first, then slippy as Jared coats him with slick.

It infuriates Jared that Jensen drinks himself into a coma, so deep in sleep Jared can get away with this. Jared could be anyone. But he isn’t. Fucking, ironic, that's what it is, because what in holy fuck is Jared doing anyway? He’s not even supposed to be here.

His arm begins to quiver holding his position and he’s forced to rest on both forearms, holding his own weight, but touching Jensen now, his face in Jensen’s neck, his dick pushing in, riding the crease and snagging with every glide as Jared rocks his hips slow and easy and stupid, filthy, wrong. Drunk with lust, desire to submerge himself deep, shape Jensen, hollow him out. But instead he’s humping his ass, the air, the mattress, rubbing himself off against Jensen's hole, pursed and soft.

“Jared.” It’s so soft Jared thinks he imagined it until it startles him again. 
He collapses and almost swallows his tongue as the crown of his dick pops through Jensen’s rim.

“Fuck!” Jared, shouts, feeling like the worst bastard in the world, "I'm sorry!" 

But Jensen’s not pushing him off, not screaming, not beating his face in. He brushes his thumb against Jared’s cheek instead, pushing it into Jared’s mouth and pinning his tongue.

“Finally,” Jensen whispers. “I thought you’d never get around to it.”

Jared is so surprised he’s frozen, doesn’t know what to do. He’s got Jensen’s fingers in this mouth and the tip of his cock in his ass and it should be common sense, but Jared’s drunk.

“Leave it in,” Jensen whispers. “Jack yourself till you come. Wanna feel your load in me.”

So Jared begins to jack himself, unable to move his hips, palm skittering along his length and it’s quite possibly the hottest thing he’s ever done. Jensen’s got a hand on his own dick, fisting it so hard Jared can’t imagine it being pleasurable, but Jensen’s obviously kinkier and tougher than he is.

“Race you,” Jensen moans, between sobbing breaths. “Bet I can get there first.”

“Fuck you!” Jared yanks the skin of his dick, faster-and-faster as Jensen rocks down on him, flexing and relaxing, unfurling around Jared and Jared can’t tear his eyes away from his face, blood rushed in his cheeks, lips parted and infinitely suckable, fuckable, kissable.

His heartbeat stutters to catch up to his heavy breathing, to Jensen’s, to the pace Jensen sets as he jacks his own cock. So good, so brutal, so tireless.

“You almost there, Jay?” Jensen growls, his flat stomach heaving, his balls pulling up and shuddering. “Oh fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck!”

And that’s all it takes, Jared comes in Jensen and he’s not even all the way inside, singing Hail Mary's and Hallelujahs, his come squeezed out with Jensen’s contractions, prolonging Jared’s orgasm. Jared crawls up his body and sucks the breath from Jensen’s lungs. 

“You think you can get it in all the way next time?” Jensen smiles against him mouth.

“You bet your ass.” Jared smiles back.