Work Text:
Jared's been giving Jensen everything he wants so far. Jensen asks him to punch him, Jared does it. Jensen asks for a whipping, wants to be gagged, Jared does that too. Jensen wants a ginger root up his ass, well then by God Jared sticks it up there.
But this. “I want you to choke me.”
Jared says no. “With your hands,” Jensen says, like he thinks that would be better, when it's so much worse.
Jensen says he needs him to. He doesn't dangle the prospective money over Jared's head, doesn't have to. It's all there; do everything I ask or you're out on the streets, Padalecki.
Jensen doesn't love him. He loves what Jared does to him, and soon as that stops...
“Harder,” Jensen grunts, his body rudely jostled by their fucking, seems to slam his neck into Jared's palms. “Fucking harder, Padalecki.” It's choked out. Jared's choking him.
He squeezes his hands tighter, watches as Jensen's skin seems to go translucent, showing all his veins, making him go from red to blue to purple. Jared can feel his heart stamping under his palms, putting up a fuss at its lack of oxygenated blood.
Jared lets go.
“No,” Jensen rasps, skin paling again. He shoves his hips up for Jared's dick. “No, don't stop, you gotta go harder, hard as you can—”
“I can't,” Jared says angrily, snarling. He fucks Jensen harder to make up for it. “I can't, I'll fucking crush something and you'll die of fucking—fucking—”
“Hypoxia,” Jensen breathes. He breathes. He puts Jared's hands back on his neck. “Kiss me before I die.”
Jared doesn't love him. He fucking hates him. When he comes, it's with a sob, and Jensen's wheezing breaths, and Jensen's heart trying to punch his hands away from his neck.
--
“Piss on me.”
Jared looks away, hot in the face. Jensen, on his knees, holds his cock, holds it towards his pretty eyes and pink mouth.
“Jensen, you can't, you can't expect me to do that. Just let me go to the bathroom, man.”
“Piss on me,” Jensen insists, a desperate groan. Like piss is water and he's a thirsty man. “I don't care. Piss in my mouth. Do it all over me.” He rubs Jared's cock on the bottom of his chin. His stubble hurts, makes Jared hiss. He looks down and sees Jensen looking up. “You did it before.”
Hating himself, hating this, Jared had done it. But he'd been inside Jensen, and he had closed his eyes and pretended the hot liquid spilling out around his cock was come, and Jensen's encouraging moans were sounds of disgust, and Jensen had washed the sheets, and Jared had slept on the couch that week, but he didn't get much sleep.
Jared clenches his fists and closes his eyes, lets go. The sound of the spray is absolutely mortifying once it manages to start coming out. Jared denies himself every instinct to reach down to angle his dick away, and keeps going.
“Fuck, Jared, yes,” Jensen gasps and gulps. Jared hopes he's not drinking it, has to open his eyes to look. Jensen's face and chest are wet, and now he's pointing Jared's dick into his hair. Dark blond turns black from urine, ruining its gelled style. Strands come out of their place and fall over Jensen's temples, the front spikes get too heavy and collapse over his forehead.
It looks like the destruction of a city. Jared can only stare, till his piss runs out, slows to a trickle. Jensen shakes him with a little smile. The last heavy drops go across his lips. Jensen licks them.
He says thank you. He always says thank you to Jared.
--
Jared's there on the other side of the door when Jensen gets home. He's wearing the clothes Jensen told him to wear (no mask? Jared had chuckled to cover his trembling voice, I think they usually wear a mask, and Jensen had said no, leave your face uncovered in case I want to report you and Jared had laughed some more) and he's listening to Jensen unlock the door, trying to think of ways to make it as realistic as possible, because Jensen had told him to use his imagination.
He knows he's gonna say some ugly things. It doesn't bother him like some of the other stuff has. It probably should, but this, this is kinda small time compared to leaving Jensen's back a welted mess.
And none of it's real.
Jensen opens the door with an armful of groceries in paper bags. When Jared grabs him and forces him up against the wall, the bags crash around their feet and Jensen cries out. Jared snaps a black-gloved hand over his mouth, “Shut the fuck up, bitch,” he snarls, pressing Jensen harder into the wall, so he's crushed between it and Jared's weight.
Jensen makes a soft noise. He's trembling. Jared thrusts against his ass and gets an indignant cry. “Whatsa matter, you don't like that?” Jared croons, does it again. “Well you shouldn'ta came home so early. You got a real nice place; all I wanted was a few things, then I was gonna go.” He runs his fingertips alongside Jensen's hip.
Jensen starts struggling, yelling past Jared's hand, trying to escape. “Then the prettiest thing I've ever seen comes to the door, and now I can't leave, can I?”
Jared takes him and twists him around. He grabs Jensen's wrists when they raise and viciously kisses him, shoving his tongue into his mouth. “Real pretty,” Jared says when Jensen turns his head from it. Jared follows him, forces their lips together, no matter which way Jensen tries to turn. He gets to Jensen's neck, sucking over the skin, a weird perverse part of him that shouldn't exist excited about how Jensen struggles, his squirms as he tries to futilely evade Jared and the helpless, vulnerable sounds he's making.
“Please let me go,” Jensen implores, “please, please. I have money, I have lots of money, you can have whatever you want just—”
“Money can't buy me you. Fuck, you're hot. Mm, can't wait to get in your ass.”
“No!” Jensen yells, fighting anew. “God, no! Let go of me!”
Jared backhands him, twice. He doesn't hold back, and Jensen's head snaps this way and the other. “Be quiet you fucking slut,” Jared hisses, hand going back to Jensen's mouth. Jensen stares fearfully at him, eyes silvery with tears. There's blood running out of his nose. Jensen likes to bleed.
Jared tilts his head and probes Jensen's lips with his fingers, then shoves in two. Jensen chokes, eyes shutting tight. Jared feels around his mouth, letting him gag on his fingers, then he drags them out of those pink fleshy lips and fucks them back in.
Tears start dripping down Jensen's face. He keeps his eyes shut as his mouth is fingered. “Like a little pussy,” Jared says, dragging out some saliva and rubbing it over Jensen's reddening pout. He watches his fingers move in and out, entranced, rubbing his bulge on Jensen's hip. The slick sound and humiliated look on Jensen's face is fucking doing it for him, and God, it shouldn't.
Jared abruptly rips his fingers out and shoves on Jensen's shoulders, puts him on his knees. He grabs the nape of Jensen's neck and brings his face towards his crotch.
“Please, no,” he hears Jensen say before his face is smothered in denim. Jared grinds his bulge against his face, putting his fingers in Jensen's hair, pulling. “Mm,” Jared groans, “you like that, bitch? Huh? Lips like yours... bet you got a lot of experience.”
“Let go of me,” Jensen pleads, right up against his dick, and damn doesn't that feel good.
“Let go of a nice piece of ass like you?” Jared taunts. “I'd have to be stupid.” He suffocates Jensen's face in his groin, until Jensen begins struggling and slapping his hands on Jared's thighs. Jared gives him a some air, hooks two fingers in his gulping mouth again as soon as Jensen starts in.
“You're gonna suck my cock.” Jared presses his fingertips into Jensen's throat for emphasis, blood sparking at the helpless way Jensen chokes. “Then you're gonna roll over and put that ass in the air. You got that, you little fuckin' bitch?”
Jensen shakes his head frantically. Jared removes his fingers and slaps him with that hand, dashes of spit slicking his cheek. Jensen yelps like a kicked dog, then just covers his cheek and breathes. His hair's messed up, nose bleeding, whole face red and swampy with tears. He already looks horrible. Guilt seeps into Jared's headspace, threatens to ruin their game as he just stands there and looks down at Jensen at his feet.
You wanna be peddling your ass on the streets, Padalecki? He doesn't know if it's Jensen's voice or his own in his head, but it makes him inhale and reach for Jensen's head again.
“Take me out,” Jared commands. “Take me out and suck my dick down your throat.”
“No!”
Jared shakes him, rocking his head on his spine. “You're really starting to piss me off, you know that? I said, take my cock out and start fucking sucking it.”
“I won't—”
“Don't make me ask you again. I like a warm hole, but I'm not above trying out a cold one if you don't fucking cooperate.”
He thinks Jensen's sob then sounds more like a moan. Jared reigns himself in; Jensen loves that kind of talk way too much, and right now his obvious, sick frightening pleasure in it is threatening to remove Jared from the scene.
After some more pleading, crying, don't make me do this please don't, Jensen's threading his cock through his zipper, hands all a tremble. The one he tentatively puts on Jared's cock is white on his darker skin, and when Jared reaches down himself to aim his dick at Jensen's lips, it's eclipsed by Jared's, and that's hot and good and Jared's back into it.
He rubs his dribbling cockhead around Jensen's lips, giving them a healthy application of precome. Breathing tightly, he pushes at the seam. Jensen tries to turn his face, gets his hair yanked so hard light strands drift down when Jared lets it go.
Some tears overflow as Jared pushes his cock through slackened lips. “Look at me,” Jared says, because Jensen's just staring forward, listless.
Jensen brings his eyes up and up, settling them on Jared's. They're bloodshot and shiny, and there's a veneer there, just a veneer of degradation and shame. Beneath it, Jensen's wordlessly telling him to keep going.
Jared feels the head delve into the back folds of Jensen's throat and the older man retches around his cock. Jared forces it in further, groaning, grabbing the back of Jensen's head so he can start fucking his mouth. “Oh yeah, you like getting that mouth stuffed with dick don't ya?”
Thrust in, thrust out. Jensen sobs and gags and chokes around him, crying like a damn baby, and it's amazing (scary) how much he gets into this, how real he's making it seem, how helpless he can act even when he has all the cards.
“Love those lips,” Jared says, watching them stretch around his cock's girth in a plump, pink ring. “Almost as much as I'm gonna love your ass.”
He fucks Jensen's mouth until the other man has spit running down his chin, and Jared's dick is sloppy with it, and he's listening to the slipslop noises and hissing behind his teeth. Jensen's actively sucking him now, tear-stained cheeks hollowing out, tongue massaging the bottom of his cock. Jared feels his orgasm pool low, and he growls when he realizes what Jensen's doing. He hikes his dick out and pulls savagely at his hair. “Trying to get me off before I can fuck you? Huh? You think you're smart? Think you can pull something over on me?” Jared kicks him onto his back and falls on him, spins him onto his stomach.
“No! Please!” Jensen shouts, hands scrabbling over his head, trying to crawl out from under Jared.
“Shut up! Shut up!” Jared hits him. His shoulders, his ribs. He doesn't hold back. He scoops Jensen's hips up in his big hands and tears his pants down. He's loose-limbed and rough, and he feels huge and powerful like he hasn't in a while, not since he had an opponent on the ground spitting out teeth.
This must be how rapists feel. Jared doesn't let himself think on that; he's rearing up over Jensen and holding him to the floor with hands on his back, forcing his chest down and his ass up. Jared's cock meets the soft flesh and Jensen jumps and cries out, tries to tuck his ass in. “Don't! Stop!”
Jensen told him no lube. Jared's never fucked him without it, and the tight, dry feeling that meets his dick when it nestles into Jensen's crack isn't really pleasant. Too much friction, dick catching as he rides the crease.
But it's Jared's ass on the line. What Jensen wants, he gets.
“Stay still, you dumb cunt,” he spits as Jensen cries in earnest, stupidly trying to find purchase on the hardwood floor. “Don't act like you don't want a nice, big dick up your ass.” Jared opens his mouth and lets a long strand of saliva fall down into the crack. He hopes that doesn't violate Jensen's idea of no lube, but instead satisfies his need for humiliation.
Jared balances on his knees and inclines over Jensen, puts his weight on his elbow between Jensen's shoulder blades. He holds his cock and twists his neck to look back, thinks the way his coarse jeans look up against Jensen's naked flesh is dirtyhot. He aims his cock and pushes at Jensen's hole. There's so much resistance Jared starts thinking this isn't gonna work without some K-Y, but then the head pops past the ring.
“Fuck!” Jared grunts.
Jensen sounds like he's choking on his own tongue. He's tightening up around Jared maddeningly, like he's trying to squeeze the blood right out of his cock. It almost hurts, it's too much, pressure so crushing Jared thinks if he pulled out too fast his dick would pop off and stay stuck in there. He nudges his hips forward and gets sucked in some more, and more, till Jensen's ass is soft up against his hip bones.
Here, he usually waits a minute for Jensen to adjust, even if they're doing it rough, but he can't. He starts viciously fucking Jensen, hard as he can, letting loose like he's never allowed himself before. It's smacking skin, Jensen's throaty cries, nononogod, his heaving body under Jared's, it's them sliding over the floor from the force of Jared's lunges in. It's the sweat dripping around Jared's temples, his aching, gritted teeth and how slick Jensen starts to get inside from the tears Jared's giving him. Jared can almost smell the copper, taste it on his tongue. He clamps a hand over Jensen's mouth when he starts screaming. He's almost pressed Jensen flat now, ass barely raised under his pounding dick. Jared'll wonder later what it says about him that he comes without even breaking two minutes like a teenager, but right now pleasure sucks his mind away. Hard, jerky thrusts as his dick spits inside Jensen, whimpers in his ears under the rush.
When Jared's back in his head, completely, and Jensen's crying under him, he pulls his limp dick out and gets off him. Jensen rolls onto his back by himself, smearing the pink mess of come and blood on the floor. He visibly gets himself under control; starts breathing deep, wiping snot and tears off his face. Jared's eyes flick to his dick and he doesn't know that to think when he sees it's flushed and hard, laying horizontal over the bottom of Jensen's dress shirt. He doesn't bother asking Jensen if he wants a handjob; Jensen never seems interested in actually coming. He's said the pain Jared can give him is its own orgasm. Or something like that.
It almost seems like sometimes Jensen views his dick as more of an inconvenience than anything. When he wakes up with morning wood he has Jared slap it till it wilts.
Jensen starts laughing. He slaps Jared's thigh and looks at him, and he looks happy. “Thank you,” he rasps. “God. That was fucking great. Didn't lose you for a second. You done that before?”
Jared tucks himself back in and starts peeling off his dirty gloves. He lets his skin breathe and raises his eyebrows at the other man. Jensen looks as if he'd be perfectly okay finding out Jared's actually a serial killer rapist. “No. Guess you're my first victim,” Jared jokes, wobbling to his feet. He gives Jensen his hand and pulls him up as well.
A drop of red-striped come slides down Jensen's inner thigh, like a melted candy cane. Jensen catches it with a fingertip and sucks it off. Jared makes a helpless sound at that.
“I ripped you,” he says.
“Oh yeah, you tore me up,” Jensen says, relish in his tone. “Guess I can't convince you to do this every time I come home.”
He probably could, if it's that or a cold street corner, but Jared keeps his mouth shut.
--
The first thing Jensen wants is a good beating, and that's fine, Jared can do that. He wraps his hands and takes off his shirt and Jensen tells him to treat him like an opponent in the cage.
Of course, Jensen's not like an opponent, because he doesn't fight back. He's more like a fleshy punching bag.
“Call me names,” Jensen says when Jared's got him up against a wall.
Jared shoves him into the adjacent corner. “Motherfucker,” he defaults to, snatching one of Jensen's wrists and wheeling him around till he smacks face-first into the wall this time. He's so easy to toss around; Jared feels like he's beating up a wimpy little kid.
“No,” Jensen says when Jared flips him around, “no, different ones, like—” Jared hooks him in the cheek, then uppercuts his jaw when Jensen shakes it off.
“Faggot,” Jared tries, and this time Jensen's eyes close in bliss. Jared reorients himself physically and mentally. He's used to trash talking, but not to someone who actually enjoys it.
Jensen's ribs take the next blow. Jared explodes at him then, takes them to the opposite side of the room. He wails on Jensen's hips and stomach and rains all kinds of filth down on him: slut, bitch, cunt, cocksucker, and Jensen grunts and moans and presses into his punches.
It's easily the weirdest thing Jared's ever done, and he's eaten roasted ants. He thrashes Jensen into a bleeding, bruised shape that huffs and groans for more over the course of an hour, until Jensen can't take the abuse standing up and sinks to the floor.
Jared ties up the unraveled tape on his hands, staring at the other man. The punches have been pulled and the kicks light—Jared's tried to cause pain severe enough for Jensen's needs without earning him a trip to the hospital. Even so, Jensen looks thoroughly beaten, and Jared's coated in sweat and his muscles are aflame.
“Are you done?” he asks.
Jensen glares at him, still breathing unevenly. “We're done when I say we're done, Padalecki,” he says through his teeth. Jared wonders if he just took him out of his subspace or whatever the hell it's called.
“Sorry. Don't really know how all this works yet. Do I call you sir?”
“You're not funny.”
“Everybody's a critic.” Jared turns to get his water bottle.
“Holy shit, you got a boner.”
Jared drinks his water sloppily, half of it spilling down his chest. “Happens more than you think.” Adrenalin that comes with a good fight perks up even the straightest guys.
“You like dishing it out, huh?” Jensen gets to his feet and limps over. His hand stops halfway to Jared's crotch, but when Jared just looks at it plainly, he moves in the rest of the way and cups him. “Making people hurt.”
And that's not true, not really. Jared's not some kid that stayed out in the backyard and BBed birds. He is the one who almost killed Chaz Kellan last month.
“That's why I'm here,” Jared says blithely, letting his hips lean into Jensen's hand. He looks at Jensen's big green eyes and lush lips and thinks he doesn't get much out of the bruises there, but Jared's good at what Jensen needs, and money talks.
“There's a word for that, you know.” Jensen reaches up and pinches one of Jared's nipples just, Jared thinks, because it's there. “It's called sadism. You're a sadist. Did you know that's what you are?”
No, Jared didn't. But to get the case off his back, he supposes that's what he has to be.
--
Jensen's a trust fund baby. Grew up bathed in the family fortune. Jensen doesn't work, doesn't have to, but he's gone the usual nine-to-five; meetings, galas, charity events, dinners. He says his Dad will be retiring in a few years and he's expected to step up as CEO. He says the idea is so daunting it keeps him up at night, so that's why Jared can see him walking around the house at four AM half-naked with his shirttails barely covering his ass, bruises out for the world to see. Not that that's a problem; Jensen lives alone. No maids, no butlers. Jared asks him how he keeps the place clean and Jensen tells him he doesn't get it dirty in the first place. That's fair enough.
“When did the pain thing start?” Jared wonders after a sip of something outrageously expensive, Domaine Romo, Romanee, something like that. It's not as bitter as it was before. Jared's getting too used to this. He's sitting under a damn gazebo on Jensen's mile-long deck as the sun hits the horizon.
“You want a new car, Padalecki?” Jensen asks. Jared looks over at him, eyes trailing the neat curve of his back. Jensen's grilling hamburgers and chicken breasts on a grill that could probably flip the meat itself. He's wearing a flannel and swigging a can of Heineken. He doesn't look particularly rich, and he doesn't look like the man who wants belts across his back and likes hands crushing his trachea.
“Do I want a car,” Jared repeats plainly. He's a little thrown, a little exasperated. This is the way Jensen always responds to questions like these—just throws money at him, like diamond watches and designer jeans are supposed to appease Jared and his pesky questions.
Jensen gestures with his beer. “Yeah, you want, what? A hybrid or something? Model S? You look like one of those environmentalist freaks.”
“I just wanna know when it started.”
“All electric, three-hundred miles on a charge. 17-inch touchscreen, zero emissions, smart air suspension. Only thing it doesn't do is wipe your ass, but I heard they're working on that.” The grills pops, spits some hot grease on Jensen's wrist. Jensen switches the spatula to his other hand and sucks off the grease, then picks up his beer again. Jared thinks about what Jensen must've done before he met Jared, and gets a startling mental image of him sticking his hands on the grill like two pieces of meat.
A rush of something pours through Jared, causes his heart to palpitate and his skin to tingle. “Jensen.”
Jensen looks at him, eyebrow ticked.
“Jensen, you don't—it's only me right? When you go out you're not trying to drive off any bridges. You're not going into alleys and getting beat up for kicks. The, the thing, you keep that between me and you.”
Jensen looks back to the grill. “What's it matter?” he asks the chicken and burgers.
Jared's heart plummets. “It matters. You can trust me. I don't really get it, but I get it more than anyone else, and... I don't want you doing anything stupid.”
Jensen scoffs and shakes his head. “You care too much. God, you spend all day worrying about my ass? Is he at a gas station with a fifth of vodka and some matches? Is he asking someone else to rape him?” Jensen scrapes up the hamburgers onto a paper plate. He accidentally swings the spatula into his beer and it clatters on the deck and starts pouring through the slats. Jensen doesn't seem to notice. “Padalecki, don't worry about me. S'not worth it. Just remember the arrangement and we'll be good.”
He's plating the chicken now. Jared's listening to the spilt Heineken trickling on the ground below. He's thinking about hypoxia and electric cars, and the way Jensen's never asked him to stop.
--
“I wanna ask you for something different tonight.”
Jared furrows his eyebrows. “You don't really ask me for anything; you say it and I do it.”
Jensen looks slightly taken aback by that, but pleased. Why would he be surprised in the first place? Jared knows their arrangement. He wouldn't have done half the things Jensen's wanted if he had the option to set boundaries for them.
Jensen shifts his shoulders. “Well, I guess it's just kinda weird,” he says, and he almost looks shy, which isn't a trait Jared would usually tack on him. “I wanna do some roleplay.”
“I think we've covered that whole spectrum,” Jared says under his breath. Last week he wanted him to pretend Jensen was a dog, and the week before that it was police brutality. Jared wonders briefly how long he's been here.
“We haven't done this before, at least you haven't.” Jensen turns and starts walking out of the living room, and Jared takes his cue to follow.
Jensen leads him into the kitchen. There, Jared just blinks at everything. It looks like Jensen's cleared off his stainless steel prep table, covered it in tissue paper. Tucked under the table, there's several barstools with silver instruments laid out. With the white color scheme of the kitchen and the harsh fluorescent overhead, it looks like a—
“You wanna play doctor?”
“Yeah.” Jensen walks to the refashioned table and straightens out a corner. “It's not a perfect setup, I know, but I got you...” he moves to the left and picks a white mess of material off the granite countertop. It straightens out in his hands, tumbles until the bottom hem brushes the floor. It's a doctor's jacket. A stethoscope hangs around the collar. Jensen hands that to Jared and grabs a pile of mint green clothes, which must be scrubs. He gives them to Jared and says, “Go get dressed.”
The outfit fits perfectly, like all the other clothes Jensen's bought him, and Jared's no easy person to fit. The fabric doesn't feel cheap or anything; Jared chuckles when he thinks about Jensen spending an inordinate amount of money on authenticity.
The instruments feel real too. They're heavy, and they work. Jared doesn't immediately recognize any of them except the stethoscope around his neck and the thermometer, but he can't ask Jensen about them now they've started.
He's pretty sure doctors don't have their patients completely naked either.
Jared's seen porn like this, when he used to mainline that shit in his teen years, so he's not totally out of water. He puts on a pair of rubber gloves, listens to Jensen's heart and lungs and taps his knee with what he hopes is a reflex hammer, puts a popsicle stick on his tongue and aims a penlight into his throat and asks him to say ah.
“Have you ever had a physical, Jensen?” Jared asks, writing down a bunch of nonsense in the notepad he's been supplied.
“No,” Jensen answers.
“A prostate exam?”
“No,” is the reply, lower this time. Jared looks at him and not for the first wonders how Jensen manages to get a genuine blush on his face.
He also doesn't see how Jensen could be into this; there doesn't seem like there's much pain involved.
Jared sets the pad down and reaches a hand for Jensen's bare chest. Jensen inhales as fingers find his nipple and pinch lightly. “We should start with a responsiveness test,” Jared says, fighting to keep a laugh in. He purses his lips to keep from grinning and rubs Jensen's nipple in his fingertips until it stiffens, puckering into a little bud at the stimulation.
“Good,” Jared chirps. He moves to the other one and gives it the same treatment. The flush has spread down Jensen's cheeks and over his chest, a sweet pink color. Face to the ceiling, eyes closed, Jensen looks every bit the embarrassed patient.
Jared's cock stirs in his mint green scrub pants.
“Lay down,” he says when both nipples are tight little peachy dots. The tissue paper rustles loudly as Jensen turns and swings his legs onto the table, then reclines slowly.
Jared touches over his ribs and goosebumps raise all over Jensen's body. “You keep a balanced diet? Enough fruits, vegetables, lean meats?” He sinks his fingers into Jensen's stomach, the soft, small layer of flesh he's got there that Jared kinda likes for reasons he doesn't consider.
“I try and eat healthy. Probably don't get as much exercise as I should.”
“All guys wanna six pack.” That probably sounds a little haughty since Jensen gives him a slight scowl. “Your chart says 179 pounds. That's perfectly acceptable for your height.”
“Good to hear.”
Jared moves on down, and with no warning grabs Jensen's quarter-hard cock. “Are you sexually active?” he asks as Jensen's hips bounce up reflexively.
“Ye—yes.”
Jensen's hands twitch as Jared manipulates his dick, stroking it softly to half-hardness. “Duh—doctor is that really necessary—”
“Completely,” Jared assures. “This is the last place you want something going wrong; it's important to make sure it's healthy and responsive. Just relax.”
Jensen bunches his hands into fists, nods and closes his eyes, breathing through his nose in nervous little bursts. Jared waits until he's completely filled out in his palm before cupping Jensen's balls. His other hand hovers over a barstool till he spots a white tube in the midst of the silver. He's pleased Jensen's letting him use lube; probably sees it as more authenticity even while he'd prefer to go without.
“Wuh—what's that for Doctor?” Jensen asks in a thin voice, eyes widening when Jared picks up the speculum as well.
“We should go ahead and get the prostate exam outta the way.” Jared sets down the speculum by Jensen's ankle, close enough the metal touches his skin and Jensen flinches.
He squeezes a healthy amount of lubricant into his gloved palm, coats it over his fingers. “Spread your legs,” he tells Jensen, and when he only inches his knees apart Jared grabs them and pulls them wide open. Jensen inhales raggedly as he's exposed, “Doctor—”
“Pull up your knees.”
“Is this the way it's usually—”
“Mr. Ackles, please cooperate. This'll all be over sooner if you do.”
“Yeah, you're right. Okay.” Jensen exhales and reaches down to put his hands in the backs of his knees. He draws them up until his feet leave the table, up and up and out, and Jared's cock develops its own damn heartbeat.
“Is this good,” Jensen asks, a little strained in his folded up position.
“Very good.” Jared's eyes follow the reddish line of his taint, down to where it turns into the pink circle of his hole, tiny and clammed up tight. Jared touches it without thinking much, feels it move under his fingertip as Jensen tenses, hears him gasp.
“Relax,” Jared urges. “It won't hurt if you relax.” Which is a stupid thing to say, because Jensen only holds himself tighter. Jared sighs and thumbs over the hole, shining it up with lube, feeling the bunched muscle calm under the stimulation. He readies his pointer finger against the opening and forces the tip against the starburst. It pulses, and opens a little, lets his fingertip in to the nail.
Jensen's breathing picks up. Jared swallows past his dry throat and pushes some more, lube making a slick noise as his finger delves in further, easy as if it's getting sucked inside. At the mount of his knuckle, Jensen's hole buttons up around the width of his finger, the muscle rolling at the intrusion.
Jared taps up.
Jensen cries out and the table rattles as he jerks. “What was that?!” he demands when Jared takes the pressure off.
“That's your prostate. Please hold still.” Jared touches over the smooth swell again and Jensen's hole flexes around his finger. The other man trembles with the effort to keep still, panting now. Jared palpates the gland way longer than any good doctor would, until Jensen's cock is standing straight and starting to bead precome.
“Doctor, fuck, please stop,” Jensen wheezes. “That feels like...”
“It's completely normal to find this pleasurable,” Jared says, biting his lip hard to keep from cracking up. But fuck, this is so hot, Jared's got sweat tickling down his back and his dick is heavy between his legs.
He lets up on poor Jensen; drags his finger out and away from his sweet spot, then fucks it back in. Jensen makes a confused, helpless noise, toes spreading. Jared keeps on fingering him, enjoying the feeling of his finger slipping in and out of something warm.
He's all bad doctor now.
“Are you a faggot, Jensen? You're looser than you should be.” He's not, but a real doctor wouldn't know what Jared knows.
Jensen squirms, face red as blood.
“You like it up the ass huh?” Jared bats his cock with his other hand. “Look how much you're enjoying this. I'm not even touching your prostate anymore and you're still loving it. That's not normal.” He takes his finger out and pulls a gasp of relief from Jensen.
The speculum is cold in his hand, frigid metal seeping right through his gloves. He picks up the penlight he used to check Jensen's throat, raising his brows when he sees Jensen's eyes following him, suspicious. “What, what's that for?” he asks, and a leg slips from his hand and bangs on the table.
Jared smacks the leg with the speculum and Jensen cringes. “Get back in position.”
Jensen does, hesitantly. “I'm not a fag,” he tells Jared in a morose afterthought.
“Yeah you are, just look at you. Too fuckin' pretty. Girls look at you like competition,” Jared hisses, stabbing the blades in him for emphasis.
“Fuck!” Jensen cringes away from them. “S'fucking cold! Take it out!”
“I said hold still.” Jared slides them in further threateningly.
“What's it for? What are they fucking for?”
“For spreading you out so I can look inside you, stop moving.” Jared puts the penlight down momentarily to slap his cock.
Jensen jumps, then settles. “Why do you need to do that?”
“To make sure you're not getting all tore up from all the action your hole gets. You like it bareback? Bet I could find come up there, you dirty bitch. Let's see.” He inches apart the speculum. The steel blades ruthlessly spread Jensen's hole, make a little pink-lined black maw.
Jensen squirms, sounds like he's on his way to hyperventilating. “Cold,” he whimpers. “Doctor that's fucking weird.”
Jared can imagine it is, to have air slipping into where it never has before. He brings out the blades some more, until resistance starts snapping back and Jensen's sucking his breath through his teeth.
There's a free stool, so Jared drags it around to the front of the table and sits. He picks up the penlight and turns it on. It's very bright for such a small instrument, flooding everything in front of Jared with light.
Jared holds the speculum steady and leans forward a bit to shine the light in. He can't deny his own curiosity, breaks character with a soft, “Whoa,” at seeing Jensen's inner flesh. It's all red and pink inside, not unlike the inside of his mouth or, Jared imagines, what a pussy would be like under a light. He says as much to Jensen and says he can see why men might like fucking it.
Putting down the light, Jared pokes his finger through the hole, doesn't bump the insides, like a game of Operation. Jensen's so hot inside Jared can feel the warmth without even touching him. When he lets his finger flatten out against the upper wall, he hears a clatter that might be Jensen's head thumping back on the table.
“When's it gonna be over, Doctor?” he groans. “This is really fucking embarrassing.”
“I think you like it,” Jared the ex-MMA fighter says in unison with Jared the dirty doctor.
It's no trouble to touch over the other man's prostate once more, and the access he has to it now is Jensen's unraveling. “Stop!” he shouts, letting his legs go. The end of the speculum hits the table with the shift of Jensen's hips, Jared letting it go to grab his ankle and hold it, preventing him from drawing in his knees. “Doctor!”
“The exam's not over,” Jared informs him coolly, just putting in another finger, two, flesh filling the gap created by the speculum. He curls all his fingers up and tickles that sweet gland. He gets to his feet, hooking Jensen's hips up just from the force of his fingers pushing along his upper wall.
He hits Jensen's cock again, really hard and purposeful this time, and though his insides squirm at the action he knows Jensen loves it. It's affirmed in the way Jensen yelps with a grateful expression, eyelashes fluttering. Jared backhands the organ sideways and speeds up his fingertips, and Jensen's there. He chokes on breath and his cock cuts long slashes on his belly, his chest, white drops splashing his throat and lips. Goes on forever, until his cock can only muster sad dribbles and his chest is rolling with quick sighs.
Jared collapses on the stool and presses the heel of his hand into his crotch while he closes up the speculum and draws it out of Jensen gingerly.
“I wanna 'nother appointment,” Jensen says sluggishly, accent on full blast, and Jared smiles because he only talks lazy when he's flung his brains out his dick.
--
Maybe Jared likes Jensen. Spend too much time in a man's house, too much time in the car he bought you and the clothes he bought you and if you fuck him every night you get used to him.
Jensen's an asshole, yeah. He doesn't tell Jared anything. He doesn't give any sort of affection unless it has a dollar sign on it. Still.
Still.
Jared's never considered himself gay. His sexual experience prior to this was pretty mediocre, but it was all with girls. He'd never been really involved in any of it though, never really spent any time thinking of relationships. Majority of his teenage days had been spent in the garage with the punching bag for company, and he'd spent all his money on supplements and weights and never had any left to take a girl on a date. After he'd made it, that hadn't really changed. There were girls in and out, hookers, strippers, one-night flings with spray-tanned chicks he'd met at a club or a party. He'd just followed the example, and twenty-four was no age to be serious at.
And now he's here, unsure, and no one claps for him anymore.
“I miss it,” Jared says. He's facedown in bed, arms hugging his pillow, Jensen a blood-streaked mess beside him. He wants to shut his mouth but he keeps on talking, “It was my whole life. All I ever wanted since I could want. My fuckin' dream come true. And I pissed it away 'cause I couldn't fuckin' follow the rules. Ten years of dedication and pounding the pavement to get there and I ruined it in one fight. You hate yourself, Jensen?”
Jensen's husky voice floats to his ears, “A little.”
“Not as much as I hate myself. You probably got someone to blame for the way you are; a weird uncle or a sick pastor. Me, I screwed up my own life. How's that for a kick in the balls?”
“Not much of one, Padalecki. You're living with one of the richest people in America. You don't even have to work.” Jensen chuckles.
Jared turns his face to the other side and looks at him. “It's not what I wanted, don't you get that? You think I really wanna be here, living off some other guy like a bitch and beating him half to death every day?”
“Better than living on the streets. At least with me you can keep your ass cherry.”
Jared snorts. He looks at Jensen's profile a few moments, then sighs. “So what happens in September?”
“What about September?”
“That's when my year's up.”
“Right.”
“Right...?”
“You'll get the money we agreed on. If you're smart and invest it, I might see your face in the papers one day.”
“So... that's it?”
“Yeah. You can buy a penthouse in the Hamptons and never hear from me again.”
“Just like that?” Jared asks, and something must be in his tone because Jensen turns his head and meets his eyes. “You're gonna let me go that easy?”
“You're a real catch, Padalecki. Pains me to do it.” Jensen laughs. “But if it weren't for the money, I know you woulda bowed out after the first week. I don't have any illusions about this, and it's okay. I know you think I'm crazy, and I know you don't like most of the things I ask for. If I was you in September, I'd take the money and put me in the rearview mirror of your stupid Tesla.”
Jensen gets up. Jared turns onto his back so he can watch him walk out of the room, the red welts on his bare ass and shoulder blades, the bruises tracked up his spine.
“Maybe I have some illusions,” Jared says when Jensen's in the doorway. “Maybe I don't wanna up and leave soon as possible. Maybe I think that would be a waste of the last year. Maybe I'm thinking you don't wanna get rid of me so soon.”
“I want you to wake me up tomorrow, five thirty. You know what I like.” Jensen goes out of his eyeline, and Jared throws an arm over his eyes and grits his teeth. Sure he knows what Jensen likes.
Sure Jensen knows that choking him till he wakes up is Jared's least favorite thing to do.
--
Jensen doesn't come home one night.
Jared's up at two AM, drinking his creatine in the kitchen and staring intently at his phone.
Jensen always comes home. The latest he's been out is midnight, and even then he'd sent Jared a text two hours prior saying the party was going to run late, problem with the valet, ate squid for the first time and am puking in the bathroom, don't worry here comes Clif with some ginger ale. I'm fine, I'm fine, I'm fine.
Jared swallows the rest of the gritty supplement and slams his cup on the table. “Shit.” He's worried, really fucking worried, because Jensen's Jensen, someone who could get mugged in an alley once and ask for seconds. Jared picks up his phone and holds it while he paces around the house, first crossing the kitchen over and over, then moving into the living room.
Two turns into three turns into four. Jensen doesn't answer any of the hundred calls and texts Jared attempts. Jared's sure he's worn a hole in the floor at four thirty, and he collapses on the couch.
Around six, he's contemplating getting in his car. Useless; he doesn't know where the hell Jensen is, even where he could be. Jensen's never taken him anywhere, says he gets enough gay rumors as it is without someone that looks like Jared hovering over his back, but fuck, Jared hates being static when it feels like he should be doing something.
A half hour later, Jensen is on the news.
--
“Were you trying to kill yourself?”
Jensen scoffs. In the hospital bed, hooked up to IVs and his pulse filling the room and bruises all over his face, the expression looks glass thin.
“Were you trying to kill yourself?” Jared asks again, his voice breaking. He's fucking crying over this man, and all Jensen can do is stare steel-hard ahead at nothing but wall. Jared slams his fist on the soft bed. “Jensen!” His voice shatters in the silence.
Jensen's jaw muscle flutters under his skin as he sets it. “If I was actually trying, I wouldn't be here,” he says to the wall.
“I don't know what the hell that means.” Jared covers his eyes and falls back in his chair. He feels so tiny and insignificant then. He fills his lungs with hospital air and lets it cleanse them. “High-speed accident. You didn't go to a dinner; you took your motorcycle to the nearest empty road, went forty and let go of the handlebars.”
“Don't tell that to my insurance company.”
Jared gives a watery, helpless chuckle.
“Dude, don't fucking cry about it, Jesus Christ. Act like I'm your fucking wife or something.”
Jared wipes his hand down his face and reminds himself Jensen's still alive and he should be grateful for that. He gets himself together and leans forward to touch Jensen's taped up arm. Warm skin. A gush of relief makes his mouth get stupid. “You don't get it. Guess I can't expect you to 'cause you're, you're.” He shuts his eyes and breathes. “I care about you, Jensen. Really do.” And all this is going to stop right now, but he doesn't say that yet. He'll save those words for when Jensen's back home.
Jensen inhales, and for a second Jared thinks he's on the edge of a breakthrough, but Jensen says, “What's this about, Padalecki? You tryin' to squeeze more money outta me? With your—your I-care card and shit.”
Jared lets himself drop. Leans down until he's resting his head on Jensen's stomach. He raises his arm so he can take Jensen's hand, trading heat. There's a light touch on his hair, then weight settling on the top of his head. “Jared.”
“Let's.” Jared clears his throat. “Let's not talk about it now, huh?”
“Fine with me.” Jensen sighs. “If it's any consolation, I'm getting the best medical care in the U.S. The doctors say I'm gonna be fine.”
Jared heard that prognosis. He also heard the extent of Jensen's injuries: broken leg, broken toes, more cracked ribs than whole ones, severe bruising and scrapes on every inch of him. He wasn't wearing a helmet, but his head went unharmed except for a thin gash leading into his hair. Not enough to kill somebody maybe, but enough to cause a fair amount of agony.
Jared doesn't know if Jensen wanted the pain or something more permanent. He thinks Jensen doesn't know either.
--
Jensen's home soon enough. Cast, crutches, pain pills that Jared doesn't feel comfortable having in the house.
Jensen doesn't ask him for anything, and Jared treats him with gentle touches but still feels guilty to the soul. Feels a little like he's been a dealer, used punches and belts as some kind of gateway drug to more severe sorts of agony. He thinks maybe Jensen tried what he did because what Jared gave him no longer satisfied him.
Fuck, he's really got himself in a mess.
Jensen's bones heal, the cast comes off, crutches slowly fall out of favor. He's limping around the house now. Jared overhears him on the phone with his parents a few times and wonders how much they know, and if they'd ever offer him a reason as to why Jensen likes hands around his neck and metal rods in his dick.
A week away from when Jared's due his money, Jensen decides he's healed up enough; asks Jared to give him a good, hard beating.
“No,” Jared answers, calm.
Jensen jumps his eyebrows up. “No? You're gonna start saying no now?”
Jared spends a few moments cutting his chicken breast, and the silence that seeps over the cherry wood screams at them both. “I'm not doing anything to you anymore,” he says after a bite. “I don't care about the money. I'm not gonna take off and leave you alone.”
Jensen's eyes waver between his.
“Eat your dinner,” Jared tells him.
Jensen scoffs. “You gotta be fuckin' kidding me, Padalecki. You get to the third bell and sit down in the ring.”
“Doesn't matter if I've won the other two rounds.”
“It matters here.” Jensen puts his elbows on the table like his mama probably told him not to growing up and leans forward. “You're supposed to make the last week damn special for me. Full blast, go out with a bang. What the fuck are you doing? You on something? Fucking HMB going to your head?”
Jared snorts. He drinks some more of his Screaming Eagle something or other and shakes his head. “You gonna try and kick me out? Like hell. You're gonna have to call someone if you want me outta here.”
“Yeah, the police.” Jensen stands abruptly, bumping the table hard enough some of Jared's Screaming Eagle something or other slops over his lips and ruins his white Armani dress shirt. Jensen walks to the counter and gives Jared his back, arms crossed. “Put your ass in prison where you belong.”
Not like he didn't anticipate resistance.
Jared scrubs a napkin over his mouth and dabs his collar and then stands. “I didn't say the fucking had to stop. I like fucking you. It's the other shit that's an issue.” He comes up to Jensen's back and hooks an arm around his hips for want of contact. “You still got a limp and you want me to thrash you. You got a limp 'cause you put yourself in the hospital. You put yourself in the hospital 'cause you needed more, and some choking and belts weren't gonna cut it.”
All Jensen offers is a derisive scoff.
“It's gotta stop,” Jared continues, lips moving in Jensen's hair. “I'm done killing you, Jensen. I'm not helping you shovel your own fucking grave. I like you too much to think one day I'll have to sit in a confessional and admit I strangled you too long one night, or I hit you too hard; broke a rib, punctured a lung.”
Jensen turns around and looks up at him, upper lip starting to quiver in a snarl. “You're full of shit. You don't get to grow a conscience a week from the finish line, asshole.”
“Well I am. You need fuckin' help, Jensen. Don't know what happened to you, but you need fuckin' help, not me pissing on you every goddamn morning—”
Jensen slaps his hands on his chest and shoves him back one step, two. As soon as Jared finds his balance he stalks forward and gets in Jensen's face, “You wanna hit me, huh? C'mon Jensen, do it, let's flip this around and see if it makes you feel better—”
Blackout force crashes into the side of Jared's face. Squeezes his inner cheek between his molars and copper glides over his tastebuds as he wheels back from it, crashes down against the counter. His stack of supplements there tumble onto the floor, glutamine powder spraying on the wood. Containers roll and roll like thunder until they're caught up against the oven and fridge and then it's quiet.
Holding his cheek, Jared stares up at Jensen. “See? Knew you had it in ya.” He inches his legs apart and Jensen's eyes inch wider, “How 'bout a few kicks in the balls too? You liked that. Liked it till your fuckin' nuts looked like grapes. C'mon, Jen. Let's even the keel some more. Kick me.”
Jensen's throat bobs and he blinks several times. Anger's gone and left him pale and shocked. “I'm sorry,” he fumbles out, “I shouldn't've done that.”
Jared snorts. “Why not? Know how many times I've beat your ass? Don't you want a little retribution?”
“That's not how it works. I don't—I've never hit someone before.” Jensen swallows tightly and falls down in the nearest chair. He rests his elbows on his knees and rubs his forehead.
“Never hit anybody,” Jared repeats. He fills his cheeks with air and blows out explosively. “Great.” He gets a foot under him and stands, spine cricking loudly as he straightens. He rubs his sore cheek and tongues the gash he's bitten on the inside. “Guess you've been saving up. Should I be proud I'm the one that made you snap?”
“I don't hit people,” Jensen says, rote. Looks like he's having a fucking existential crisis about it.
Jared slides his hand up across his temple and into his hair, raking it out of his eyes. “Look, man, it's whatever. I don't care. I'm glad you got it out of your system; maybe now you'll stop being such an asshole, huh?”
Jensen just rolls his head around in his palm. Jared can see his face is screwed up, and honest to God, if Jensen starts fucking crying over it Jared's just gonna—
He looks away and starts picking up his supplements off the floor. “I'll vacuum that up later,” he says, referring to the exploded glutamine. “Know you don't like messing up the place.”
Jensen says something, slow but indistinct. Jared doesn't bother asking him to repeat it, picks up his containers of protein powder and sets them back, whey, casein, then the HMB, then the creatine, back in the order they were. Comforting shit he's been taking for years.
It's funny, because he really wants to hit something right now.
“Did you hear me.”
“No, what? And hey, your blender isn't working. I know you don't use it, but I ordered a replacement one for me. Don't bitch, but all they had in stock was the maroon...” The end of the sentence trails off in a wheeze of breath, because he's turned around and Jensen's raised his face now, and everything there takes words from Jared's lips.
“I said,” Jensen reiterates, mouth wobbling around the consonants, “it was my uncle.”
Jared crosses his arms and leans back against the counter, directing his eyes to Jensen's knees when it's just too wide open and raw to look him in the eye. “Your—”
“Parents had no idea. Didn't keep an eye on me, you know. I was smart and had money and as long as I wasn't embarrassing the name I could do whatever I wanted.” Jensen scrubs at his eyes and leans back in the chair. “My uncle though, I liked him. Liked him more than my parents, maybe. He was my mom's younger brother, only six years older than me. He liked... well, he was a fuckin' sadist. Know that now. Then, he was my first boyfriend.”
Jared swallows and flicks his eyes up. Jensen's rubbing his mouth, eyes half-lidded and cast nowhere in thought. He makes a dismissive gesture when he sees Jared looking at him. “Sorry. That probably sounds really sick.”
All Jared has is a dumb question. “How old were you?”
“Fourteen.” And there's no hesitation there, no chance for Jared to brace and breathe. “Well, eleven when he started putting cigarettes out on my arm and fishhooks between my fingers. He didn't fuck me till I was fourteen. But it's not, not like I looked it, you know? I was, I was smart as hell, tall as him. It's not like I was some little fuckin' kid.” Jensen bunches his fists and sets his jaw.
“Okay,” Jared says. He feels like Jensen needs him to agree. Not a little fuckin' kid.
When Jared was fourteen he was made of sticks and puberty fuzz. He was still on neoprene hand weights and thought girls pissed from their vaginas. He was a little fuckin' kid.
But Jensen was smart.
“It didn't used to feel good,” Jensen's saying, “it used to hurt, like the hurt normal people feel. Didn't do anything for me but leave marks on my skin. Made me cry. Every cigarette, every belt, every word made me cry.” Jensen reaches back onto the table and picks up what's left of his cult wine. He gulps it down. “I got used to it. You can get used to anything. I got used to it, and then I started to like it. Started to fuckin' love it, started asking for more. So I was... sixteen, with every bit of myself fucked to hell.” Jensen smiles, more like a cringe. “So you were right. Weird uncle.”
Jared opens his mouth to say whatever he can say, but Jensen keeps on going, steamrolling them both flat, “I was eighteen when he died. Car accident.” Jensen purses his lips and twirls his glass.
Jared just knows, then. “Motorcycle accident.”
Jensen dips his head slightly. “Never wore a helmet. What do you expect? Got high and thought he could take on a Peterbilt I guess. Bike was folded like a damn tortilla and he looked like the salsa on the side. Whole family was devastated. Fuck, so was I.” Jensen blinks rapidly and looks up at the high ceiling. Tears pool and turn his eyes into little green lakes. “He fucked me up so bad and I fuckin' hated him but. I needed him and I hated him more for leaving me like this. Always thought one day he'd say magic words and I'd be normal again. He was the only one who could undo what he did and then he fuckin' took that away from me and now I have a fucking criminal in my house.”
“I'm not a criminal, Jensen. I didn't kill anybody.” It's weak and pathetic, a puff of dust. He pictures his hands around Chaz Kellan's neck and thinks woulda, coulda. He'd been pulled off in time. But nothing else would have stopped him. A few more seconds and he would've just squeezed harder until he crushed trachea.
“You were going to,” Jensen says, like the little voice that needles at the back of Jared's brain. He tilts his head down again and a tear plops in his glass. He takes a big, scraping breath and stands, like something's finally over.
Jared aches. It blooms first in his chest then down his legs, and it grips his feet hard. He has to walk, and he walks forward towards Jensen.
He can't remember ever hugging the man, but he does now—one arm over his shoulder and the other one threading under Jensen's, clasping the nape of his neck, tucking his face against his shoulder and holding him tight to his body.
Jensen doesn't respond for a long few seconds, but then Jared feels him turn his face in some more and fist his hands in Jared's shirttails, bunching them up and pulling. “Please just fuck me,” he says with a watery breath, pulling him in, pulling like someone determined to bring everything down with them.
Jared loses a breath and stumbles as he falls in against Jensen. “Fuck.”
He's got a thousand reasons on his mind as to why they can't do this, not here, not now, not after what Jensen told him, because forget hitting something, Jared needs a toilet to puke in and a hot shower, but.
But.
But Jensen's pulling his jeans off, kneading Jared's length, and since he's been as conditioned to do this as Jensen's been to like pain, he fucks him there on the table, between their plates and glasses and chipped-off pieces of something broke.
--
In September, Jared has enough money to buy a private beach and hookers every Sunday for the rest of his life.
That's what Jensen says he should spend it on anyway. But Jared's only managed to buy basic sundries with his heap of money, and laughs when he's paying for multivitamins and toothpaste with a damn credit card. All the money between him and Jensen, and he can't remember the last time he's seen actual paper cash.
Jensen tells him to invest at least a quarter of it, what stocks are going to profit the most. He tells him about the Hamptons and Jamaica and the aurora borealis. The Pyrenees in spring.
“I'm not going anywhere,” Jared tells him. He tells him, “I have to be here.”
Jensen says you're being an idiot, Padalecki and can't fix me, don't try.
Jared tries, anyway. There's no flogging anymore; Jared stuffs all the pain implements in the trash one night. He gets rid of whips and sounds and every piece of ginger root. They're down to cockrings and restraint systems, handcuffs, ropes and books on shibari. He lets the shiny cock cage stay just because it looks too expensive, and all the pretty glass buttplugs get to stay as well, even the ones Jared thinks are too big for Jensen. Anything above a four on the pain scale gets heaved.
“Let me take care of you,” Jared says, teasing his cockhead over the slipslide of lube in Jensen's crack. Tonight, the foreplay was kissing and a blowjob instead of punching and whipping, and Jared can tell Jensen is nowhere near close to handling it right. He's flushed and his teeth are gritted, eyes cast aside as Jared rubs slow over his hole.
“You'll get used to this,” Jared says emphatically when he lets himself sink in slow. “No pain, just—shit—just good feelings. Sex isn't supposed to hurt.” He picks up Jensen's soft cock and works it gently. Jensen's hips try to shift away from it, but that's predictable. Jared's never met a guy like him, that doesn't like a handjob, doesn't like his dick touched outside of thin metal rods and hard, punishing slaps. Jensen almost gave Jared a few bruises when he wrapped his mouth around it, and did cuss him out when Jared said he wasn't going to use teeth, goddamit.
Jensen's red flush spreads to his ears and chest as his dick stiffens up. Jared adjusts Jensen's thigh over his shoulder, kisses the outside of his knee and keeps his thrusts languid and deep. “I got you,” he whispers, watching Jensen's strained expression, his anger and reluctant responsiveness to slow and easy fucking. “It's good, right? You don't need pain. You don't need it, Jensen. Fuck whatever your uncle said. Fuck how you think you can't enjoy just this.”
“Could you just do something? C'mon, I hate, I hate—fuckin' pull my hair at least,” Jensen pleads. His hands fist and pull restlessly at his Egyptian cotton sheets.
“No. No more of that. I'm going to fuck you like this every day. We'll get it fixed.”
“It won't work,” he hisses, and he gives an electric jump when Jared's dick slides over his sweet spot. “Cuh—cold turkey bullshit.”
“Jensen, I think anything will work for you if you want it to,” Jared breathes. He tosses his hair out of his eyes. “Shut up and let me fuck you.”
“Fuck me harder then.”
“Shut up,” he says, no heat. A grin breaks on his face and he chuckles. Jensen rolls his eyes, shuts them, shuts his mouth. He relaxes, arms spread in supplication.
And this, this, is what Jared could hope for. Jensen likes submission, and he can keep that, Jared can fuck him and boss him around a little, but he doesn't need filth and pain to fucking function.
This is working just fine.
Jensen still says thank you.
--
“Parents are wondering who I spent all my money on,” Jensen says, drifting to the edge of the pool. He puts his elbows up on the stone and picks up his cocktail. Beneath water black eyelashes, his spring green eyes bounce to Jared, who's hovering around a big purple pool light like a light-hungry moth.
Jared touches the pool light curiously. Cool to the touch. “Tell them you got a Vivian Ward.”
Jensen snorts. “They'd rush out here so quick,” he says before another drink. “Far as they know I'm still a gay virgin.”
“So they never knew.”
Jensen shakes his head.
“How do you hide something like that?”
“Easier than you think.” Jensen smiles flatly. Jared bumps the pool light out of the way and moves over to him, kisses him before he can wander too far in thought.
“I can stay a secret to your parents,” he says, sharing breath. “But to you, I'm your boyfriend.”
“Sure, Padalecki.”
“I'm serious. We're, you know. Together. We are right? I'm not fucking anyone else. And you...”
“I've had the same flavor all year, don't worry.” Jensen, squeezed between Jared's body and the pool wall, twitches in his arms. Jared bets he wants to escape now they're edging into feelings. A startling desperation takes a hold of him.
Fuck, he's in deep.
He's all in.
“Is it one-sided?” he asks outright, pinning Jensen's eyes. It could be, it probably is, Jared thinks he wouldn't mind that, but at the same time he wants.
“Jared...”
“Look, I'm not a big fan of talking about the warm gooey crap either, but please, just fuckin' tell me. I'm good either way.”
“You'd be good if I said I hated your guts and wished you go play in traffic?”
“I already know that. I'm talking about if—”
“You're talking about love,” Jensen finishes, and he gets away, breaking out sideways.
Jared lets him have the distance. “I'm just asking if there's something else. Or even a possibility.”
“I'd be sad if you died, how about that?”
“That's... good to hear.” It is, that Jensen gives the slightest shit about him. It's more than Jared thought he could hope for.
I was devastated, Jensen had said about his uncle, and suddenly the sweet feeling in Jared's chest disintegrates.
“I've never loved anybody,” Jensen says, pulling himself up out of the water. He sits on the concrete with his calves still submersed in lit up water. He turns his head Jared's way but doesn't look at him. “I don't think you're gay.”
Jared blinks at the non sequitur, then realizes what Jensen's saying. “If I was some, I don't know, gay-for-pay, I woulda took my money and fucked off to Paris. I'm still here, still fucking you, so I guess I've gone full-on homo, right?” Jared swims over to him, comes between Jensen's knees and flattens his hands on either side of him.
He pecks him on the lips. “Gay,” again, “gay,” grabs his ass, “really fuckin' gay.”
He slips Jensen back into the water with him. He's thinking about through everything, he can count the kisses he's given Jensen on one hand. So he kisses him again, mashing Jensen's plump mouth against his, sends his tongue through his lips and plays around inside until Jensen groans.
When he's out of breath, he leans his forehead against Jensen's and they pant together. Jensen's ankles hit his as he tries to squirm away and Jared growls, ensconcing him in his arms until his muscles bunch. Swallowing, he says, “You're a real asshole, but still.”
Still.