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Plush, apricot carpet cushions the quick baseline of Jensen’s foot falls. There are worse things in the world than pacing, and sitting still was going to drive him stir crazy. He’s washed his hands enough times that any lingering microbes have probably fled for their lives by now, skin slightly tight and in need of lotion. There’s a complimentary, travel-sized bottle of it on the marble counter beside the sink but the room was prepared in advance as per Jared’s instructions and he wouldn’t want to accidentally screw up some plan of Jared’s. Although, now that he thinks about it, he’s a bit leery of any plans involving lotion anyway.
Jesus, this was a terrible idea.
Jensen’s not cut out for this kind of thing; he should have just left well enough alone and not let this anxiety wriggling around in his belly like a living thing get the best of him. Also, hotels make him nervous. Not so much staying in one, per se, but sitting here waiting for someone to show up is like chewing tin foil. He’d done it this way once for a very high-profile client and had ended up nervous and fidgety the whole time. Afterward he’d sworn off on meeting anyone that way, heiress or not, and if they couldn’t deal with that then he didn’t need them as a client.
Bad things can happen in hotel rooms, you never know what the other person might have planned or what kind of underhanded preparations they may have made. You could walk right into some twisted perverts clutches which, alright, is essentially the service Jared sells, so maybe that’s not the best argument, but still, it could go badly. On the other hand, judging by the amount of information Jensen had had to give – in addition to everything else the agency already has on file about him – just to get the appointment, Jared’s clients undergo quite a bit more scrutiny than Jensen’s.
He still doesn’t like the idea of Jared walking in here unprepared when God only knows who could be waiting on him. He’d never actually given the matter much thought before.
There’s a shunk as a keycard slides home from the other side of the door, then the clack of the heavy bolt giving way and if Jensen’s stomach drops any further it’s going to have to start digging. This was such a bad idea.
Jared’s wearing the outfit, the ‘new client’ outfit, the one that manages to hit every BDSM cliché in the book and somehow miraculously make it look good. Then again, a burlap sack would look good on Jared, so maybe it’s not saying much that the man can pull off an outfit made entirely of black porno-wear. He's rocking the usual leather trench, plus matching pants, combat boots this time - Jensen has yet to glean the rhyme or reason behind when Jared chooses those over the thigh highs. Add in a black satin button up and the kohl eyeliner with little silver flecks in it, then complete the look with an assortment of thick leather bracelets on each wrist. The bracelets aren’t part of the norm, just a necessity after the other night. The vision of Jared’s wrists underneath there, mottled dark in the shape of his cuffs sends a molten-molasses thrill seeping down Jensen’s spine. His tongue has chemically bonded with the roof of his mouth.
The door slams shut all but unnoticed behind Jared, twin to the sound of Jared’s heavy duffle of who-knows-what hitting the floor. Hazel eyes cast around the room as if he’s expecting to see someone else here – he is; Jensen reminds himself to ask Genevieve what name she gave Jared for tonight – even going as far as to step in and check the bathroom before his scrutiny lands on Jensen again.
“What the fuck?” Jared squawks indignantly, checking the bathroom again for any magically appearing clients, “Look, I don’t care what they offered, Jen, you do not belong here, it’s a whole different game. And why the fuck didn’t somebody tell me that they’d booked us both? And what the fuck are you doing taking on another sub anyway?”
Jared halts mid-rant like he just got a slap to the face, eyes wide and slightly scared. “I mean, not that you can’t, or couldn’t or whatever. Like, not that I have any real say in the matter or, like, own you or something like that. I just- you never really seemed to- and I just didn’t think that you’d want- but it’s ok, if you do. I mean, it would kind of suck balls, but, that’s not- I didn’t- Oh God, would you please tell me to shut up?”
“I’m the client,” Jensen blurts eloquently, because it’s the only thing in the tangle of his thoughts that can be interpreted into words.
Jared blinks at him a couple of times, brushes a lock of hair back off of his face, and repeats the whole process again before spitting out, “What?”
“I’m the client. I booked the appointment. Or well, Genevieve did, amidst a lot of squealing about the hottest thing ever and a lot of questions, and, I don’t know, I got kind of lost somewhere in the middle, but yes, me. I’m the client.” Oh good, now they’re both babbling, won’t that just be wildly helpful.
Maybe Jared’s trying to communicate with him in Morse code via blinking.
“You couldn’t just wait til we got home?” He's got one impeccably groomed eyebrow rising toward his hairline but Jensen couldn’t mistake the subtle shift of his hips if he tried. The way the light and shadows of the half dozen lamps scattered around the room play off of the obvious bulge at the front of Jared's pants is a tip off. But he's clearly still not getting it if he thinks this is something they could do at home. Jensen thought this out very carefully, and the way he sees it, the best chance they both have of this working out is if they have as little of their usual repertoire interfering as possible.
“No. That’s not- I need your services, Jay. Yours. I have to figure something out and I can’t do it the way we normally are. I just- Just the once, I need this, alright?”
He can actually see when it clicks for Jared exactly what Jensen's asking for; the flipbook-speed of expressions would almost be comical if several of his vital organs weren't waging a duel to the death at the moment.
“Jen, I don’t… I don’t know if I can-“
Yes, he can, he has to, because Jensen needs to understand what going on with himself or else it's going to tear them both and this strange, gossamer-fragile thing they share apart.
“Pretend it’s not me, alright," he cuts Jared off desperately, "Pretend I’m just an ordinary client, no repercussions, I promise. Just do your thing.”
***
Just do your thing. Yeah, sure, that'll be easy. Like every single one of Jared's instincts aren't swimming with the need to be on his knees right now, doing what Jensen tells him. Like things haven't been all fucked to hell since the last time.
Jared had been ready to go out and buy an engagement ring after the other night, because holy hell, he has never gone that deep into it, ever, and Jensen got him there like it was nothing. But since then Jensen's been not-so-subtly avoiding him, giving him the fucking rape-flinch every time Jared gets within a foot of him and he doesn't even know what he did wrong.
Sure, ok, he sorta blue-balled Jensen that night, but he didn't do it on purpose, he was just fucking gone, just wrecked beyond comprehension. Plus, Jensen should know by now that he has Jared's permission to do just about anything he wants, so there was no damn reason he couldn’t have finished too. As if Jared would ever turn down having Jensen's come all over his skin or down his throat or in his fucking ass - he's never actually done bareback before, but he would be completely cool if Jensen wanted to. So yeah, no reason for Jensen to be pissy about not getting off when Jared would have happily obliged. Except a part of him kind of seriously doubts that Jensen's the sort of guy who would get pissy about that anyway, which means it's something else bothering him and Jared's fumbling blind for what that might be. It's been driving him out of his damn skull, and now this? This!?
“Ok…" he searches his brain, scrabbling to come up with some way to make this work - to please his Dom even when it's the exact opposite that Jensen's asking him for. How the ever-loving fuck can Jensen expect this out of him? "Well, your profile didn't give me much to go on. Aside from the fact that you don’t like sounds used on you,” he rambles without a thought, trying to resolve this in his head. He ends up running headlong into a heart-stopping thought, tripping right over it into a whole pile of holy fuck.
Jensen tried the sounds? Of course he fucking did, right? Because he’s fucking Jensen and he couldn’t just do it to Jared, he had to have practiced and gotten a feel for it and… Motherfucking Christ. That means they were in his dick. The sounds the ones that had gone in Jared’s dick had been in Jensen’s too. Sure, Jensen probably quadruple sterilized and hermetically sealed them before they went anywhere near Jared’s cock, but still, it had happened. Jensen had fucked Jared with something he’d used to fuck himself and it’s really going to blow Jared’s badass rep all to hell if he creams his fucking pants right now.
“Fine, so, not sounds,” he manages without almost swallowing his own tongue more than once, “Anything you do like? A little direction here?” He cannot find his fucking headspace, his whole damn mind blown somewhere across the Atlantic with the fact that any of this is actually happening.
Jensen looks hesitant, faint blush rising up on his cheeks that Jared wants to lick just to feel the heat of it beneath his tongue. He’d really like to know what could make Jensen go pink like that, what twisted little thing he likes that he thinks is so bad that Jared is going to judge him for it. So far they’ve just been hitting Jared’s own kinks and he honestly hasn’t got a clue what - if any of them - gets under Jensen's skin more than another. If there’s something really deliciously dirty swirling around in the rapid-fire brain of Jensen’s and he’s been holding out, Jared might just spontaneously combust from the need to know it.
Jensen clears his throat, takes a deep breath and says with enough decorum to put Emily Post to shame, “Most of my sexual encounters have been fairly standard, excluding the obvious.” He inclines his head a little awkwardly at Jared, whose busy attempting to control the veritable blizzard of emotions attempting to send him into convulsions.
Fairly standard - so, if he knows Jensen like he generally thinks he does, that means under the sheets, missionary, leave the lights on if he’s feeling particularly kinky. That’s a goddamn fucking crime, is what that is. The idea that anybody could get the privilege of having Jensen in their bed and not do every possible thing in every possible way to – for - him is enough to make Jared’s blood boil. He wants to run out right now and beat down every single fucker who’s ever bedded Jensen for goddamn wasting the gift of an opportunity that Jared would kill for. That Jensen doesn’t even know what pushes his own buttons when he can play Jared’s like a maestro only compounds the injustice.
Jensen goes even redder when Jared prods, “Nothing at all?” because seriously, nothing at all?
“That’s what I’m paying you for,” Jensen snaps back harshly. And ow. Like, really, ow.
Jared’s been called a hooker before plenty of times, even by people he thought were his friends, but none of them were ever Jensen. Hell, Jensen does practically the same thing for a living – you can change the gift wrap, but the package is still the same – and they’ve talked more than once about how they feel about what they do, about how they’re not fucking hookers, ok? So for Jensen to go that far means he’s either way more on edge than Jared would have guessed or else he’s trying to push Jared into making a move.
Well, if that’s how he wants to play it, then Jared can sure as hell roll with it. Probably.
“Strip,” he commands, skimming off his jacket to leave it puddled on the floor, just because he knows it will tick Jensen off.
Jensen hesitates for a second like he doesn’t understand what Jared’s telling him to do, but one disdainful arch of an eyebrow is all it takes to turn that confusion into determination. That’s one button right there, and if Jensen’s never noticed how he reacts to a challenge before, then it's his own fault for not paying enough attention.
Taking his sweet time is an understatement for Jensen getting undressed. The shirt comes off easily, almost gets folded and stacked before Jared grabs it out of his hands and tosses into a heap on the carpet. Jensen scowls but doesn’t say anything, which is a victory in and of itself. Stubborn can be good, means Jensen will probably stick it out just to prove that he can, and Jared wants him to so bad it hurts, if only because it means he might finally have a chance at working his way into one of those little cracks in the armor that Jensen occasionally lets him see.
He’s seen Jensen naked in bits and pieces plenty of times, enough to be able to put together a picture in his head, but he’s never gotten a look at the fully monty all at once and now that he’s getting to, he plans to drink his fill.
He’s thought about Jensen like this; not nearly as much as he has the other way around, but still. Jensen’s bossy, willful, a complete and unrepentant control freak. That’s the kind of thing that’s always fun to take apart, inherently appealing to watch him beg and writhe and lose his shit. So, yeah, he wants this, but not this way, not when Jensen's got something to prove and Jared doesn't even know what it is.
As he watches that perfect body he wants so bad, has never been allowed to have, that Dom part of him finally starts to show itself; slow, creeping heat winding through him like a thousand denied desires.
By the time Jensen’s peeling himself out of his boxers, Jared’s having to physically restrain himself from palming his own leaking dick. Jensen’s just so fucking pretty it should be illegal; firm muscle and smooth skin, freckles scattered all over the place that Jared wants to trace the constellations of with his lips. That sweet, gorgeous cock of his is a thick, soft weight between his legs, passingly interested but not committing to anything yet. There’s the first thing to fix.
“Problem, Jenny?” Jared lays it on thick – practically a low-blow to go for something that cheap, but effective nonetheless from the way Jensen grits his teeth.
“Don’t call me that,” he hisses, turns it into a gasp when Jared palms his ass and pulls him in tight to grind himself against.
“Call you anything I want, remember?” Jared snarls back, catching Jensen’s earlobe between his teeth with a bite that’s got too much pressure to be playful, “That’s what you’re paying me for.”
Jensen's breath catches, only the faintest hint of a locked down sound making it out. Jensen's always quiet - his version of reckless abandon wouldn't make a nun blush; all soft sounds and mumbles under his breath - and all Jared wants is to get him screaming so loud the people at the other end of the hall will be calling to complain. For now he settles for biting a little harder to make sure the line of his teeth will be inscribed in Jensen's flesh when he lets go.
"You have a word?"
"Charteuse," Jensen responds immediately; money down he picked it days ago.
Jared nods. He wants to ask, he really, really does, but that's so not even close to being the weirdest safeword he's ever heard, and he kind of likes the mental image of Jensen toiling over a dictionary, making pro/con lists for each word, so he lets it go.
His fingers find their own way to one of Jensen's nipples, pulls and twists it into a rosy peak as Jensen tics and lurches like it's taking everything he's got to hold still. Glancing down the slim line of space between them shows Jensen's cock a little closer to half-mast and hesitantly filling. Jared captures Jensen's wrist and tugs his hand down between them, molding it over Jensen's length with his own fingers.
"I expect you hard, and I expect you to stay that way," he breathes against Jensen's ear, lovingly nosing at the goosebumps that appear on his neck. "Get there or I'll do it myself and put a ring on you." He doesn't say 'and leave you like that', wonders if Jensen gets it anyway. Whether he does or doesn't, Jensen goes for option A, moving his fingers over his own flesh tentatively at first, then more confidently as Jared gives him room to move.
God, but he looks good like this; flushed bright red with embarrassment - as if Jared hasn't seen him fist his dick before; bastard almost always finishes himself like that, virtually never lets Jared drink it down like he wants to - eyes darting away from meeting Jared's, cock steadily darkening and hardening until it's full and thick in his stilled grip.
"Did I tell you to stop?" he spurs. Jensen's gaze flies up to him, shocked, then just as quickly away and his hand reluctantly starts pistoning again. Jared loves that fucking dick; the velvety-softness over blood-stiff tissue, the weight of it on his tongue, the girth slotting just perfect into his throat - it's so fucking sexy and he has to stifle all of his urges not to get on his knees and present his mouth for it right now.
He distracts himself by grabbing his supply bag, listening to Jensen's breath go jagged as he gets closer to the edge. Jared finds what he's looking for, keeps his back to Jensen as he digs them out and drops them into the full ice bucket on the minibar.
"That'll do," he waves casually, making a disapproving mental note for later about how loosely Jensen's stroking himself. Jensen breathes another almost-noise and lets his hand fall to the side, eyes clenched tight.
This isn't the way Jared usually plays it, more Jensen's style than his own to tease and taunt like this, but somehow it feels right and Jared's gotten pretty good over the years at going with his gut.
"Back against the wall, arms over your head."
Jensen follows orders pretty as a picture, even if he does look mutinous, contempt in every line of his body. Jared crosses the room after him, settling the ice bucket between Jensen's feet as he leans in and mouths over first one nipple and then the other. Slick and wet, they slide through his fingers as he toys with them, nipping and pulling at the one with his teeth and then switching sides until the both feel feverish against his lips, peaked hard and dark with the blood rising close to the surface.
Jensen's biting his bottom lip, eyes squeezed shut but still resolutely not moving or making a sound. It's sort of precious how he seems to think that's some kind of triumph. Jared's going to take him apart.
The rattle of ice brings Jensen's eyes shooting open, but Jared's there with a hand on his chin, keeping him from looking down and spoiling the surprise. The smirk he can feel twisting his mouth must be positively malicious based on the fear flitting across Jensen's face. But then then that firm jaw clenches, chin tipping up defiantly for maybe a quarter of a second before Jared's got the ice cold metal of the clamp tightened around his roommate's - his client's - nipple; hot, abused skin meeting burning cold, and that bravado collapses like a house of cards.
Jensen’s hands come down on reflex but Jared's ready for it; already has the other clamp in place and a forearm readily pressed up against Jensen's throat.
"Shh, you're fine. Arms back up."
If looks could kill. Goddamn, Jensen looks hacked off and Jared's painfully glad that Jensen promised no repercussions because whatever vengeance is rattling around behind Jensen's eyes right now would be seriously ugly, he can tell.
Jared gets a hand around Jensen's wrist again, pulls it over to meet its mate so that they X close to the top of Jensen's head, easing the strain on his arms a little as Jared holds them in place. The chain connecting the clamps gets wrapped around the fingers of Jared’s other hand allowing him to pull just enough to distract Jensen from any ideas he might have had about struggling.
He could really use another hand for this – hell, make it a dozen while he’s at it so he could finally touch every last inch of Jensen – but he’s probably not going to start sprouting new appendages anytime soon, so he has to settle for tilting his head in close to Jensen’s and commanding, “Open up.” Again Jensen hesitates, slowly gives in and does as he’s told, lips parting ever so slightly.
“Good boy,” he mumbles, Jensen’s lips a satin-shuff against his own, “Now stay still.” He throws in a little tug to the chain as a warning and then he’s licking his way into the silky heat of Jensen’s mouth.
Jared’s spent entirely too many hours thinking about this, driven himself to distraction imagining what it would be like to be able to kiss Jensen however he wants to, whenever he wants to – created a whole fixation around it if he’s telling the truth. And then, for one brief, shining moment, he’d had it; Jensen all over him, licking and biting and taking Jared’s mouth, just the way he’d wished for. He’d come so hard on that and the growl of ‘mine’ that Jensen had fed him that he’d thought his bones had liquefied and he’d been positive that they were breaking through some kind of barrier, that finally he’d be allowed to do this. And then Jensen had taken it all away with no explanation and left Jared strung out and addicted to something he’d never really had.
Now he has it though, if not exactly the way he would have hoped. Jensen’s mouth twitches and shudders all around him, battling the instinctual pull to respond to the way Jared’s mapping him out; tickling at the delicate smoothness underneath his tongue, sweeping over the hard line of his teeth. His tongue dips into the trench between lip and gum, earns himself a shiver as he carries it all the way around to taste the inside of Jensen’s cheeks, the washboard roof of his mouth.
The second Jared pulls free, Jensen’s lips close around a swallow. They part twice as wide again on a startled punch of air when Jared gives a sharp tug on the clamps.
“Told you not to move,” he scolds with a midnight-grin, sinking back in to lave over Jensen’s bottom lip. The plush softness shifts, stills when Jared pulls admonishingly on the chain once more. Sucking Jensen’s lip into his mouth is probably more of a reward for himself than for Jensen, but Jen can deal; he asked for this and he’s going to fucking get what Jared gives. It's about damn time he learned a lesson, and this time the lesson is that sometimes, you're set up to fail.
Jared hears himself moaning and can’t even begin to care. It feels so right to kiss Jensen; a dirty rush smoke-caressing his skin at just being able to take without giving Jensen the option of turning away. He sucks and bites the lower lip deep red, swollen, then moves up to the top as Jensen starts to quiver against him.
A thigh slotted between Jensen’s legs finds him still hard, the heat of it seeping through Jared’s leathers like a brand. Jensen does finally lose a sound at that; short and quiet, but distinct and it lights a burner under Jared’s skin. The noise turns distraught a second later and Jensen tries to tilt his head up to prevent the slick spill of saliva Jared can feel running out of the corner of his mouth. A quick jangle of the clamps gets a bitten-off whine and Jared’s really starting to have fun now.
“You wanna swallow, Jenny?” he releases Jensen’s hands in favor of teasing a finger around Jensen’s bottom lip, pulling it down the reveal toothpaste-commercial teeth and free another flow of clear liquid. Jensen finally jerks away – lasted longer than Jared was betting – using his hands to simultaneously back Jared off and wipe his face. He doesn’t safeword though, which is all the permission Jared needs to keep going – he’s just getting warmed up.
An unexpected hand around the back of Jensen’s neck sends him careening onto the bed, stumbling for a balance he’s not going to get because Jared’s right on his heels, getting Jensen trapped underneath his bulk, pressed flat into the ridiculous-thread-count sheets.
This is more like it, how he usually operates, except for how it isn’t at all. He always gets off on being a Dom, but he’d be lying if he said this is him at his professional best. Jensen has this way of making him lose his fucking mind and right now all he can think about is getting what he wants, however he wants, because for once, Jensen’s not allowed to turn him down.
Beneath him, Jensen gasps, probably the clamps pulling as Jared ruts up against his back. He’s got exactly zero doubt that he could come like a shotgun blast from nothing but the scent of Jensen’s shampoo filling his nostrils where he’s got his nose buried in the nape of Jensen’s neck – zero because he might have, maybe, done it once or twice when Jensen was out of the house; perched on the side of his roommate's tub with a rabid lather forming between his fingers with just a touch of water and frantic friction. Yeah, he has issues, this is no kind of news. Still, he fully intends to get more out of this than a quick rub out if this is the only shot he’s going to get at it.
Jared smirks against the curve of Jensen’s neck and hides it on a yelp-prompting bite. He knows exactly what he wants to do.
***
Cool air rushes in to take the place of where Jared was pressed up against his back just moments ago. It should be soothing with how overheated Jensen feels all the way through, but instead the breather is a burn like liquid nitrogen trickling down his nerves. He’s pissed off and humiliated and so help him, but his dick is still a hard, throbbing line dampening the pristine linens with precome. Of all the completely bizarre things he’s ever felt with Jared, this just might take the cake. Getting off on this had not been part of the forecast.
He hasn’t worked up the necessary coherency – positively huge amounts of his focus lost on the drag of metal against his tortured nipples on every breath – to lift his head up and look around before Jared’s back, kneeling next to him on the bed. The effect of being naked with someone who's fully clothed hadn't been part of Jensen's calculations either, but the subjugation of it goes straight to his head for the two or three miliseconds it takes for it to register what Jared’s got his hands wrapped around. The world narrows down after that because Jensen doesn’t have anywhere near enough braincells to focus on anything – even his own body – beyond the tube of lube in one of Jared’s hands and the built-for-intimidation, black silicone dildo in the other.
There is absolutely no way that Jensen is going to like where this is heading.
“No,” Jensen blurts without thinking. That’s probably going to get him into trouble, but still, honestly, no.
“Yes,” Jared chirps back easily, something a little too dark to match that tone coloring his expression. “You ever bottomed, Jenny?”
That slow boil of anger eats that the intelligent, rational parts of Jensen again – he really hates that nickname, which he knows Jared knows – and it’s just enough to have him firing back “Yes,” like a curse.
For what it's worth, that's not actually a lie; he has bottomed before. Twice. Once because it’s important to make compromises in a relationship, and then again to confirm that it wasn’t just the wrong guy or something but a genuine aversion to having things put in his ass. He does not get the impression that that argument is going to sway Jared on the matter, though. His sphincter makes a go at crawling inside of his body just from looking at the monstrosity in Jared’s hand.
Jared smirks, “Good,” and tosses the lube onto the bedspread where it rolls up against his side, shockingly cool and unavoidably there. “Get yourself ready for me.”
Jensen’s going to take a wild guess and say that it’s the phrasing that makes his body strobe with sharp, hot sparks, the ache in his chest and groin redouble. Jared probably didn't mean 'for me' as in 'for my giant, never-going-to-fit-in-that-tiny-orifice-of-yours cock' but the idea is… an idea. Jensen actually can’t get any farther with that line of thought because his mind gets stuck at the fork in the road between hot as hell and screaming pain.
Bright little prickles start up under the surface of his skin and just keep popping, blood like a shaken soda in his veins. He’s expecting some smart ass comment or another barked demand when he looks questioningly up at Jared - eyes begging for another way out despite his resolve to get through this no matter what it takes - but instead the larger man is leaning over to stretch himself out on the bed, lying on his side to face Jensen with a good foot of space between them all the way down. Jared looks at him blithely, like he’s above all of this or… or like he doesn’t think Jensen’s going to do it.
And, hey, Jensen might be a little nervous here – do they even make dildos bigger than that? – but he’s not backing out, alright? Jared can mock him and suck his lips sore and make him drool on himself or whatever the fuck, and he might not like it, but he’s sure as hell man enough to take it. And he’ll fucking well take Jared’s enormous – like, really, no human being could possibly have that hanging between their thighs and still walk right – dildo too, so don’t even think for one second that he can’t handle it.
Letting that self-righteous fever carry him, Jensen gets up to his knees and snatches the lube, squirting entirely too much of it on his fingers but it’s not his bed that’s getting dribbled all over, so fuck it. The chilly touch of a slick finger on his hole clears his head a little more than he’d really like. It’s been a long time since he’s done this and the furled opening feels so tight and small under the pad of his finger. But Jared’s still watching him like he’s just counting the seconds until Jensen cries uncle and that will, under no circumstances, be happening. Sometimes Jensen’s really not sure about his own survival instincts.
It doesn’t really burn when the first fingertip slides inside – slick enough it’s almost more surprise than sensation – but the dull heaviness of it is there. He exhales hard and tries for the first time to actively concentrate on the pulse-pulse-pulse of blood around his nipples to distract himself from his finger sliding in all the way to the webbing. After it's in there, though, it’s impossible not to squirm and clench as his muscles struggle to puzzle out exactly what it feels like inside of him.
A ticklish puff of air on the side of his face takes Jensen by surprise, makes him open his eyes when he hadn’t even realized they were closed and look directly into Jared’s. The intimacy of it hits him like a sucker punch; Jared laid out so close to him – he’d scooted in at some point while Jensen was occupied, but they’re still not touching – face pillowed on the bend of his own arm, intently watching whatever expression happens to be scrolling across Jensen’s face. He’d have put money down that Jared would have his eyes locked on Jensen’s hole while he did this – isn’t that the fucking point? – but Jensen could very well be lying here doing nothing at all for all the attention Jared seems to be paying to anything but Jensen’s face.
On the other hand, as soon as Jensen pauses, Jared jumps in with a gentle, “Don’t stop,” so maybe he's more attentive than he looks. Jensen pushes a second finger in, too early, too dry, but it gives him something else to focus on besides the way Jared’s studying him.
“You like it like that, Jenny?” Jared whispers against Jensen’s cheek, lips traversing a slow path up to Jensen's ear and doing nothing at all to help his body’s sudden inability to discern hot from cold, “Like it rough? Like the burn?” Jared’s tongue snakes around the curve of Jensen’s ear, his hand appearing out of nowhere to flirt fingertips around where Jensen’s splitting himself open. “Wanna be all puffy and tender later? Feel it every time you move around, remember how you fucked yourself for me.”
The last thing Jensen expects is the groan that blurbles out of his own throat; relief to have shied away from whatever that moment was shaping up to be back there and slide back into the filthy smut he had been anticipating out of this evening. Maybe just a little because of Jared's voice too, and the way it seems to lick like a flame at all of the delicate bits of Jensen's insides, a mollusk turned out of its shell. But in no way because of that 'for me' stuff or the idea of remembering Jared's eyes on him later while he can still feel the phantom weight of his fingers inside - that would be weird, and wrong, and Jared's just his roommate, ok?
He scrubs the sweat forming on his upper lip away on the back of his arm and tries to lose himself in the feel of the simmering heat in full bloom around the clamps, the gritty drag of his finger pushing in and out of his own body, the relentless pound of blood in his neglected cock.
"You've thought about it before, haven't you?" Jared mouths against him and all the air in Jensen's chest clots. "Yeah, wondered what it was like from the other side, to have me pushing you around." Two of his fingers massage around the outskirts of Jensen's opening, stroking and teasing and making the hair-trigger muscles flutter. "You can take another," he helpfully assesses, refusing to let up on the maddeningly soft petting until Jensen lines up a third finger and pushes in with a burst of tight, spiraling heat. All that solidified oxygen gets squeezed out of him on a high, hurt sound.
"I think you like it, Jenny," Jared's fucking lucky that Jensen's too busy trying to decide whether he's about to cry or come to deck him right now, "Think you'll never admit it, but you like it. That what you needed to figure out, huh? That you like somebody making you take it? Like being bent over and used with no chance to say no?" God damn him, just God fucking damn him and his stupid, long, perfect fingers toying with Jensen's cock, playing in the wetness on the crown; just enough to make him feel like his fucking bones are vibrating. "Like being my bitch."
Jared's voice smears dark along his skin; the sticky, invisible trails left in the wake of words Jensen's trying so very hard not to hear are nothing like the sparking feather of his fingers brushing down Jensen's spine, over the curve of his ass, back up to tick across his ribs, the barest glaze of his own precome marking each spot.
Every hair on Jensen's body is standing up straight, every follicle worked up and transmitting sensation. Then Jared's hand is back at his cock, cradling it, thumbnail catching with intent on the bundle of nerves under the head. Existence bleeds at the edges and he must jerk or jolt or something because the next thing he knows, his fingers accidentally find his prostate and all the reality he has left is drowned under a cascade of silver rain.
"Mmm, look at you," Jared groans, voice pure, debauched awe, "few fingers up that sweet little hole and you purr like a kitten." Which Jensen's almost positive he didn't, but he can't really get his tongue to form words, let alone find the air to argue when three fingers unexpectedly becomes four; Jared's long index finger sliding right in between his own. It shouldn't be anywhere close to as hot as it is.
Jared's starting to lose words around a series of moans that blur into the wet, open-mouthed kisses he's sucking all over Jensen's cheek and neck and shoulder, only little bits like 'so fucking tight' and 'want' and 'Jensen' slipping through. Jensen can't ask what he means, can't even come close to processing it because where he had been intentionally keeping away from his sweet spot, trying to stay in control, Jared's rubbing it constantly, only backing off to slam it again.
Orgasm is coasting along his system in a continuous thrum, the energy stopping up somewhere low and his gut and building, building. Jared's not making it any easier, turning those sloppy kisses into dull bites, just enough to have Jensen's nerves skittering in a dozen different directions at once. It's all too much and not enough and then Jared reaches beneath him and frees the clamps, blood roaring back into tormented flesh at the same time that he delivers another sharp jab to Jensen's prostate and that's the end of the line. His body's just not capable of containing that much sensation, pain and pleasure muting out to meaninglessness as Jensen rides it out on a yell, his whole being pumping out through the tip of his cock.
He comes back to a foggy washout of the world with Jared's hand pushing through his hair, his body still tingling and not yet in the pain he's almost certain will announce itself once the endorphins have left the building.
Jared lays a soft kiss against his temple and murmurs, "Not so easy to hold back, is it?"
The sharp smack to his ass is both unexpected enough and close enough on the heels of climax that it reverbs through Jensen like a crackle of lightning, banking the glow inside him to keep it humming low and warm when sense-memory tells his it should be fading. Then he's got another hand on him, the back of his neck this time, urging him down until his face is pressed against come-wet cloth.
He has neither the strength nor coordination to fight it when Jared rumbles at him to "Clean it up," so he just opens his mouth and lets the sharp taste of his own release explode across his palate.
***
Jensen licking his own come off of the sheets is the single hottest thing that Jared has ever seen, bar-fucking-none. Those swollen, red lips against white sheets, turning pale themselves as Jensen gracelessly works himself through the mess he made, as much of it staining his skin as making it into his mouth. Jared's going to die if he doesn't come right fucking now.
His fingers itch to put a collar around Jensen's pretty neck as it works to swallow what the flash of pink tongue laps up - knows exactly which one he'd use too; slim black with little studs all along the length and a sterling silver tag on the front with the letter 'J' transcribed in simple script. It's meant to stand for Jared, and it could mean Jensen, but Jared knows exactly what he'd see in it every time he looked at it glinting from the hollow of Jensen's throat - Jared's Jensen.
It's probably a good thing he doesn't have it here; if he ever got it on Jensen, he might not be able to stand taking it off again. There are other ways of marking him though; not as good, but still enough. One he's been fantasizing about since literally the moment he laid eyes on Jensen.
He tumbles himself off of the bed, lust-drunk and frustrated, and snatches up Jensen's coat off the back of the chair he left it hanging from. He roots around in the pockets until the solid shape of Jensen's spare glasses case meets his fingers. The spares are identical to Jensen's usual pair, always in his pocket just in case he loses a contact or needs a refraction lens to harness the sun and find the lost Ark of the Covenant or whatever the hell scenario Jensen imagines that keeps him so paranoid about always having a pair of glasses on hand. Right now it doesn't really matter - what Jared wants them for is a lot more form than function.
Jensen's stopped what he was doing by the time Jared gets back to the bed, leaning up on an elbow instead and staring at the sheets like he's trying to gather his wits back about him. That's essentially the last thing Jared wants, at least until his cock has quit trying to strangle itself inside of his pants. Knocking Jensen over onto his back doesn't take a lot of effort since he just sort of rolls - that whole pliant thing he's working births all kinds of filthy-hot ideas - and lets Jared straddle his chest and tuck the glasses behind his ears.
They sit a little askew, but again, form not function and Jared's way to occupied trying to dig the steel rod his dick has turned into out of his pants to even care about precision. He's so hard it's nearly purple by the time he gets it in hand, gritting his teeth around the too-much of at last getting some friction.
He's not thinking about how it's not real, how it's all just some kind of experiment or test to Jensen, how he's probably crashing and burning like a fucking kamikaze pilot and somehow proving Jensen right. He’s just thinking about Jensen; this gorgeous, smart, funny guy underneath him who puts up with Jared's flack and his needs and his general pain-in-the-ass self and never makes a big deal out of it that Jared's turned his life upside down or occasionally pretends to be his boyfriend in the sanctuary of his own thoughts. This guy, who drives his straight up the wall, makes him want to crawl out of his skin sometimes he feels so overcome with it. This guy he's completely head over heels for. Who he's never going to have.
It would be embarrassing how few strokes he ultimately lasts, but with his hand cupped around Jensen's jaw, feeling every reflexive bob of his Adam's apple against Jared's palm, blown green eyes hazing up at him from behind wire frames and a thin sheen of drying come, Jared seriously defies anybody to stick it out for longer.
Thick, milky ropes spatter onto glass and metal and sex-flushed, freckled skin; an obscene camouflage that's going to be burned into the back of Jared's eyelids until the day he dies.
Reluctantly, he flops over to the side and off of Jensen so that there's once again space between their bodies. His chest aches for reasons that have nothing to do with the jackhammer of his heartbeat and it's harshing the fuck out of the mellow that had just been roaring through him.
That got out of hand a lot faster than he'd have guessed.
"You're gonna tell me what the fuck that was all about now." It's not a request, couldn't possibly be taken as one, which is probably why in lieu of deflecting, Jensen peels the glasses off of his dirty face and says, "Chartreuse."
Jared's moving before he realizes he's about to, snatching the thin frames out of Jensen's hand and flinging them across the room. Jensen, idiotically, looks like he's actually about to lecture Jared for it and that is so not happening.
"We're not playing, Jensen," he growls, right up in the other man's face. In his experience, it's generally hard to have any kind of meaningful conversation when one person's face is covered in semen, but it's stunningly easy to ignore that at the moment, the unadulterated rage swelling in him pushing out even the pure sex appeal of having messed Jensen up so beautifully. "You're gonna tell me right fucking now because I'm your best fucking friend and I deserve to know what's going on, assmunch!"
"Assmunch? Really, Jay? What are we in eighth gra-"
"Shut the fuck up!" Jared's yelling, not knowing when he got hold of Jensen's shoulders besides the fact that he obviously must have because now he's using them to shake Jensen with all his might, "What the fuck is wrong with you?! Christ, do you get what you just did to me? How fucking much that messes with my head? I can't- I can't take this shit, Jensen, I just can't!"
It takes an effort for Jensen to brush Jared's arms away, but he manages. His mouth tightens, like he's mad or hurt or Jared can't even tell what. Not like he's about to explain a fucking thing and that's all Jared really needs to know.
Getting up off the bed again is like peeling off a layer of skin with a hot butter knife, so Jared does it fast, trying to get it over with except it just won't end, keeps right on hurting. He's suddenly glad he didn't bother getting undressed for this; all he has to do his tuck himself back in and grab his stuff and he can go. Or hell, forget the stuff, get new stuff later, just get the fuck out of Dodge while he still can. It'll only buy him a few minutes since they're both going to be heading back to the same place and he doesn't have a clue what's going to happen then. Jensen'll probably go right back to ignoring him like he has been and Jared... Jared will deal. He can handle this. He's broken up with people before and this wasn't even a real relationship anywhere but in the land of make-believe. It'll be fine, piece of cake.
It doesn't even sound very convincing in his own mind.
"I needed to figure out if it was you." Jensen's voice is so soft that if the air conditioner had kicked on at that moment, Jared wouldn't have heard it.
His bag suddenly weighs a few hundred pounds extra, kind of like his lungs. It's not fair that Jensen can do this shit to him.
"I- I feel things," Jensen continues haltingly, and Jared stays but he can't turn to look because if he does, there's no way he's going to be able to walk out that door, "when we're... the way we are. And sometimes not when we're the way we are. It makes sense if it's just the sex. Psychologically I can understand that. But it's not always that way, so I needed to find out, whether it was you or the scene that makes me feel like this. Putting you in control was the easiest way to test it."
He says it all like it's the most logical thing in the world even though Jared's pretty sure isn't, not even a little.
"How do you figure that?" he prompts when it doesn't seem like Jensen's got any plans for going on.
The sigh that breaks across the space between them is so pained that it plucks at Jared's reflexes, making him compromise and turn his head to the side to see Jensen out of his peripheral vision. It looks like he's cleaning his glasses, which means he's already cleaned his face and it's ridiculous that that hurts too. Not like Jared expected him to just sit there with come all over his face. Jensen's also watching the carpet like it's going to make a run for it if his eyes aren't pinning it in place. Alright, fine, maybe it's a little more than just Jared's peripheral vision.
"I knew I wouldn't like subbing, so obviously, if I subbed for you and I still felt things, then it would mean that I felt something for you and if not then it would mean it was just the Dom thing that I get off on."
Jared pointedly chooses to ignore the fact that Jensen just said he let Jared put him through all of that knowing that he wouldn't like it because he's not sure he'll be able to stay standing under the weight of that level of guilt once it sets in and he's going to need to get the hell out of this room really fast in a minute. Now would be even better, but even though he knows the answer, even though he has known it from the very beginning, he still can't not ask.
"So which is it?"
Jensen takes a deep breath, pulls his eyes up to the wallpaper, and loses it on another sigh. Jared's knees go out from under him; completely and utterly pathetic, thirteen-year-old girl shit but it's not going to matter here in a second because everything in his ribcage is withering up and crumbling and there's really good odds that that'll kill him. Maybe Jensen will just think he had a heart attack.
"Shit! Jared! Are you ok?" Jensen's across the room and at his side in an instant, giving Jared something other than the wall he fell against to lean on. Oh joy, this is just going to keep getting worse. He wonders what he did to make the universe actually hate him.
But then Jensen keeps talking, running his mouth in an incessant stream of babble from which Jared susses out, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I don't know how it happened, but I promise, it's not going to interfere with anything. I'm going to keep it under control, ok? It's just a little crush, it happens to everyone eventually, right? I swear it's not going to get in the way of our arrangement, I'll keep it strictly professional, you don't have to worry."
Jared puts forth his best effort to tamp down the little flutter of hope that springs to life inside of him while he tries to rewind that moment and make sure he heard right.
"Wait wait wait. You're saying... You mean that you... you like me? Like, you want me?"
Holy shit, how can all of that magically shrinking stuff in his chest balloon up to twice its original size that fast?
Jensen bites his lip and Jared applies himself to not moaning because there's still the possibility that he hallucinated that whole ‘crush’ bit and in that case, kissing Jensen breathless would make this extra-super awkward.
"I'm sorry, Jared, I really didn't mean to. It's ju-" Jared's hand over Jensen's mouth stems the flow of mixed messages because important parts of him are threatening to explode unless he gets a straight answer, like, now and for once, none of those parts are below the belt.
"Ok, look, you're gonna blink once for yes and twice for no, got it?" He's barely getting enough thin air - when the fuck did this hotel move to the top of Mount Everest - to get the words out, but he does, can't help himself from smiling a little when Jensen blinks once. "Alright, so... um, do you... do you like me? Romantically, I mean."
Hesitantly, Jensen blinks. The space between their eyes seems to heat up with the sheer energy Jared's pouring into it and he wants badly to bite his fingernails in anticipation, waiting for the next blink. Waiting and waiting and waiting.
"Muh contuhcts err dryin' uht, Jaruh," Jensen muffles from behind Jared's hand and it feels like his heart got a jump-start when he hadn't even noticed it skipping a beat.
Once. One blink. That means yes. Yes, Jensen likes him. Jensen likes him! Jared can feel the corners of his mouth catapult upward, grinning like a loon, dimples probably pushed deep into his cheeks and right now it doesn't even make him feel like a little kid because Jensen likes him!
He does eventually manage to convince his hand to stop hogging all of the prime Jensen's-mouth time, but Jensen's smile underneath it is unsteady at best.
He clears his throat and keeps green eyes focused on the ground again - occasionally sneaking up to peer at Jared from underneath his lashes - as he asks, "So, does that mean? Do you... like... me... too?"
Good God, this man is adorable. Absolutely fucking adorable. He can hobnob with social aristocracy and turn Jared into a quivering, fucked-out wreck without even breaking a sweat, but this - this thing that Jared's been a complete lack of subtle about - makes him shy?
Jensen's face doesn't crumple as Jared starts to shake his head, but his eyes sort of shut down, go blank somehow and Jared really needs to learn that trick sometime because that could totally come in handy, but now is not the time.
"Fuck like," he says, simultaneously leaning further and further forward as Jensen keeps leaning away, "Seriously, fuck like. I love you."
Jensen can't possibly bend any further back - his brief foray with yoga, which ended entirely too soon in Jared's opinion, hadn't given him nearly that kind of flexibility - so he has to go with it when Jared kisses him, even though his mouth is slack under Jared's and his eyes are still open when Jared's slip closed. It takes him way too long to respond, but when he does, it's with this soft, almost pained noise that get swallowed right into Jared where it warms him from the inside out.
The sound gets a bit louder when Jared pushes and they end up toppling flat on the floor, his mouth still firmly attached to Jensen's. At least until Jensen starts to squirm.
"What's wrong?" he slurs around Jensen's lips because he's waited a long fucking time for this and he's not wasting the opportunity on talking when he could be kissing.
"I’m naked," Jensen whines back, though he doesn't seem particularly inclined to relinquish Jared's mouth either.
Not exactly that Jared had forgotten - hello, it's naked Jensen, one does not forget that - but the reminder cranks the thermostat in his blood up another couple of notches. He rolls his hips down and now he is regretting not getting naked before; there's entirely too much fabric between his dick and Jensen.
Jensen moans quietly, cock slowly starting to thicken as he rocks up against Jared, and then tears his mouth away again. Tease.
"No, I mean I'm naked on a hotel floor," Jensen insists and his tone does not suggest he's feeling the same enthusiasm for that statement that Jared is. "I really question the hygiene."
Leaning up on his elbow puts way too much space between them, but it also affords Jared a view of Jensen's angry-kitten face which is totally worthy it. "Dude, you licked come off of the sheets," he points out, one finger stroking along the thin, dried film of it at the edge of Jensen's jaw. So. Fucking. Sexy. They have got to do that again - immediately if not sooner.
Jensen pulls another face, sliding into full-force, rained-on angry-kitten mode. "It was my come, and also, that was disgusting."
"Hottest thing ever."
"I am never doing that again."
"Aw, baby," and yes, he's nuzzling at Jensen's nose, because Jensen is the cutest thing in history and it is absolutely imperative that he be nuzzled, "I'm going to open up whole new worlds for you."
Jensen lets himself be cuddled for another minute or two, probably because Jared's laying on top of him and keeps his mouth occupied for most of that time with tender little kisses so there's no way for him to protest.
"Fine," he huffs at last, "Open up whole new worlds for me on the nice, recently-laundered sheets."
"First smart thing you've said all night." Jared's beaming; sun, it your fucking heart out.
"Fair warning," he adds as he's helping Jensen haul himself up off the floor and conveniently forgetting to let go of his hand afterward, "when we get to the bed, I'm going to hold you down and make out with you until we both get off again, and then I'm going to sleep on you."
"But I subbed this time!" Jensen complains. That face is going to be the death of Jared; he's never going to get anything done now that he's allowed to kiss it whenever he wants. Which he assumes he is, because he has a tongue ring that Jensen has been historically very enthusiastic about and Jared's so not above blow-jobbing his way to what he wants.
"Whine about it, why don'tcha?" He valiantly manages to suppress an elated giggle, because he is still a badass Dom and in possession of his own personal set of balls, so no giggling allowed. At least not externally, internal giggling is fine.
Jensen's eyes roll up to the ceiling. "You are a pain in the ass."
Jared smiles smugly and lets a hand roam down the curve of Jensen's lower back, middle finger slotting into his cleft to find the hot, slightly swollen ring of Jensen's hole. "You haven't even had more than a finger yet."
Jensen does a total crap job of covering his jolt-wince when Jared's fingertip circles through the leftover lube there and he should really feel worse about the fact that Jensen's obviously raw right now, but it's difficult to around the thrill steaming him up. He doesn't want to actually hurt Jensen, but a little sore is okay, a little sore just proves that it actually happened.
"And you aren't nearly as funny as you think you are," Jensen snarks at him, batting his hand away. Both the clamps and the lube gets delicately set aside on the nightstand, while Jensen only manages to pick up the dildo with two fingers like he suspects it might secretly be venomous and/or predatory. Maybe at some point Jared will admit he was never actually going to make Jensen take that, but why spoil the fun early?
"But you love me," he breezes, admirably covering the nervous little dance his stomach is doing.
"I didn't say that." Jensen slips under the sheets, hanging close to one side of the bed to avoid the wet spot right smack in the middle.
Jared's not upset, really, he's not. Jensen just now put it together that he likes Jared so it’s way too early to be throwing around things like love; he should be grateful that Jensen's not freaking out about having the L-word thrown out there in the first place. Plus, he still feels good enough about Jensen wanting him even a little bit to pay more than passing attention to the silent-movie flicker of disappointment at the back of his mind. Some of it must show on his face, though - as always, traitorous face - because Jensen gives him a measuring stare and tosses in, "But I'll take it under advisement."
And really, wet spots get a bad rap, Jared thinks as he happily snuggles up against Jensen for some more of that thought-wrecking making out, the sheet clinging clammily to his hip with traces of saliva and leftover come. Cloud nine can seriously kiss his flawlessly tanned ass.