Fic: paper.planes (5/6)
Apr. 19th, 2008 10:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aeroport_artTitle: paper.planes (5/6)
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aeroport_art
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 7,070 (24,000)
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made.
Notes: I porned!! *is proud* Thanks tolavendervamp for brit-picking this round. Feedback = ♥
Summary: In which Jared is a wee British undergrad, and Jensen, American postgrad extraordinnaire, seduces him with how great his ass looks in a pair of jeans.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
“So why don’t you just go after the kid?” Danneel asks the next day, stirring cream into her mocha with a swizzle stick.
“I can’t,” Jensen replies. He inhales his black coffee but it’s still too hot and he spits it back out.
“That’s disgusting,” she says. Jensen smirks.
It’s late afternoon, Jensen’s done with his classes, and Danneel’s here until Sunday so the two of them are strolling around downtown Braxton with caffeine-to-go and no destination in mind.
“Jensen, it’s me. Just tell me what the hell’s going on already.”
“It’s complicated.”
“How? I mean, it’s obvious the kid likes you. I don’t think that hard-on smashed up against my back was entirely me, you know.”
Jensen swallows prematurely and the coffee scalds his throat. He coughs, “Dude, cut it out.”
But Danneel doesn’t cut it out, not for the next six blocks of window shopping and coffee-drinking. When they pass a newsstand with publications in racks, Jensen exasperatedly snatches up a bright magazine and thrusts it at his friend.
“You wanna know why it won’t work? That’s why,” he says harshly, finger jabbing into the face of the smiling brunette on the cover. Danneel peers down curiously.
“2008’s Hottest Parties,” she reads the caption aloud, continuing, “Find out where the socialites go to get down. Okay.” Danneel looks up at Jensen, who’s grimacing like he just sucked a lemon. “This tells me nothing.”
“That girl, Sandy McCoy, is Jared’s girlfriend. Or fiancée. Or whatever.”
The man behind the newsstand grunts, “Hey, you gonna buy that?”
Danneel ignores him, saying “Wait… you’re serious?” Jensen nods grimly.
“Hold this,” Danneel orders, handing Jensen her mocha. She takes the magazine and flips through as the bearded man in the booth complains loudly.
“Here,” Jensen says to the man, setting down the cups and fishing out a £2 coin. He hands it over and Danneel’s still flipping pages as Jensen picks up the drinks and ushers her along.
“Sandra McCoy at Martha Hammett’s birthday bash in a stunning number by London designer Christopher Kane,” Danneel reads. “Hey, that’s a really great dress.”
Jensen rolls his eyes.
“Hold on, stop walking so fast,” Danneel says. She quickly locates a green-painted bench and sits down, still skimming the article. Jensen slumps in beside her.
Danneel flips the page. “Huh,” she says. Jensen cranes his neck to look but she turns her back, blocking him.
“What?”
“—Nothing.” She flips the page.
“Nice try,” Jensen snipes and sets the drinks down on the ground before lunging to swipe the publication.
Smiling up at him in full-color glory is a candid snapshot of Jared and Sandy at some snazzy party. Leaning against a glass-top bar, Jared’s kissing Sandy’s forehead, arms wrapped protectively around her as she dreamily smiles up at him. It’s the perfect picture of a happy celebrity couple, and it makes Jensen want to claw his eyes out.
“They’re just rumors, Jensen,” Danneel says, hunting around for her mocha.
“He’s kissing her, for God’s sake.”
“Don’t be such a baby, it’s just on the forehead. And besides, we kiss each other all the time when we want to throw people off. Celebrities need that even more than we do,” Danneel nods resolutely as she finds her mocha and warms her hands around the cup.
Jensen stays quiet. He’s still staring at the picture. Danneel sighs and snatches the magazine back as Jensen lets out a little hey. “Look at me Jensen.”
Jensen crosses his arms and slouches on the bench, taking up as much space as he can while he looks the other way.
Annoyed, Danneel reaches over and mercilessly tweaks Jensen’s nipple through his shirts. “I said look at me.”
“Jesus Christ,” he squeaks, embarrassedly meeting eyes with a passerby who goggles sympathetically. Jensen turns around and gives Danneel his Full Attention, absentmindedly rubbing at his sore nipple.
Danneel says, “It isn’t just that, right?”
Jensen looks at her, but his eyes are still stubbornly shuttered.
“It isn’t just that Jared’s famous and you don’t want to drag the kid kicking and screaming out of the closet and into to the arms of the paparazzi. And it’s not that Jared’s dating some fabulously hot chick with a great rack. Nor is it that they’re probably betrothed and destined to have litters of photogenic babies.”
Jensen chokes, “I fucking hate you.”
Danneel softens, and scoots closer. She says gingerly, “It’s because you actually give a damn. Isn’t it, Jensen?”
Jensen looks like he wants to say no, his shoulders tense and scowl gracing his face. But then, like curtains drawn back to reveal a bleak and wintry day, Jensen breaks. The fight in him gives out as he leans forward, elbows on knees, and drops his face into his gloved hands. He wearily rubs for a bit before turning back to look at Danneel, eyes defeated.
“I’m just…” Jensen bites out. “I’m not used to this, you know? It’s like… if I lose this, I’m fucked. I’m not used to that. There’s always been more, there’s always been the next thing. But Jared…”
Danneel listens, biting at the plastic lip of her cup as she watches Jensen—usually so confident—crumble before her.
“The odds are stacked too high against me. And for this, for Jared… I can’t have him, only to lose him halfway out. I just… I’d rather not play at all.”
Danneel studies Jensen’s profile, watching his eyelashes flutter and drop. Jensen toes his coffee, which still sits on the concrete ground.
Bending down to save it from Jensen’s muddy shoes, Danneel says, “Drink up hon. Before it gets too cold.”
-----
On the fifth floor of Westborough Library, Jared is studying. No really, he is. He’s got his textbooks and references spread out before him, and a spiral-bound full of notes.
Jared’s stopped by so often this term, it’s pretty much become a second home.
He sighs and looks down, gazing at the stoic expression of Oliver Cromwell.
I bet you never had problems with pretty boys, did you? Jared thinks, before putting his head down into the pages. He winds up facing the window. He sees streaks of water ripple against the glass surface as rain blusters across it.
It’s a sopping day in late winter, and Jared revels in the bleak weather. There’s nothing worse than feeling like shit while the sun pours over you and folks blow rainbows up your arse.
Not wanting to get back to work just yet, Jared sits up and cradles his chin, peering outside over the campus. The trickling parade of multi-colored umbrellas makes for a hypnotic view, and he indulges.
Behind him, somebody arrives on the lift; Jared apathetically registers the clunky noise of it, the familiar roll of sliding metal as the doors pull open. Déjà-vu washes over him, reminding him of all the times Jensen had appeared out of those sliding doors; memories of schoolwork and smiles, Jensen’s glasses, their shoes just touching… but Jared refuses to let himself care.
It’s not him anyway, Jared thinks. A flashback of last week’s night at the club— Jensen’s mouth against red, glossy lips— sneaks in. He made it perfectly apparent that it would never be him.
Still, Jared can’t help the way his body betrays him, and his chest thuds as squeaking footsteps track across the floor.
Jared’s still facing the window, but he’s staring at the reflection, straining to see behind himself. Beyond his own mirrored image, though, it’s too fuzzy a picture to make anything out.
The sound of wet soles on linoleum gets louder as Jared’s pulse exponentially quickens, but when the owner of the trainers approaches his table, a cloying waft of perfume trails past. His heart sinks.
However, a sudden “Hey” comes up from behind and nearly startles Jared out of his seat. What the hell? he wonders, because the sound of wet footsteps have yet to cease...reluctant, Jared turns around.
It’s Jensen. “Hey yourself,” he says uncertainly. Jared can’t decide whether he’s glad or not to find himself confronted with the flesh-and-blood reason behind his dismal mood. It’s irrelevant, though, because Jensen’s there whether he likes it or not. Jared leans back in his chair to meet Jensen’s gaze, and waits for the other shoe to drop.
“Have you been here the whole time?” Jensen asks.
“For about an hour, yes.”
“I’ve been…” Jensen jerks his thumb back, where Jared can see an open tome and a coffee gracing an empty table.
After a moment’s hesitation, Jensen moves across the table and takes a seat. A splash of giddiness invariably leaps up, but Jared knows he simply cannot entertain it–shoves his hands in his armpits, instead, to keep from reaching out like his instincts would have him do.
“Jared,” Jensen starts, as Jared wonders, What happened to ‘Jay’? “I’m sorry about last week.”
Jensen leans in, now, elbows on the table—he presses his lips against steepled fingers as Jared stares, chest aching at the sight of the soft give of Jen’s mouth and remembering how supple and moist it felt against his own.
Then there’s Jensen, who’s nervous and oblivious to it all, as he continues, “And about… before, too. I didn’t mean to uh… give you the wrong idea.” Jensen chews on his nails, teeth flashing against blunt fingertips. Funny, Jared never took him for the nail-biting type.
“So, we okay?” Jensen prompts.
Jared blinks. “Sure. Yes.”
Jensen looks mollified, and gets up. Says something about needing to brainstorm for his final project, and Jared nods appropriately. But halfway back to his table, he suddenly stops, giving off restless energy that makes the back of Jared’s neck tingle.
“Oh, by the way,” Jensen says awkwardly. “This is my last quarter here. I’m done after finals. We should get together sometime before I leave.” After a pause, he clarifies, “Before I move back to California. They’ve got me set up real nice over there, so I won’t be sticking around too long after graduation.”
As Jared digests the information, it feels like a car’s hurtled itself into his stomach. He slowly turns around, lifting his gaze to meet Jensen’s, searching for some indication, any at all, that Jensen hadn’t been serious.
Rueful eyes look back, however, and that’s answer enough.
And bloody fuck, it’s bad enough that Jared’s been getting an overload of confusing, crossed signals from the guy, but to suddenly find out the wire’s gonna be cut entirely? It’s just harsh.
Jared swallows hard, managing to ask, “How much longer are you going to be in Braxton?”
“About a week, week and a half?” Jensen scratches the back of his head. “Whenever Monday after next is.”
So, Jared thinks, Jensen leaves the Monday after next. That’s ten days from now. In ten short days, Jared’s never going to see Jensen, ever again.
-----
Jensen dreams.
He’s floating, two thousand feet above water. The ocean looks like wrinkled skin below him and it creeps, snail-slow over the Earth’s rind
He’s confined in the air. Although the sky is limitless around him, Jensen can’t move past two strides in any direction. He tries his boundaries, but there’s an invisible ceiling, invisible walls, and no way out. He’s effectively bottled in an illusion of never-ending blue, of mocking freedom.
The sky is so deep, so open that Jensen can’t breathe. He can’t hear, he can’t even speak or scream, though not from lack of trying. The world is still, and mute.
And then, everything ends. Or begins. Without warning, the world explodes into life… Salt on the breeze and the deafening squall of gulls. There’s chapped wind in his face and sun in his eyes, and gravity sneaks up on Jensen. He doesn’t realize he’s falling, until he’s pierced the surface of the ocean.
-----
Six days later, Jared approaches the front steps of Vitton Hall to meet Jensen for lunch. He climbs up to the entrance—abruptly spins around, and jogs back down to the sidewalk.
Bugger, he thinks, rubbing his face tiredly. Get a grip. It’s just food. Turns back again, and strides up through the door before he can chicken out again.
This time around, he knows where to look for the guy. Locates the stairwell and heads right on up to the second floor, where the studio is. He turns the corner, and bingo—Jensen’s the first thing Jared sees through the large glass window.
He’s in the middle of working on a model, and he’s not alone—the room is dotted with other students, presumably from the same class, and all of whom are probably trying to squeeze as much work as they can into their final projects before deadline. Jensen’s standing off to the side—earphones in, the black wires trail over his cream-colored shirt, and his sleeves are pushed up to the elbow, forearms taut as he saws at a wooden dowel. The sun’s glare refracts off the moving blade to dance over Jensen’s neck in a quivering spotlight.
Jared wonders if it’s warm there, that halo of light on Jensen’s neck. It looks warm.
He quickly realizes the direction his mind’s slipping in, so Jared looks away in hopes of reigning in his hormones. But then Jensen snaps a twig of wood in half and pinches the piece with two fingers, glue gun cocked at the ready, and Jared can help but fall entranced by the slow pressure of Jensen’s finger on the trigger. Clear, hot glue oozes out—Jensen burns himself on it, hand jumping to his mouth.
Jared doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath, so engrossed as he is in watching Jensen suck at the injury—full lips puckered over reddening skin—only stutters an exhale when Jensen pulls his finger away, slick with spit.
Nonetheless, Jensen’s focused. He’s building the rungs of a miniature tower with a frown on his forehead and lower lip worried between white teeth, and at that image, at Jensen oblivious to the way he’s prettying up his red, wet mouth, it hits Jared, like the dawning of enlightenment: Jared is utterly and completely incapable of handling this—this date, or whatever it is they’ve mistakenly concocted in order to diffuse the raw tension that still burns between them. It dawns on Jared that he’s simply not ready to face Jensen yet—at least, not with a big, fake smile plastered onto his face, and not to spew forth congratulations and well-wishes for the flight and future that will take Jensen halfway across the world from him.
Jared doesn’t even know why he agreed to this ridiculous lunch date, because honestly? He’d rather finish up the school term having aborted a short-lived crush than to tease a doomed relationship (if it could even be called that) to its last, painful ends. He’s just torturing himself, now.
It only takes Jared a split second to make up his mind. He’ll thank himself later.
He drops down, quick as you please, and turns to go before anyone notices him—but it’s as if Jensen could hear Jared’s internal scheming, the way he instantly looks up from his work and zeroes in on a half-crouched Jared.
Jensen smiles. There are little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He tugs the cords of his earphones and mouths “Jay,” treading over to the door with affectionate eyes.
Jared straightens up, caught, brain still tearing through excuses to bail the fuck out of there, but its way too late to make any sort of plausible escape—Jensen just opens the door from the inside and leans out, chuckling, “What are you doing? Come inside, let me pack up.” Jared nods numbly and follows Jensen inside. Firmly keeps his eyes above indigo-clad hindquarters, thank you very much.
-----
When the waitress gets a good look at Jensen, she smiles coyly and lightly bites down on the end of her pen. Jensen’s too busy looking at the menu to notice, though.
“I’ll have the bangers and mash,” he finally orders.
“Our bangers are very good here,” she replies.
It’s almost physical, the moment Jensen realizes he’s being baited—he turns stiff, smiling self-consciously under the bedroom eyes she’s making at him. Jared, on the other hand, he just scowls.
He maybe takes his frustration out on Jensen a little, leaning across the tiny table to grump, “Seriously, Jen? You’ve been in Britain for months now, you should know that bangers are only any good with a pint.”
“Dude, I won’t be able to have this stuff when I’m back home. I’m getting in my English cuisine where I can find it,” Jensen shoots back, his grin turning real when Jared just sadly shakes his head. Jared gets a burger and chips for himself.
Their meal arrives as quickly as expected from the no-frills diner they’d picked out, and Jensen and Jared dive right in, garbling conversation around mouthfuls of food. In between bites of his burger, Jared peers up just in time to catch Jensen sneaking a few chips off his plate. The sight of it makes him laugh and swallow funny—he chokes a little, then coughs up a lung; all the while, Jensen simply smirks at him and hands over his cup of water, Jared’s own long empty.
Their shared lunch continues like this. It’s good. It’s comfortable, it’s fun, and Jared admits to himself, Alright. This isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. After all, it’s difficult not to have a fantastic time when it’s just him and Jensen again—it’s almost like they’re back at Westborough, palling around on the fifth floor of the library as they inhabit the same elbow space and steal swigs from each other’s coffees. This is everything Jared’s missed lately, played out in a casual lunch break between finals.
Unfortunately, good things come to a close—especially when it comes to Jensen. Quick as the food had been brought, the check follows suit. Though Jared digs into his pocket to grab his wallet, Jensen just arches an eyebrow and quips, “Don’t even try. You might be a rich brat and all, but I’m still your elder. Gotta take care’a you.” Jared pinks and tucks his wallet away.
While Jensen’s up at the register to settle the bill, Jared makes his way to the restroom for a leak, maybe check in the mirror to see if any lettuce had gotten stuck in his teeth or something. He didn’t want Jensen’s last memories of him to feature, like, tomato sauce or dirt smudges on his face.
Everything seems to be in place, though, so after a few more flicks of his hair to get it out of his eyes, Jared slides out the lock and slaps his hand on the knob. Just as he pulls it open, the door swings in and almost clocks him in the face.
“Whoa,” he yelps, dodging out of range as someone falls forward, and this time, Jared really does get a hard knock across his chin. With a bitten off curse, Jared cradles his jaw and straightens up, ready to mutter something rude when he looks down, and—oh.
Jensen stands close—really close—with eyes bright and wide and gorgeously vulnerable. He’s rubbing at his forehead where it’d bumped against Jared’s face, but other than that slow repetition of movement, Jensen’s stock-still, like a portrait.
The change in the air is palpable. The easy camaraderie they’d built up that afternoon comes crashing down like a house of cards, and all that’s left is Jensen standing much too close for propriety’s sake, and Jared with his breath stuck in his throat.
He doesn’t get the chance to un-stick it, either—Jensen unexpectedly hauls him out of the bathroom and slams him up against the wall by the door, right there in the narrow hall between the kitchen and dining space where anyone walking by could just look over and see them. Jared wipes his palms down the sides of his jeans, eyes nervously darting around to land anywhere except on Jensen’s (really, really close) face, but the moment Jensen touches their lips together, all self-consciousness flies out his system because Jensen is—shite—he’s kissing him.
And not even like the first time—there were questions in their first kiss, back at the studio in Vitton Hall; questions Jensen asked through the tentative brush of his mouth, questions Jared never got the chance to answer. That kiss had been improbable and insane and thrilling, but this one now—this one where Jensen pushes so hard against him Jared cuts himself on their teeth—there’s no asking of anything, here. Just a message: I want you.
I think I like this message, Jared drunkenly thinks as he kisses back, bearing down on the thigh that’s snuck in between his legs. This goes on for what could be seconds or minutes or days—Jensen doesn’t let up this time, either, just keeps moving in, harder, plying Jared’s mouth open with an insistent tongue. And this time around, when Jared’s gone hard and horny as fuck, he doesn’t shy away from the fact—just shoves his hips into Jensen’s, deliberately pressing his full length against the soft span of belly there, where he knows Jensen can feel exactly how worked up he’s getting
It doesn’t come as a surprise when Jensen finally wrenches away, pulling back with a loud, wet parting. It hurts like hell, of course, the realization that Jared’s been played again—for what must be the third or fourth time now—except, something’s different this time. The lust hasn’t gone away from Jen’s green, dilated eyes. They’re still dark, full of intent, and the characteristic cooling off—it doesn’t come. No brick wall thrown up between them; Jensen doesn’t look away, or make excuses. No, this time…
Jensen moves forward, leaning his forearms in the space above Jared’s shoulders. Jared’s a little taller, so Jensen has to come in close, sinking his weight onto his elbows. For a split second Jared thinks he’s gonna get kissed again—heart surging with hope—but Jensen just keeps going, until his head’s almost tucked into the crook of Jared’s neck.
Jensen breathes heavily, moist breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there. It feels electric. Jensen says—purrs—“You got anyplace to be?”
Jared shivers. “No,” he replies, keenly aware of the way Jensen’s mouth hovers above his pulse, tickling the light hairs there with every gust of breath.
“Good.”
-----
Jared runs a wide palm along the hem of Jensen’s t-shirt, pushing fabric away to sneak in underneath so he can count ridges there (three across the abs, four at his ribcage). Jensen’s body feels both silky and hard, and damn but it makes Jared hot.
Jensen groans, tilting his head back to give up a wide swath of neck that’s just ripe for the taking, so Jared does, eagerly—ducks his mouth down to lightly nip where Jen’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down, hands charting the land beneath Jensen’s soft, worn T-shirt. The deep arch of his lower back makes Jared inwardly hiss; the sharp out-curve (of Jensen’s arse) makes him want to do wicked, wicked things.
The fact that Jensen might actually let him—Jensen shoves Jared’s paws from out under his shirt, using the momentary freedom to yank the unwanted barricade up over his head, only to dump it unceremoniously onto the floor—the very fact Jensen wants this is far headier than any physical gratification that might come from it.
“Fuck, Jay, quit thinking so loud and just—“ Jensen fumbles open the first few buttons of Jared’s shirt, but it’s such a hindrance that he quickly gives up on doing it the right way and just grabs the hem instead, tugging it upwards with such urgency that it takes Jared a beat to figure out what he’s trying to do. “Get this off,” Jensen finally growls, and Jared snaps into action, pulling the whole tangled mess over his head. When he reemerges, he’s met with Jensen’s heated green gaze, and relishes the way it sweeps over his body. He’s never felt so desirable, the way Jensen devours the view like Jared’s a feast laid out before him.
“Can I—“ Jared ventures. “Can I, um…” Fuck, he’s so fucking nervous and high from all this, his hands won’t stop shaking, even as they slide downwards to not-quite cup the swell of Jensen’s arse.
Jensen makes a pleased noise and kisses him, distracting Jared from any further doubt. And thank God for it—Jared eagerly pours his restless energy into it, conquering Jensen’s lightly chapped lips with renewed fervor.
His hands aren’t shaking anymore, not even as they slide up to seek out the border of Jensen’s boxers—and slide down, underneath the elastic waistband (Jensen bucking against him). All the while, the sexy, rough scrape of Jensen’s wantonly exposed neck calls out like a Siren’s song, just inches away from Jared’s searching mouth. He falls into it teeth first, finding no reason to resist.
“Fffuck, ” Jensen cries as Jared eagerly sucks on his throat. He makes a bruise here—moves a bit lower, makes another one there—Jared can hardly get a good suction going on any given spot before another one catches his interest. In fact, the whole of Jensen’s body is spread out before him like a vast, blank canvas just begging to be colored in, Jared’s tongue as the paintbrush.
He tastes it before he even realizes where he is—against his tongue, Jensen’s skin gets a little bit salty, like sweat, but sweet, too. There’s even the faint residue of body-warmed soap, from a morning shower. Jensen tastes clean and virile.
Jared doesn’t even realize; not until his tongue scrapes across the transition of baby-soft skin to rough, coarse hair, and Jensen gasps loudly—“Fuck! ”
Jared pulls back a little, just enough to orient himself. Oh, God damn, he thinks, falling back on his haunches as he takes in the sight before him.
Face-level with Jensen’s crotch, it’s kind of difficult to ignore the straining erection in front of him. Jen’s dick is visibly stuck down one pant leg, trying to point north but miserably constrained by denim, and Jared winces in sympathy. Gotta help a guy out, he reasons, reaching for the button on Jensen’s pants.
He makes quick work of it, shoves the rough fabric down, and before long it’s just Jensen, his dick, and a pair of cotton boxer shorts that do nothing to hide much of anything. Not that Jen’s got anything he needs to hide. Even with shorts on, it’s pretty obvious he’s got a good thing going there—decent girth, something you could really get your hand around, and nice and long, too. Jared feels his mouth water—literally, his mouth waters.
“If you’re gonna keep gawking, let me know so I can get started without you,” Jensen says from above, hand sneaking down to reach for himself. His face is tomato red, though, palm doing more to cover up his erection than any actual groping, and Jared thinks to himself—God, was Jensen always this adorable?
It becomes moot point though, because the moment Jared swats the hand away, reaching into the opening of Jensen’s boxers to fish out his cock, the sound that filters into his ears goes from adorable to filthy hot in about two seconds, flat. And the sound Jensen makes next, after Jared’s leaned forward and wrapped his lips around Jen’s cock…it makes Jared’s face turn red.
“Oh God,” Jensen gasps, hands thumping against the wall behind his back, scrabbling for something to hold onto as his knees give out. “God.”
It doesn’t taste weird, or anything. It’s the first time Jared’s given head (or done much of anything, really), but it just tastes like skin, and maybe something a little musky in the back of his throat, where the tip of Jensen’s dick nudges in.
“God,” Jensen repeats, breathless, and the needy sound of it makes everything so much better, all of a sudden. Blowjobs? No problem. Jared can do this—especially if Jen’s gonna keep writhing like that, making his dick pump in and out of Jared’s mouth in short, convulsive bursts like he just can’t help himself. Yeah, Jared can rock this.
He takes a deep breath (through his nose, of course)—and sinks in. Doesn’t even know what to do, just knows from hearsay that girls can get it down all the way in, like, all the way, and Jared’s not about to be shown up by some bird, so he just…goes for it. Forces himself on Jensen’s cock, trying to take it as deep as he possibly can. It doesn’t work like he expects, though—hits a wall when the head of Jen’s dick butts against the pit of Jared’s throat, and there’s only half or maybe two-thirds of the hard length in his mouth, and it’s not going any further. Jared chokes wetly on the first thrust, embarrassed when an obscene sound squelches out. His heart sinks when Jensen jerks his hips back, pulling his whole dick out with another loud, mortifying slurp. God, Jared’s drooling everywhere.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to look nonchalant like he hadn’t just been trying (and failing) to deep-throat Jensen. He’s about to stand back up and apologize or something, when Jensen looks down at him, eyes positively smoldering.
“Fuck, Jared,” he pants, throat raspy like he’d been the one trying work a solid object into his esophagus. Turned on to all hell, Jared surreptitiously tries to catch his breath, while Jensen visibly does the same, chest heaving before he continues, “Ease up, I’m gonna come in, like, less than a minute if you keep that up.”
Even if Jensen’s lying, or just trying to be nice or whatever, the encouragement makes Jared feel like a fucking champ. So he appraises Jensen’s crotch, where his prick juts out from the folds of his cotton boxers. It’s still a little shiny with Jared’s drying spit. He thinks, I can do this.
The thing is, Jared wants to make Jensen come. As soon as possible, really, because he can’t wait to see it, hear it (taste it). So Jared smirks up at him and says, “Then come. You can save the stamina for round two.” Before Jensen can get a word in edgewise—though an undignified squeak manages to make it through—Jared gets back on the proverbial horse. He pulls Jensen into his mouth again with the tip of his tongue, then shoves down with grasping lips like he’s trying to get the runaway drips off an ice-lolly. And yeah, it’s kind of uncomfortable, but it doesn’t matter—Jared wants to make this good for Jensen because, really, how embarrassing would it be if Jared was a horrible lay?
Luckily, Jared finds the right timing to this whole dick-sucking business; instead of getting cock-blocked by his gag reflex, he swallows just as Jensen’s thrusting in, and it’s like the turn of a key—Jensen keeps going, going, and slides on home. His dick just sinks in, making its way past those last crucial inches until Jared finds himself with his nose pressed against coarse hairs, spittle trickling out from the corners of his mouth. Jensen grunts, pushing in that much tighter as Jared’s head moves backwards with the movement, and between the friction Jared can feel his own drool smearing back against his chin where it’d dripped down the underside of Jen’s balls.
Jensen falls apart above him. He keeps repeating Fuck, Jared. God. God, you’re—fuck, with various permutations of those three, delicious words. Mindlessly chants them like they’re the only things he ever learned, ever knew how to say. It’s scorching hot to hear his name uttered like that, like it’d been dragged over a bed of nails and flayed with a whip before being pushed out of Jensen’s bitten, full mouth.
Even better, the words only grow in volume the longer Jensen rocks against Jared’s face. He wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t last long—just as Jared’s starting to get the hang of it, figuring out how to relax his throat so Jensen can fuck into it without having to worry about strangulation—
“—fuck, Jared, ” he keens. Jared just hums along, paying no mind because it’s all Jen’s been saying for the past few minutes. But suddenly, Jensen blurts—“I’m gonna— “
Well, that’s new.
Jared quickly gives the dick in his mouth one long, hard suck as he pulls off, only to get an eyeful of Jensen’s come on the way out. He automatically throws a hand on Jen’s dick—either to push him back or to milk him through orgasm, maybe both—but all it does is make Jensen swear even louder as the rest of his come hits Jared in the face in hot, gooey splatters.
The shock of it must be written all over his face, because after one long, stretched out moment, Jensen breaks the silence with a snort. Which turns into a chuckle, turns into a laugh, until Jared can’t help but smile himself, even as he winces in trying to keep Jensen’s runoff out of his left eye. Jesus, but Jensen’s laughs are infectious.
“Ha ha, very funny,” Jared remarks, hunting around the ground for Jensen’s discarded shirt. The come is getting tacky on his face though, which is kind of foul, so he quickly wipes it off. “Eurgh, this stuff doesn’t come off, ” he complains, pulling at a clump in his hair that’s glued together.
“Let me get that,” Jensen replies, tucking his softening dick back in as he kicks off his still-tangled jeans.
Jensen is a sneaky, sneaky man, however. When he gets to Jared’s side, over by the sofa (because they’d only made as far as the living room before getting down to business), he’s knocked backwards and blinking up at the ceiling, getting manhandled out of his remaining clothes before he can even figure out what’s going on.
Oh, he figures it out pretty quick, though. Naked, shivering (from heat), and getting carpet burn on his ass, Jared gets a the best blowjob he’s ever experienced—and while he hasn’t got a book full of conquests or anything, he still somehow knows it can’t possibly get any better than this. After all, this is…it’s Jensen, the postgrad transfer student Jared’s been unknowingly lusting after for the entirety of the term. Sexy and guarded and brilliant, Jensen is suddenly here, working Jared’s cock over with just the teasing, fluttering suction of his talented mouth.
Jensen gives as good as he got, though, and then some. Jared would almost be jealous, thinking of all the practice Jen must’ve had to be this fucking amazing…only, he’s getting his fucking dick sucked, so there’s not a whole lot going on in his head other than the fact that Jensen is really, really good at this.
Jared comes even before Jensen works his way up a fast tempo. Jesus, he came from foreplay. It’d almost be embarrassing; that is, if he and Jensen weren’t competing neck-in-neck for Quickest Orgasm of the Year.
The thought of it makes Jared smile. Wanting to share the afterglow, Jared pulls Jensen up by the back of his neck with a gentle hand and he comes willingly—so uncharacteristically willing, it makes Jared’s chest ache.
“Hey,” Jared says, whisper soft.
“Hey yourself.” Jensen swings his body over Jared’s, lying right on top like a heavy, muscle-and-bone blanket. He ducks down, kisses Jared’s cheekbone as Jared’s eyelids fall shut.
Jensen makes a content noise, low in his throat, and it’s a beautiful sound.
Of course, the gods take it upon themselves to butt into Jared’s business, once again. The ringtone of a mobile suddenly erupts into noise, right next to Jared’s ear where his jeans lay in a heap, the boys giving a violent start at the interruption.
“Bugger—“ Jared gets up on his elbows, reaches over to struggle with the vibrating phone that’s ensnared in the loose pocket of his jeans. He’s just going to turn it off, but Jensen rolls away and gives him space. A lot of space.
Jared quickly pins him in place with a look of warning, making sure Jensen won’t skitter away (he’s got nowhere to go, anyway, as they’re already in his flat). And while Jen looks fidgety, it will have to do for now; Jared takes a moment to check the caller ID on his phone.
What’s Kendrick calling me for? he wonders. Curiosity beats out annoyance, and Jared answers the call.
-----
When Jared’s cell phone goes off, something hits Jensen hard, like a sledgehammer’s been taken to his gut.
The enormity of what they’ve done—Jesus, Jared is…this kid is buck-naked in his apartment, having just gotten sucked off by a guy half a decade older than him, and it’s not even like that’s a big deal except that it’s Jared, and that phone call is probably his long-term celebrity girlfriend, or fiancée, or whatever—it’s probably Sandy on the phone. Checking up to see where her boy’s at.
Jesus.
Jensen scrambles off, mortified at the turn of events. He backs away enough to start looking for his clothes, maybe go back to his room for a fresh set, but Jared’s feral eyes lock him in place. Torn, yet helpless but to freeze in place, Jensen watches morosely as Jared’s attention goes back to the phone call.
Jensen shifts his weight, unable to do anything except succumb to his own racing thoughts.
This afternoon—it was just supposed to be lunch. Two guys, hanging out between finals; one last time to put some closure on the open wound of their relationship that’s been stinging all semester long. But Jensen has to go and fuck it up by molesting the kid outside the men’s room, before taking him home so they can what, fool around? Like that’s going to help matters any, especially after Jensen’s gone back to California and the only thing he can do is get over all this.
He sneaks a glance at Jared, whose back is turned. His shoulders are tense, up around his ears in a stiff line. Jensen doesn’t need to take a wild guess to figure out who it is on the other end of the conversation.
Who are you kidding, Jensen says himself. What did you expect? What possible outcomes could there be from him and Jared fucking around?
Without Jared’s eyes on him to keep him immobile, Jensen breaks out of form and strides over to his jeans, where they lay next to the wall. Grabs them off the floor and yanks one leg up—
The loud clap of a clamshell phone jolts him around, and he faces Jared (who’s still naked), feeling slightly guilty.
“Hey,” Jared says, and it sounds nothing like the way he’d said it two minutes earlier. It’s cautious this time, like he doesn’t want to scare Jensen away. “I have to go. I completely forgot about my criminology final.”
“Yeah, okay,” Jensen replies, shrugging the other pant leg on. Jared watches him unhappily, like he’d wanted some other reaction. Well, too bad, because while Jensen might be a horny bastard and a cradle-robber, he is not a home wrecker, so Jensen is staying far, far away from Jared. Right.
Jensen pointedly adds, “Lunch was good.”
Jared does nothing though, just keeps staring as Jensen does up his fly. Fuck, those slanted, feral eyes can get unnerving—Jensen turns around and scoops his shirt up off the floor. Only, it’s got his come on it still so he can’t really put on it.
Jensen mumbles, “I’m just gonna…” He waves offhandedly at the door to his bedroom, and wills Jared to stop boring holes into his skin with his narrowed gaze.
What Jared does next isn’t much better, though. As Jensen carves a straight trajectory to his room, it’s quickly aborted by a yank on his bicep. Jared uses the momentum to pull Jensen around.
“Jensen,” he repeats, and the undercurrent of pleading acts like a hook that snags on Jensen’s gaze. It’s a bad idea though, because Jared doesn’t hide how he feels (at least, not very well), and the displeasure that tightens the corners of his mouth makes Jensen feel like a complete bastard.
“Jen, talk to me.”
Dangerous words. Spilling his guts to Jared is the last thing he wants to do—he’s vulnerable, off-guard, and so turned around that there’s nothing to talk about, other than this: “Jared, I’m sorry,” he says, cringing at the shadow that falls across Jared’s face. He can’t stop now though, so continues, “This…we shouldn’t have done this. There’s Sandy to think about—“
“Sandy?” Jared asks, confusion clouding his expression. Jesus, as if he doesn’t know—“What’s Sandy got to do with it?”
What does she not have to do with the fact that her boyfriend just got off on sucking another guy’s dick? Jensen opens his mouth, all geared up to argue on Sandy’s behalf, because someone’s got to do it, but Jared just urgently references his cell phone and cuts him off—“I really have to go. I’m already late.” Jensen heaves a sigh of relief; at least until the grip on his arm tightens. Jared glowers, “We’re not done here, Jen. Not by a long shot.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that. So Jensen just swallows hard—grabs his resolve by the nuts and squeezes out the right thing to do; he shakes his head. It’s rueful, but unmistakable in its silent refusal of whatever it is that Jared still wants.
Jared twitches forward, frustration coloring his movements. Quick as it comes, though, Jared backs right off and turns all the way around. Pauses for one taut moment, before setting about to collect his clothes.
In the time it takes for Jensen’s heart to slow back down to a normal pace, Jared is long gone.
Back | Next
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Author:
aeroport_artRating: NC-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 7,070 (24,000)
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made.
Notes: I porned!! *is proud* Thanks to
lavendervamp for brit-picking this round. Feedback = ♥Summary: In which Jared is a wee British undergrad, and Jensen, American postgrad extraordinnaire, seduces him with how great his ass looks in a pair of jeans.
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
“So why don’t you just go after the kid?” Danneel asks the next day, stirring cream into her mocha with a swizzle stick.
“I can’t,” Jensen replies. He inhales his black coffee but it’s still too hot and he spits it back out.
“That’s disgusting,” she says. Jensen smirks.
It’s late afternoon, Jensen’s done with his classes, and Danneel’s here until Sunday so the two of them are strolling around downtown Braxton with caffeine-to-go and no destination in mind.
“Jensen, it’s me. Just tell me what the hell’s going on already.”
“It’s complicated.”
“How? I mean, it’s obvious the kid likes you. I don’t think that hard-on smashed up against my back was entirely me, you know.”
Jensen swallows prematurely and the coffee scalds his throat. He coughs, “Dude, cut it out.”
But Danneel doesn’t cut it out, not for the next six blocks of window shopping and coffee-drinking. When they pass a newsstand with publications in racks, Jensen exasperatedly snatches up a bright magazine and thrusts it at his friend.
“You wanna know why it won’t work? That’s why,” he says harshly, finger jabbing into the face of the smiling brunette on the cover. Danneel peers down curiously.
“2008’s Hottest Parties,” she reads the caption aloud, continuing, “Find out where the socialites go to get down. Okay.” Danneel looks up at Jensen, who’s grimacing like he just sucked a lemon. “This tells me nothing.”
“That girl, Sandy McCoy, is Jared’s girlfriend. Or fiancée. Or whatever.”
The man behind the newsstand grunts, “Hey, you gonna buy that?”
Danneel ignores him, saying “Wait… you’re serious?” Jensen nods grimly.
“Hold this,” Danneel orders, handing Jensen her mocha. She takes the magazine and flips through as the bearded man in the booth complains loudly.
“Here,” Jensen says to the man, setting down the cups and fishing out a £2 coin. He hands it over and Danneel’s still flipping pages as Jensen picks up the drinks and ushers her along.
“Sandra McCoy at Martha Hammett’s birthday bash in a stunning number by London designer Christopher Kane,” Danneel reads. “Hey, that’s a really great dress.”
Jensen rolls his eyes.
“Hold on, stop walking so fast,” Danneel says. She quickly locates a green-painted bench and sits down, still skimming the article. Jensen slumps in beside her.
Danneel flips the page. “Huh,” she says. Jensen cranes his neck to look but she turns her back, blocking him.
“What?”
“—Nothing.” She flips the page.
“Nice try,” Jensen snipes and sets the drinks down on the ground before lunging to swipe the publication.
Smiling up at him in full-color glory is a candid snapshot of Jared and Sandy at some snazzy party. Leaning against a glass-top bar, Jared’s kissing Sandy’s forehead, arms wrapped protectively around her as she dreamily smiles up at him. It’s the perfect picture of a happy celebrity couple, and it makes Jensen want to claw his eyes out.
“They’re just rumors, Jensen,” Danneel says, hunting around for her mocha.
“He’s kissing her, for God’s sake.”
“Don’t be such a baby, it’s just on the forehead. And besides, we kiss each other all the time when we want to throw people off. Celebrities need that even more than we do,” Danneel nods resolutely as she finds her mocha and warms her hands around the cup.
Jensen stays quiet. He’s still staring at the picture. Danneel sighs and snatches the magazine back as Jensen lets out a little hey. “Look at me Jensen.”
Jensen crosses his arms and slouches on the bench, taking up as much space as he can while he looks the other way.
Annoyed, Danneel reaches over and mercilessly tweaks Jensen’s nipple through his shirts. “I said look at me.”
“Jesus Christ,” he squeaks, embarrassedly meeting eyes with a passerby who goggles sympathetically. Jensen turns around and gives Danneel his Full Attention, absentmindedly rubbing at his sore nipple.
Danneel says, “It isn’t just that, right?”
Jensen looks at her, but his eyes are still stubbornly shuttered.
“It isn’t just that Jared’s famous and you don’t want to drag the kid kicking and screaming out of the closet and into to the arms of the paparazzi. And it’s not that Jared’s dating some fabulously hot chick with a great rack. Nor is it that they’re probably betrothed and destined to have litters of photogenic babies.”
Jensen chokes, “I fucking hate you.”
Danneel softens, and scoots closer. She says gingerly, “It’s because you actually give a damn. Isn’t it, Jensen?”
Jensen looks like he wants to say no, his shoulders tense and scowl gracing his face. But then, like curtains drawn back to reveal a bleak and wintry day, Jensen breaks. The fight in him gives out as he leans forward, elbows on knees, and drops his face into his gloved hands. He wearily rubs for a bit before turning back to look at Danneel, eyes defeated.
“I’m just…” Jensen bites out. “I’m not used to this, you know? It’s like… if I lose this, I’m fucked. I’m not used to that. There’s always been more, there’s always been the next thing. But Jared…”
Danneel listens, biting at the plastic lip of her cup as she watches Jensen—usually so confident—crumble before her.
“The odds are stacked too high against me. And for this, for Jared… I can’t have him, only to lose him halfway out. I just… I’d rather not play at all.”
Danneel studies Jensen’s profile, watching his eyelashes flutter and drop. Jensen toes his coffee, which still sits on the concrete ground.
Bending down to save it from Jensen’s muddy shoes, Danneel says, “Drink up hon. Before it gets too cold.”
-----
On the fifth floor of Westborough Library, Jared is studying. No really, he is. He’s got his textbooks and references spread out before him, and a spiral-bound full of notes.
Jared’s stopped by so often this term, it’s pretty much become a second home.
He sighs and looks down, gazing at the stoic expression of Oliver Cromwell.
I bet you never had problems with pretty boys, did you? Jared thinks, before putting his head down into the pages. He winds up facing the window. He sees streaks of water ripple against the glass surface as rain blusters across it.
It’s a sopping day in late winter, and Jared revels in the bleak weather. There’s nothing worse than feeling like shit while the sun pours over you and folks blow rainbows up your arse.
Not wanting to get back to work just yet, Jared sits up and cradles his chin, peering outside over the campus. The trickling parade of multi-colored umbrellas makes for a hypnotic view, and he indulges.
Behind him, somebody arrives on the lift; Jared apathetically registers the clunky noise of it, the familiar roll of sliding metal as the doors pull open. Déjà-vu washes over him, reminding him of all the times Jensen had appeared out of those sliding doors; memories of schoolwork and smiles, Jensen’s glasses, their shoes just touching… but Jared refuses to let himself care.
It’s not him anyway, Jared thinks. A flashback of last week’s night at the club— Jensen’s mouth against red, glossy lips— sneaks in. He made it perfectly apparent that it would never be him.
Still, Jared can’t help the way his body betrays him, and his chest thuds as squeaking footsteps track across the floor.
Jared’s still facing the window, but he’s staring at the reflection, straining to see behind himself. Beyond his own mirrored image, though, it’s too fuzzy a picture to make anything out.
The sound of wet soles on linoleum gets louder as Jared’s pulse exponentially quickens, but when the owner of the trainers approaches his table, a cloying waft of perfume trails past. His heart sinks.
However, a sudden “Hey” comes up from behind and nearly startles Jared out of his seat. What the hell? he wonders, because the sound of wet footsteps have yet to cease...reluctant, Jared turns around.
It’s Jensen. “Hey yourself,” he says uncertainly. Jared can’t decide whether he’s glad or not to find himself confronted with the flesh-and-blood reason behind his dismal mood. It’s irrelevant, though, because Jensen’s there whether he likes it or not. Jared leans back in his chair to meet Jensen’s gaze, and waits for the other shoe to drop.
“Have you been here the whole time?” Jensen asks.
“For about an hour, yes.”
“I’ve been…” Jensen jerks his thumb back, where Jared can see an open tome and a coffee gracing an empty table.
After a moment’s hesitation, Jensen moves across the table and takes a seat. A splash of giddiness invariably leaps up, but Jared knows he simply cannot entertain it–shoves his hands in his armpits, instead, to keep from reaching out like his instincts would have him do.
“Jared,” Jensen starts, as Jared wonders, What happened to ‘Jay’? “I’m sorry about last week.”
Jensen leans in, now, elbows on the table—he presses his lips against steepled fingers as Jared stares, chest aching at the sight of the soft give of Jen’s mouth and remembering how supple and moist it felt against his own.
Then there’s Jensen, who’s nervous and oblivious to it all, as he continues, “And about… before, too. I didn’t mean to uh… give you the wrong idea.” Jensen chews on his nails, teeth flashing against blunt fingertips. Funny, Jared never took him for the nail-biting type.
“So, we okay?” Jensen prompts.
Jared blinks. “Sure. Yes.”
Jensen looks mollified, and gets up. Says something about needing to brainstorm for his final project, and Jared nods appropriately. But halfway back to his table, he suddenly stops, giving off restless energy that makes the back of Jared’s neck tingle.
“Oh, by the way,” Jensen says awkwardly. “This is my last quarter here. I’m done after finals. We should get together sometime before I leave.” After a pause, he clarifies, “Before I move back to California. They’ve got me set up real nice over there, so I won’t be sticking around too long after graduation.”
As Jared digests the information, it feels like a car’s hurtled itself into his stomach. He slowly turns around, lifting his gaze to meet Jensen’s, searching for some indication, any at all, that Jensen hadn’t been serious.
Rueful eyes look back, however, and that’s answer enough.
And bloody fuck, it’s bad enough that Jared’s been getting an overload of confusing, crossed signals from the guy, but to suddenly find out the wire’s gonna be cut entirely? It’s just harsh.
Jared swallows hard, managing to ask, “How much longer are you going to be in Braxton?”
“About a week, week and a half?” Jensen scratches the back of his head. “Whenever Monday after next is.”
So, Jared thinks, Jensen leaves the Monday after next. That’s ten days from now. In ten short days, Jared’s never going to see Jensen, ever again.
-----
Jensen dreams.
He’s floating, two thousand feet above water. The ocean looks like wrinkled skin below him and it creeps, snail-slow over the Earth’s rind
He’s confined in the air. Although the sky is limitless around him, Jensen can’t move past two strides in any direction. He tries his boundaries, but there’s an invisible ceiling, invisible walls, and no way out. He’s effectively bottled in an illusion of never-ending blue, of mocking freedom.
The sky is so deep, so open that Jensen can’t breathe. He can’t hear, he can’t even speak or scream, though not from lack of trying. The world is still, and mute.
And then, everything ends. Or begins. Without warning, the world explodes into life… Salt on the breeze and the deafening squall of gulls. There’s chapped wind in his face and sun in his eyes, and gravity sneaks up on Jensen. He doesn’t realize he’s falling, until he’s pierced the surface of the ocean.
-----
Six days later, Jared approaches the front steps of Vitton Hall to meet Jensen for lunch. He climbs up to the entrance—abruptly spins around, and jogs back down to the sidewalk.
Bugger, he thinks, rubbing his face tiredly. Get a grip. It’s just food. Turns back again, and strides up through the door before he can chicken out again.
This time around, he knows where to look for the guy. Locates the stairwell and heads right on up to the second floor, where the studio is. He turns the corner, and bingo—Jensen’s the first thing Jared sees through the large glass window.
He’s in the middle of working on a model, and he’s not alone—the room is dotted with other students, presumably from the same class, and all of whom are probably trying to squeeze as much work as they can into their final projects before deadline. Jensen’s standing off to the side—earphones in, the black wires trail over his cream-colored shirt, and his sleeves are pushed up to the elbow, forearms taut as he saws at a wooden dowel. The sun’s glare refracts off the moving blade to dance over Jensen’s neck in a quivering spotlight.
Jared wonders if it’s warm there, that halo of light on Jensen’s neck. It looks warm.
He quickly realizes the direction his mind’s slipping in, so Jared looks away in hopes of reigning in his hormones. But then Jensen snaps a twig of wood in half and pinches the piece with two fingers, glue gun cocked at the ready, and Jared can help but fall entranced by the slow pressure of Jensen’s finger on the trigger. Clear, hot glue oozes out—Jensen burns himself on it, hand jumping to his mouth.
Jared doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath, so engrossed as he is in watching Jensen suck at the injury—full lips puckered over reddening skin—only stutters an exhale when Jensen pulls his finger away, slick with spit.
Nonetheless, Jensen’s focused. He’s building the rungs of a miniature tower with a frown on his forehead and lower lip worried between white teeth, and at that image, at Jensen oblivious to the way he’s prettying up his red, wet mouth, it hits Jared, like the dawning of enlightenment: Jared is utterly and completely incapable of handling this—this date, or whatever it is they’ve mistakenly concocted in order to diffuse the raw tension that still burns between them. It dawns on Jared that he’s simply not ready to face Jensen yet—at least, not with a big, fake smile plastered onto his face, and not to spew forth congratulations and well-wishes for the flight and future that will take Jensen halfway across the world from him.
Jared doesn’t even know why he agreed to this ridiculous lunch date, because honestly? He’d rather finish up the school term having aborted a short-lived crush than to tease a doomed relationship (if it could even be called that) to its last, painful ends. He’s just torturing himself, now.
It only takes Jared a split second to make up his mind. He’ll thank himself later.
He drops down, quick as you please, and turns to go before anyone notices him—but it’s as if Jensen could hear Jared’s internal scheming, the way he instantly looks up from his work and zeroes in on a half-crouched Jared.
Jensen smiles. There are little crinkles at the corners of his eyes. He tugs the cords of his earphones and mouths “Jay,” treading over to the door with affectionate eyes.
Jared straightens up, caught, brain still tearing through excuses to bail the fuck out of there, but its way too late to make any sort of plausible escape—Jensen just opens the door from the inside and leans out, chuckling, “What are you doing? Come inside, let me pack up.” Jared nods numbly and follows Jensen inside. Firmly keeps his eyes above indigo-clad hindquarters, thank you very much.
-----
When the waitress gets a good look at Jensen, she smiles coyly and lightly bites down on the end of her pen. Jensen’s too busy looking at the menu to notice, though.
“I’ll have the bangers and mash,” he finally orders.
“Our bangers are very good here,” she replies.
It’s almost physical, the moment Jensen realizes he’s being baited—he turns stiff, smiling self-consciously under the bedroom eyes she’s making at him. Jared, on the other hand, he just scowls.
He maybe takes his frustration out on Jensen a little, leaning across the tiny table to grump, “Seriously, Jen? You’ve been in Britain for months now, you should know that bangers are only any good with a pint.”
“Dude, I won’t be able to have this stuff when I’m back home. I’m getting in my English cuisine where I can find it,” Jensen shoots back, his grin turning real when Jared just sadly shakes his head. Jared gets a burger and chips for himself.
Their meal arrives as quickly as expected from the no-frills diner they’d picked out, and Jensen and Jared dive right in, garbling conversation around mouthfuls of food. In between bites of his burger, Jared peers up just in time to catch Jensen sneaking a few chips off his plate. The sight of it makes him laugh and swallow funny—he chokes a little, then coughs up a lung; all the while, Jensen simply smirks at him and hands over his cup of water, Jared’s own long empty.
Their shared lunch continues like this. It’s good. It’s comfortable, it’s fun, and Jared admits to himself, Alright. This isn’t as bad as I thought it’d be. After all, it’s difficult not to have a fantastic time when it’s just him and Jensen again—it’s almost like they’re back at Westborough, palling around on the fifth floor of the library as they inhabit the same elbow space and steal swigs from each other’s coffees. This is everything Jared’s missed lately, played out in a casual lunch break between finals.
Unfortunately, good things come to a close—especially when it comes to Jensen. Quick as the food had been brought, the check follows suit. Though Jared digs into his pocket to grab his wallet, Jensen just arches an eyebrow and quips, “Don’t even try. You might be a rich brat and all, but I’m still your elder. Gotta take care’a you.” Jared pinks and tucks his wallet away.
While Jensen’s up at the register to settle the bill, Jared makes his way to the restroom for a leak, maybe check in the mirror to see if any lettuce had gotten stuck in his teeth or something. He didn’t want Jensen’s last memories of him to feature, like, tomato sauce or dirt smudges on his face.
Everything seems to be in place, though, so after a few more flicks of his hair to get it out of his eyes, Jared slides out the lock and slaps his hand on the knob. Just as he pulls it open, the door swings in and almost clocks him in the face.
“Whoa,” he yelps, dodging out of range as someone falls forward, and this time, Jared really does get a hard knock across his chin. With a bitten off curse, Jared cradles his jaw and straightens up, ready to mutter something rude when he looks down, and—oh.
Jensen stands close—really close—with eyes bright and wide and gorgeously vulnerable. He’s rubbing at his forehead where it’d bumped against Jared’s face, but other than that slow repetition of movement, Jensen’s stock-still, like a portrait.
The change in the air is palpable. The easy camaraderie they’d built up that afternoon comes crashing down like a house of cards, and all that’s left is Jensen standing much too close for propriety’s sake, and Jared with his breath stuck in his throat.
He doesn’t get the chance to un-stick it, either—Jensen unexpectedly hauls him out of the bathroom and slams him up against the wall by the door, right there in the narrow hall between the kitchen and dining space where anyone walking by could just look over and see them. Jared wipes his palms down the sides of his jeans, eyes nervously darting around to land anywhere except on Jensen’s (really, really close) face, but the moment Jensen touches their lips together, all self-consciousness flies out his system because Jensen is—shite—he’s kissing him.
And not even like the first time—there were questions in their first kiss, back at the studio in Vitton Hall; questions Jensen asked through the tentative brush of his mouth, questions Jared never got the chance to answer. That kiss had been improbable and insane and thrilling, but this one now—this one where Jensen pushes so hard against him Jared cuts himself on their teeth—there’s no asking of anything, here. Just a message: I want you.
I think I like this message, Jared drunkenly thinks as he kisses back, bearing down on the thigh that’s snuck in between his legs. This goes on for what could be seconds or minutes or days—Jensen doesn’t let up this time, either, just keeps moving in, harder, plying Jared’s mouth open with an insistent tongue. And this time around, when Jared’s gone hard and horny as fuck, he doesn’t shy away from the fact—just shoves his hips into Jensen’s, deliberately pressing his full length against the soft span of belly there, where he knows Jensen can feel exactly how worked up he’s getting
It doesn’t come as a surprise when Jensen finally wrenches away, pulling back with a loud, wet parting. It hurts like hell, of course, the realization that Jared’s been played again—for what must be the third or fourth time now—except, something’s different this time. The lust hasn’t gone away from Jen’s green, dilated eyes. They’re still dark, full of intent, and the characteristic cooling off—it doesn’t come. No brick wall thrown up between them; Jensen doesn’t look away, or make excuses. No, this time…
Jensen moves forward, leaning his forearms in the space above Jared’s shoulders. Jared’s a little taller, so Jensen has to come in close, sinking his weight onto his elbows. For a split second Jared thinks he’s gonna get kissed again—heart surging with hope—but Jensen just keeps going, until his head’s almost tucked into the crook of Jared’s neck.
Jensen breathes heavily, moist breath ghosting over the sensitive skin there. It feels electric. Jensen says—purrs—“You got anyplace to be?”
Jared shivers. “No,” he replies, keenly aware of the way Jensen’s mouth hovers above his pulse, tickling the light hairs there with every gust of breath.
“Good.”
-----
Jared runs a wide palm along the hem of Jensen’s t-shirt, pushing fabric away to sneak in underneath so he can count ridges there (three across the abs, four at his ribcage). Jensen’s body feels both silky and hard, and damn but it makes Jared hot.
Jensen groans, tilting his head back to give up a wide swath of neck that’s just ripe for the taking, so Jared does, eagerly—ducks his mouth down to lightly nip where Jen’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down, hands charting the land beneath Jensen’s soft, worn T-shirt. The deep arch of his lower back makes Jared inwardly hiss; the sharp out-curve (of Jensen’s arse) makes him want to do wicked, wicked things.
The fact that Jensen might actually let him—Jensen shoves Jared’s paws from out under his shirt, using the momentary freedom to yank the unwanted barricade up over his head, only to dump it unceremoniously onto the floor—the very fact Jensen wants this is far headier than any physical gratification that might come from it.
“Fuck, Jay, quit thinking so loud and just—“ Jensen fumbles open the first few buttons of Jared’s shirt, but it’s such a hindrance that he quickly gives up on doing it the right way and just grabs the hem instead, tugging it upwards with such urgency that it takes Jared a beat to figure out what he’s trying to do. “Get this off,” Jensen finally growls, and Jared snaps into action, pulling the whole tangled mess over his head. When he reemerges, he’s met with Jensen’s heated green gaze, and relishes the way it sweeps over his body. He’s never felt so desirable, the way Jensen devours the view like Jared’s a feast laid out before him.
“Can I—“ Jared ventures. “Can I, um…” Fuck, he’s so fucking nervous and high from all this, his hands won’t stop shaking, even as they slide downwards to not-quite cup the swell of Jensen’s arse.
Jensen makes a pleased noise and kisses him, distracting Jared from any further doubt. And thank God for it—Jared eagerly pours his restless energy into it, conquering Jensen’s lightly chapped lips with renewed fervor.
His hands aren’t shaking anymore, not even as they slide up to seek out the border of Jensen’s boxers—and slide down, underneath the elastic waistband (Jensen bucking against him). All the while, the sexy, rough scrape of Jensen’s wantonly exposed neck calls out like a Siren’s song, just inches away from Jared’s searching mouth. He falls into it teeth first, finding no reason to resist.
“Fffuck, ” Jensen cries as Jared eagerly sucks on his throat. He makes a bruise here—moves a bit lower, makes another one there—Jared can hardly get a good suction going on any given spot before another one catches his interest. In fact, the whole of Jensen’s body is spread out before him like a vast, blank canvas just begging to be colored in, Jared’s tongue as the paintbrush.
He tastes it before he even realizes where he is—against his tongue, Jensen’s skin gets a little bit salty, like sweat, but sweet, too. There’s even the faint residue of body-warmed soap, from a morning shower. Jensen tastes clean and virile.
Jared doesn’t even realize; not until his tongue scrapes across the transition of baby-soft skin to rough, coarse hair, and Jensen gasps loudly—“Fuck! ”
Jared pulls back a little, just enough to orient himself. Oh, God damn, he thinks, falling back on his haunches as he takes in the sight before him.
Face-level with Jensen’s crotch, it’s kind of difficult to ignore the straining erection in front of him. Jen’s dick is visibly stuck down one pant leg, trying to point north but miserably constrained by denim, and Jared winces in sympathy. Gotta help a guy out, he reasons, reaching for the button on Jensen’s pants.
He makes quick work of it, shoves the rough fabric down, and before long it’s just Jensen, his dick, and a pair of cotton boxer shorts that do nothing to hide much of anything. Not that Jen’s got anything he needs to hide. Even with shorts on, it’s pretty obvious he’s got a good thing going there—decent girth, something you could really get your hand around, and nice and long, too. Jared feels his mouth water—literally, his mouth waters.
“If you’re gonna keep gawking, let me know so I can get started without you,” Jensen says from above, hand sneaking down to reach for himself. His face is tomato red, though, palm doing more to cover up his erection than any actual groping, and Jared thinks to himself—God, was Jensen always this adorable?
It becomes moot point though, because the moment Jared swats the hand away, reaching into the opening of Jensen’s boxers to fish out his cock, the sound that filters into his ears goes from adorable to filthy hot in about two seconds, flat. And the sound Jensen makes next, after Jared’s leaned forward and wrapped his lips around Jen’s cock…it makes Jared’s face turn red.
“Oh God,” Jensen gasps, hands thumping against the wall behind his back, scrabbling for something to hold onto as his knees give out. “God.”
It doesn’t taste weird, or anything. It’s the first time Jared’s given head (or done much of anything, really), but it just tastes like skin, and maybe something a little musky in the back of his throat, where the tip of Jensen’s dick nudges in.
“God,” Jensen repeats, breathless, and the needy sound of it makes everything so much better, all of a sudden. Blowjobs? No problem. Jared can do this—especially if Jen’s gonna keep writhing like that, making his dick pump in and out of Jared’s mouth in short, convulsive bursts like he just can’t help himself. Yeah, Jared can rock this.
He takes a deep breath (through his nose, of course)—and sinks in. Doesn’t even know what to do, just knows from hearsay that girls can get it down all the way in, like, all the way, and Jared’s not about to be shown up by some bird, so he just…goes for it. Forces himself on Jensen’s cock, trying to take it as deep as he possibly can. It doesn’t work like he expects, though—hits a wall when the head of Jen’s dick butts against the pit of Jared’s throat, and there’s only half or maybe two-thirds of the hard length in his mouth, and it’s not going any further. Jared chokes wetly on the first thrust, embarrassed when an obscene sound squelches out. His heart sinks when Jensen jerks his hips back, pulling his whole dick out with another loud, mortifying slurp. God, Jared’s drooling everywhere.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to look nonchalant like he hadn’t just been trying (and failing) to deep-throat Jensen. He’s about to stand back up and apologize or something, when Jensen looks down at him, eyes positively smoldering.
“Fuck, Jared,” he pants, throat raspy like he’d been the one trying work a solid object into his esophagus. Turned on to all hell, Jared surreptitiously tries to catch his breath, while Jensen visibly does the same, chest heaving before he continues, “Ease up, I’m gonna come in, like, less than a minute if you keep that up.”
Even if Jensen’s lying, or just trying to be nice or whatever, the encouragement makes Jared feel like a fucking champ. So he appraises Jensen’s crotch, where his prick juts out from the folds of his cotton boxers. It’s still a little shiny with Jared’s drying spit. He thinks, I can do this.
The thing is, Jared wants to make Jensen come. As soon as possible, really, because he can’t wait to see it, hear it (taste it). So Jared smirks up at him and says, “Then come. You can save the stamina for round two.” Before Jensen can get a word in edgewise—though an undignified squeak manages to make it through—Jared gets back on the proverbial horse. He pulls Jensen into his mouth again with the tip of his tongue, then shoves down with grasping lips like he’s trying to get the runaway drips off an ice-lolly. And yeah, it’s kind of uncomfortable, but it doesn’t matter—Jared wants to make this good for Jensen because, really, how embarrassing would it be if Jared was a horrible lay?
Luckily, Jared finds the right timing to this whole dick-sucking business; instead of getting cock-blocked by his gag reflex, he swallows just as Jensen’s thrusting in, and it’s like the turn of a key—Jensen keeps going, going, and slides on home. His dick just sinks in, making its way past those last crucial inches until Jared finds himself with his nose pressed against coarse hairs, spittle trickling out from the corners of his mouth. Jensen grunts, pushing in that much tighter as Jared’s head moves backwards with the movement, and between the friction Jared can feel his own drool smearing back against his chin where it’d dripped down the underside of Jen’s balls.
Jensen falls apart above him. He keeps repeating Fuck, Jared. God. God, you’re—fuck, with various permutations of those three, delicious words. Mindlessly chants them like they’re the only things he ever learned, ever knew how to say. It’s scorching hot to hear his name uttered like that, like it’d been dragged over a bed of nails and flayed with a whip before being pushed out of Jensen’s bitten, full mouth.
Even better, the words only grow in volume the longer Jensen rocks against Jared’s face. He wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t last long—just as Jared’s starting to get the hang of it, figuring out how to relax his throat so Jensen can fuck into it without having to worry about strangulation—
“—fuck, Jared, ” he keens. Jared just hums along, paying no mind because it’s all Jen’s been saying for the past few minutes. But suddenly, Jensen blurts—“I’m gonna— “
Well, that’s new.
Jared quickly gives the dick in his mouth one long, hard suck as he pulls off, only to get an eyeful of Jensen’s come on the way out. He automatically throws a hand on Jen’s dick—either to push him back or to milk him through orgasm, maybe both—but all it does is make Jensen swear even louder as the rest of his come hits Jared in the face in hot, gooey splatters.
The shock of it must be written all over his face, because after one long, stretched out moment, Jensen breaks the silence with a snort. Which turns into a chuckle, turns into a laugh, until Jared can’t help but smile himself, even as he winces in trying to keep Jensen’s runoff out of his left eye. Jesus, but Jensen’s laughs are infectious.
“Ha ha, very funny,” Jared remarks, hunting around the ground for Jensen’s discarded shirt. The come is getting tacky on his face though, which is kind of foul, so he quickly wipes it off. “Eurgh, this stuff doesn’t come off, ” he complains, pulling at a clump in his hair that’s glued together.
“Let me get that,” Jensen replies, tucking his softening dick back in as he kicks off his still-tangled jeans.
Jensen is a sneaky, sneaky man, however. When he gets to Jared’s side, over by the sofa (because they’d only made as far as the living room before getting down to business), he’s knocked backwards and blinking up at the ceiling, getting manhandled out of his remaining clothes before he can even figure out what’s going on.
Oh, he figures it out pretty quick, though. Naked, shivering (from heat), and getting carpet burn on his ass, Jared gets a the best blowjob he’s ever experienced—and while he hasn’t got a book full of conquests or anything, he still somehow knows it can’t possibly get any better than this. After all, this is…it’s Jensen, the postgrad transfer student Jared’s been unknowingly lusting after for the entirety of the term. Sexy and guarded and brilliant, Jensen is suddenly here, working Jared’s cock over with just the teasing, fluttering suction of his talented mouth.
Jensen gives as good as he got, though, and then some. Jared would almost be jealous, thinking of all the practice Jen must’ve had to be this fucking amazing…only, he’s getting his fucking dick sucked, so there’s not a whole lot going on in his head other than the fact that Jensen is really, really good at this.
Jared comes even before Jensen works his way up a fast tempo. Jesus, he came from foreplay. It’d almost be embarrassing; that is, if he and Jensen weren’t competing neck-in-neck for Quickest Orgasm of the Year.
The thought of it makes Jared smile. Wanting to share the afterglow, Jared pulls Jensen up by the back of his neck with a gentle hand and he comes willingly—so uncharacteristically willing, it makes Jared’s chest ache.
“Hey,” Jared says, whisper soft.
“Hey yourself.” Jensen swings his body over Jared’s, lying right on top like a heavy, muscle-and-bone blanket. He ducks down, kisses Jared’s cheekbone as Jared’s eyelids fall shut.
Jensen makes a content noise, low in his throat, and it’s a beautiful sound.
Of course, the gods take it upon themselves to butt into Jared’s business, once again. The ringtone of a mobile suddenly erupts into noise, right next to Jared’s ear where his jeans lay in a heap, the boys giving a violent start at the interruption.
“Bugger—“ Jared gets up on his elbows, reaches over to struggle with the vibrating phone that’s ensnared in the loose pocket of his jeans. He’s just going to turn it off, but Jensen rolls away and gives him space. A lot of space.
Jared quickly pins him in place with a look of warning, making sure Jensen won’t skitter away (he’s got nowhere to go, anyway, as they’re already in his flat). And while Jen looks fidgety, it will have to do for now; Jared takes a moment to check the caller ID on his phone.
What’s Kendrick calling me for? he wonders. Curiosity beats out annoyance, and Jared answers the call.
-----
When Jared’s cell phone goes off, something hits Jensen hard, like a sledgehammer’s been taken to his gut.
The enormity of what they’ve done—Jesus, Jared is…this kid is buck-naked in his apartment, having just gotten sucked off by a guy half a decade older than him, and it’s not even like that’s a big deal except that it’s Jared, and that phone call is probably his long-term celebrity girlfriend, or fiancée, or whatever—it’s probably Sandy on the phone. Checking up to see where her boy’s at.
Jesus.
Jensen scrambles off, mortified at the turn of events. He backs away enough to start looking for his clothes, maybe go back to his room for a fresh set, but Jared’s feral eyes lock him in place. Torn, yet helpless but to freeze in place, Jensen watches morosely as Jared’s attention goes back to the phone call.
Jensen shifts his weight, unable to do anything except succumb to his own racing thoughts.
This afternoon—it was just supposed to be lunch. Two guys, hanging out between finals; one last time to put some closure on the open wound of their relationship that’s been stinging all semester long. But Jensen has to go and fuck it up by molesting the kid outside the men’s room, before taking him home so they can what, fool around? Like that’s going to help matters any, especially after Jensen’s gone back to California and the only thing he can do is get over all this.
He sneaks a glance at Jared, whose back is turned. His shoulders are tense, up around his ears in a stiff line. Jensen doesn’t need to take a wild guess to figure out who it is on the other end of the conversation.
Who are you kidding, Jensen says himself. What did you expect? What possible outcomes could there be from him and Jared fucking around?
Without Jared’s eyes on him to keep him immobile, Jensen breaks out of form and strides over to his jeans, where they lay next to the wall. Grabs them off the floor and yanks one leg up—
The loud clap of a clamshell phone jolts him around, and he faces Jared (who’s still naked), feeling slightly guilty.
“Hey,” Jared says, and it sounds nothing like the way he’d said it two minutes earlier. It’s cautious this time, like he doesn’t want to scare Jensen away. “I have to go. I completely forgot about my criminology final.”
“Yeah, okay,” Jensen replies, shrugging the other pant leg on. Jared watches him unhappily, like he’d wanted some other reaction. Well, too bad, because while Jensen might be a horny bastard and a cradle-robber, he is not a home wrecker, so Jensen is staying far, far away from Jared. Right.
Jensen pointedly adds, “Lunch was good.”
Jared does nothing though, just keeps staring as Jensen does up his fly. Fuck, those slanted, feral eyes can get unnerving—Jensen turns around and scoops his shirt up off the floor. Only, it’s got his come on it still so he can’t really put on it.
Jensen mumbles, “I’m just gonna…” He waves offhandedly at the door to his bedroom, and wills Jared to stop boring holes into his skin with his narrowed gaze.
What Jared does next isn’t much better, though. As Jensen carves a straight trajectory to his room, it’s quickly aborted by a yank on his bicep. Jared uses the momentum to pull Jensen around.
“Jensen,” he repeats, and the undercurrent of pleading acts like a hook that snags on Jensen’s gaze. It’s a bad idea though, because Jared doesn’t hide how he feels (at least, not very well), and the displeasure that tightens the corners of his mouth makes Jensen feel like a complete bastard.
“Jen, talk to me.”
Dangerous words. Spilling his guts to Jared is the last thing he wants to do—he’s vulnerable, off-guard, and so turned around that there’s nothing to talk about, other than this: “Jared, I’m sorry,” he says, cringing at the shadow that falls across Jared’s face. He can’t stop now though, so continues, “This…we shouldn’t have done this. There’s Sandy to think about—“
“Sandy?” Jared asks, confusion clouding his expression. Jesus, as if he doesn’t know—“What’s Sandy got to do with it?”
What does she not have to do with the fact that her boyfriend just got off on sucking another guy’s dick? Jensen opens his mouth, all geared up to argue on Sandy’s behalf, because someone’s got to do it, but Jared just urgently references his cell phone and cuts him off—“I really have to go. I’m already late.” Jensen heaves a sigh of relief; at least until the grip on his arm tightens. Jared glowers, “We’re not done here, Jen. Not by a long shot.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that. So Jensen just swallows hard—grabs his resolve by the nuts and squeezes out the right thing to do; he shakes his head. It’s rueful, but unmistakable in its silent refusal of whatever it is that Jared still wants.
Jared twitches forward, frustration coloring his movements. Quick as it comes, though, Jared backs right off and turns all the way around. Pauses for one taut moment, before setting about to collect his clothes.
In the time it takes for Jensen’s heart to slow back down to a normal pace, Jared is long gone.
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