Chapter Text
Jared opens another beer while the Instagram likes and interactions trickle in. The sun bids farewell for the day. A steak sizzles on the grill and Jared’s van gets a chance to cool off. Jared can’t help but smile as he replies—yeah, I know, I’d be jealous of myself. Making my way to Nevada now. The steak is done. Jared stays on his phone while he eats.
After nearly two months, he begins to relax into it: life on the road. Sure, there are the occasional motels or a generous new acquaintance with a bed or couch to spare, but Jared’s brother helped him with the van to the point of self-sufficiency. He can shower, sleep, cook. Solar batteries on the roof. Everything about it is an adventure of course and things don’t always work out as planned, but…that’s part of what makes it so amazing. Unpredictable. Free. Spontaneity hasn’t been on the table for so long. This trip is exactly what Jared needs to get back on track.
Here, on this slope he chose for today’s spot, the view across the valley is breathtaking. Jared admires it while he brushes his teeth. He leaves the back of his van open (nobody around for miles and miles anyway) to save the panorama and crawls into bed.
Buttons to thumb at; Jared tweets out where to find him in t minus two minutes and does a quick check-up of the camera feed. Looking good. He flips himself on his back to face the cam and pulls it closer to his crotch. The cam feedback shows: only his crotch. Perfect.
The viewer count rises. Jared keeps his phone in hand and cheers, “Hey, guys,” and welcomes his most loyal ones by name. A new person or two, and of course he makes sure to make them feel special as well.
Flirting, talking. About his day. I’ll post it tomorrow, did y’all check my Insta? Beautiful out here, absolutely amazing. Jared drags the heel of his hand over his cock. He feels like taking it slow today. Keeping it simple.
“Yeah, I have a bunch of guys I wanna meet up in Vegas. You can look forward to that, dude.” Jared laughs because he knows it sounds adorable. “Nah, I’m not spoiling. You’ll simply have to stick by and find out for yourself.”
The show leaves him a hundred bucks richer. With an inquiry about a meetup he will decline and another one about foot stuff, which he’ll indulge two days from today. For now, he allows himself to put his phone down, shut off the camera…and just lay back. Enjoy the afterglow.
Jared closes his eyes. The warmth of the day melts off the van, the bed, his body, and with it dissolves all the tension from the day-long drive or whatever amount of said tension Jared has left after a good nut and even better cash.
He’ll stay put for another minute before the spunk on his belly will get too cold for comfort.
~
They’ve got three hundred people watching. Jared’s nuts pull tighter with every donation, every click, every fucking cent.
Jared growls and lays into the guy even harder. The bed shakes but doesn’t creak.
Jared knows his audience and judging by what he saw, he’s got an idea of ‘Felix’s’, too. His hand creeps up that milky throat and squeezes. ‘Felix’ makes a cute, according sound.
“That’s what you need, yeah? Getting fucking used.”
Gasped, “Yes,” and, “Daddy, please,” and Jared swears at least part of the heart eyes the guy gives him post-shoot is genuine.
Jared is welcome to use the shower. And, yeah: definitely swooning looks for him when he comes back, toweling his hair.
Felix is still coming down, is still flushed and his eyes are still glazed, but he’s already on his laptop, reviewing the numbers. Jared joins him and rubs Felix’s shoulder.
“Fuck, sorry—that looks like it’s gonna bruise.”
“And you are sorry because…?” Felix cups his marred neck and gives Jared another look. Jared snickers. Thumbs the marks, an earlobe. “You could have gone harder. I could have taken it.”
Jared chuckles, “Uh-huh,” and takes them out for dinner. A good show. Everyone inquires if there will be more of them together. Jared’s guys should know the drill by now.
“Well, you’re hot as fuck. I don’t blame them.” Jared laughs. Felix smiles over his rabbit food. His whiskey, straight. “I’m Alex, by the way,” he says, low, and Jared keeps his smile but steels himself. “I know you don’t do personal stuff, don’t worry. But, just in case you ever change your mind… Well, I thought I’d toss my hat into that ring.”
Jared says he appreciates it and will keep it in mind. Compliments, because yeah, of course, ‘Felix’ is a dream come true: tattoos and that face and a great body. Charming, too. But if Jared climbed the walls for every good fuck, he would have lost it years ago. Jared doesn’t shit where he eats. Simple as that.
“I’ll send you the files tonight. That all right with you?”
“Sure. Thanks again.”
“You’re so welcome.” They shake hands. Felix has sobered, it seems. “And you’re sure you don’t want…?” Oh, well then. “I mean, no offense, but I bet an actual bed is a little comfier than that big ol’ van of yours.”
Jared keeps his smile professional. “You would be surprised.”
Felix acknowledges. Nods. Loose Hawaii shirt. Jeans shorts. “You’ll upload it to X, right?”
“Right. I’ll do some edits tomorrow and check back with you so you can greenlight it.”
“Awesome.”
They begin walking from where they talked on the curb right outside the restaurant. Alex gets his smokes out and shares with Jared, lights him up. Big, blue eyes up at Jared. Now, close to midnight, the city wakes up. Bright lights and all that. Jared itches for his van. For another few hours of a drive until it’ll be just the stars and him.
Jared takes a deep first drag of his smoke. They continue walking. One hand in their pockets, each. Jared paces himself so he doesn’t outrun Alex who is on much shorter legs than him.
“Got a title for it yet?”
“Hm.” Jared ponders. “‘Jack Power’s monster cock drills Felix Fuller’s cute twink ass without mercy’?”
They laugh.
~
Jared runs out of gas so ideally timed two miles from a gas station that he decides, why not, if fate really wants him to stop here this bad, he might as well spend the night in this ass crack of a town. He hunts down a decent-looking motel and a supermarket—the first to crash in today and the latter to stock up in tomorrow. A strip of cafés and bars, not deserted at all. Young people; maybe a college in the next town over. Jared, who’s been on the track for several days, feels like socializing today. Like having a drink. Or ten.
He pays for the room and hauls his necessities with him: a change of clothes, toiletries, his laptop. He locks the latter in the room’s safe, together with his cameras. Jared treats himself to a long, hot shower. A shave. He feels good. Yeah, tonight’s gonna be good.
He studies Yelp while he squeezes himself into one of his better pairs of jeans, wriggles into a fresh t-shirt. He laughs as he finds a place by the name of Texas Bullpen. Of course, it’s a bar. Of course, Jared has to go there.
No mini bar so Jared packs his wallet and his phone and makes his way to the aforementioned strip of entertainment. Heart of the town and he only gets lost twice. The locals are sweet. It really does feel a little like home. Way more run down, sure, but they ain’t no San Antonio, and they don’t seem to aspire to be.
The Texas Bullpen is nestled between a barbecue place and another bar, and if the restaurant wasn’t as crowded (there’s even a queue outside, Jesus), Jared would hop in there, first. Alas, he waltzes into the bar on a mostly empty stomach. Maybe he’ll be lucky with the food later, before hopping to the next bar.
A classic counter like in the old Westerns. The barkeep greets him with a, “Hey,” and a nod, and Jared considers turning right around because, woah, he’s like one of only three people in here, but then he sees—the barkeep. And how the barkeep looks at him, his shirt, his face—and there’s a smile, immediate, warm, and Jared tells himself, screw it, Texas fucking Bullpen it is, baby. He slides his cute ass onto one of the bar stools right at the source.
Right in front of this—holy shit, this guy is gorgeous.
“Nice shirt,” says the guy, putting away his phone. Bangs, beard. Nice watch; a tattoo on the inside of his wrist and another peeking out from the sleeve of his black t-shirt. Oh, Jared is not giving up this spot. “What can I get you?”
“What have you got?” Jared grins. The guy grins back.
Jared puffs his tits out so the EVERYTHING IS BIGGER IN TEXAS gets a chance to snatch some of the low light from the fixtures dangling above-behind the shelves. The barkeep gestures towards said shelves.
“Your pick, big guy. Menu’s in front of you.”
“I’ll… Hm.” Jared tears his eyes off the mirror behind the bar, the thick muscles in this dude’s back. Menu. Barkeep. Puppy eyes, dimples. “What do you recommend?”
It’s still early (it’s, what, not even eight?) so the hottest barkeep in the world is free to entertain Jared’s whims. Just opened her up, he says, and pours Jared some local schnapps. “This one’s on the house,” he says, pointer finger up as he puts the shot in front of Jared. “Consider it a warm welcome. It’s not every day that I get to serve a fellow Texan.”
“What if I’m just wearing the shirt? To get free drinks?” Jared wriggles his brows. Picks up his drink.
“Nah,” says Hot Ass McGee, smug as can be. “You’re the real thing. I can tell.”
Jared throws the shot back. Oh, boy.
“Good, right?” Jared nods, reeling. “Another?” Jared nods more and the dude tops him off all smooth. God, he’s got nice arms. “Where are you from?”
“San Antonio. You?”
“Nice. Dallas. What brings you here?”
“Oh, just…” Jared gestures, smiles. Drinks. “Rollin’ through. I’ve been traveling. Escaping the hamster wheel for a bit.”
Hot Ass McGee acknowledges. Damn, that smile. “And how’s that working out for you?”
The booze shoots right into Jared’s brain. Damn. Damn, yeah, thank God he decided to stop here. “Awesome,” says Jared, peeling for his wallet. “Fortune’s been spoiling me so far.”
The increase in customers remains slow so Jared declares monopoly on the man. Steady tips won’t hurt. It’s easy to keep up a conversation about Texas, booze, Jared’s trip. A patron calls for attention and Jared learns: Jensen. The guy he’s concealing the healthy chub of his dick for against the safety of the counter front is named: Jensen. Suits him. Ah, the booze. Jared should slow down.
Jared reveals, “It’s, uh, Jared,” after Jensen addressed him with big guy one too many times to be supportive of Jared’s emotional state, and Jensen’s mouth curls a little for it; and he drawls all right like a ‘hah, got you!’ and Jared is fucking—Jesus, he needs to fuck this guy. He has to.
No man with an ass like that can be straight, period. No wedding ring. Owns a place called freaking Bullpen. Cashed out what the divorce left him with and purchased the place, he says, and bingo. Jared licks his lip, shifts in his seat. He probably should have put on underwear.
“Sorry to hear that,” lies Jared, the animal, and Jensen gives him a look and a raised brow because, Lord, how many guys like Jared had he sit in this seat, squirm for him, tip their brains out just for a glimpse of more of his attention? Jared hallucinates that the interest isn’t entirely one-sided, but he doesn’t want to overshoot just now. Still so early. Plenty of time to have Jensen warm up to the idea of Jared, on him. In him. Something along those lines.
Jensen seems like a guy you’d gladly introduce to your parents and who also would rawdog you on a festival toilet without breaking a sweat, and… Jared has to really, really focus on not tossing all his earnings at this guy. Man. He’s good.
Jared excuses himself for a piss and a smoke. The breeze outside is nice and he chats up a group of girls for a cigarette and fire. They’re all over him in an instant and while he’s about as straight as a well-cooked piece of pasta, he’s not above flirting. It’s such a big part of his professional life to be charming that it’s invaded his actual personality. Jared unlearned how to be shy or socially decent about ten years ago.
Upon return, his seat has been taken by someone else, so Jared stands at the counter instead. Place has filled up but Jensen nods at him to let him know he’ll be right with him. Jared smiles, elbows on the counter. A small wave. Ah. Yeah. Shit.
Shit, he needs to have this guy. Might be too morally intact the way he keeps skirting around Jared’s milelong stares (less and less guarded with every new drink) to agree to—well, Jared did this before: random pick-ups. His fans loved it, begged for more, so authentic, so fucking hot, and he knows for a fact they would go insane for Jensen. But Jensen’s a homebody. A businessman. Stands his ground out here night after night, serving drunk jerks like Jared, and he’s probably… He just doesn’t look the type. Despite the festival toilet flare. Maybe just the beard that tipped Jared into that direction, really. Or the tats. Both. God, Jensen’s jeans hug him in the exact right spots…
“Back at it?”
“Yeah.”
Jensen asks him what he wants and Jared has to bite his tongue. Jensen’s hair falls into his eyes he’s so exasperated now, working hard, sweating, with customers all around waiting to be served, and he’s right here, waiting for Jared to make his pick.
Jared hasn’t fucked anyone for free for the better part of the last decade and maybe this is destiny’s wink to give it a try again. Hell. If anyone could make him drop his proverbial pants like that, it’d be—Jensen.
“Uh—more tequila. Please.”
“You got it.”
Jensen swarms for someone else’s order as soon as he’s served Jared. He’s got his game face on, mean-looking with his focus but Jared’s seen him be soft, earlier. Calm and sweet and ranting about the Cowboys’ last game. A nice dude. A good dude. He’d fit so nicely in Jared’s arms. In that motel bed Jared’s paid for.
“Should I know you, by the way? People keep paying for your shit.”
“I, uh.” Oh, right. He hadn’t had to take out his wallet in…oh, geez. Jared hollers, “Uh, I do porn,” and the bar is loud but Jensen obviously heard him, because his brows rise high and his eyes go a little wider, and—oh, Jared, you said that out loud. You can’t take that back. He adds, quickly, “Gay porn,” and Jensen just looks at him for it and maybe acknowledges with a hum or an ‘oh’ because his mouth moves, but—he’s off for the next order then, and. Shit. Jesus. Jared. Smooth. So smooth.
Jared spends his entire drink waiting for Jensen to give him the boot. But, nothing. Jared’s head swims nicely thanks to all the courtesy drinks he didn’t even notice were courtesies because nobody approached him, and he didn’t make eye contact with anyone because—well, why would he, with Jensen right in front of him? Maybe Jensen even mentioned ‘from the gentleman over there’, now that Jared thinks about it, but… Well, he was distracted.
The bar is loud and heated and Jared fiddles with his phone. Jensen is working his ass off for other customers, which is a blessing for Jared’s liver. Jared replies to some comments. Tweets out where he’s at, some heart emojis—another check for Jensen, on the other end of the bar. Working. Oh, he’s such a hard worker. Jared wants to ask if he’s got a weekly special or something where he works topless. It’d be a banger, for sure.
Jared goes on Snapchat and sneaks a picture—himself in the foreground with a mischievous grin, and Jensen’s slightly motion-blurred face in the back. Jensen is captured reaching out to place a bunch of drinks onto the counter, so his biceps bulges nice. Jared posts: ‘Yes? No?’ He puts his phone in front of him and follows the incoming replies as he sips his umpteenth…hell, what even is it he’s drinking?
Someone actually has the guts to walk up to him and Jared declines politely but decisively. Jensen checks in on him shortly after. Making sure he’s safe. Ah, he’s so great.
Another freebie. Jared beams and accepts.
“You don’t look the type.”
Jared looks up. He didn’t expect Jensen to address him. “Oh, uh.” He tilts his head. His jaw begins to ache from how much he’s been grinning tonight. “Thanks? What do I look like to you?”
“Lumberjack?” Jared laughs. “Firefighter? I don’t know. You seem like a sweet guy. Too innocent for that kind of work.”
Jared babbles, “Well, the innocent looking ones are always the worst motherfuckers, of course,” and Jensen keeps their eye contact for another beat before he tends to another customer. Jared follows him with his eyes and holds his glass with both hands. His phone buzzes against his knuckles. Hey, I played a lumberjack once, you know. I could show you the clip later. We could watch it together. Oh, hell. Jared rakes through his hair. Focus.
Phone, social media. People are going nuts.
babe you gotta tap that
where r u??? I’m there I can’t see you
haha oh nice, you think he’s into watersports?
Jared throws another longing glance at Jensen. At this point, Jared might be too drunk to even get it up. He wants another smoke. Another drink. Another one of those swipes of Jensen’s hand across his forearm, on habit or accident or Jensen’s type of flirting…or letting him know he’s watching out for him, keeping him safe and his drinks roofie-free. Jensen’s a good guy like that. Jared can tell.
Fuck it, be a man. He raises his arm in a hopefully casual gesture. There is Jensen, right away, not really looking at Jared but Jared knows he’s being noticed.
Jared blurts, “When do you get off tonight?” and Jensen makes him repeat louder and Jared does, and people around him throw him looks because—well, screw you, I’m doing this.
Jensen deadass tells him, “Later than you’ll be conscious for if you keep throwing ’em back like that, cowboy,” and the people in earshot snicker and Jared’s face heats further. He assures that he can hold his liquor and Jensen shoots right back, “Sure you can,” and Jared’s cock throbs in sheer protest at that fucking mean little grin on Jensen’s pretty mouth.
“So—what time?”
“Dude.” Jensen serves someone else, pours five beers at once but finds the time to throw Jared a warning look. “I’m not doing this with all those drinks in you. Sober up and come back. I’m not about this shit.”
Which is—obviously not a ‘no, faggot, get off my ass’, which is… Oh, oh, Jared might have a foot in the door, actually.
Flabbergasted, Jared stares.
“By the way,” Jensen says, deadpan, “you do one thing exclusively, or?”
Jared feels his mouth opening but for the love of god, it takes him a second to get a sound out of it. “I—” He starts over. “Let’s say I. I have an anatomical strong point,” which gets him a stray laugh and whistle from close-by, “but yeah, no, nothing, uh—exclusive.”
Jensen considers him and Jared does his best to uphold the tension before Jensen has to turn and bark, “What did I tell you about whistling for me? Do I look like a dog to you, asshole?” and Jared ducks out to the restrooms while Jensen lays into whatever jerk has the current honor. Jared leans his arm against the tiles and bangs his head against it while he pisses, mumbles about fuck, fuck, fuck to himself, into his non-existent beard, and. This is it. Shoot your shot, cowboy. All or nothing.
Jared sways back into his spot and reaches over the counter for a pen by the register, and Jensen perks up immediately, ready to kick his ass despite all the nice tips—before Jared scrawls his room number onto a half-soaked paper napkin.
“Geronimo’s Inn,” says Jared and slaps the napkin and pen down on the counter, already turns to leave. He watches Jensen staring at the napkin and then up at Jared’s face, and he’s—it’s hard to tell, really, if he’s pissed or surprised (because he’s probably both). Regardless, Jared stays strong and gives the man a last, decisive smile before he lets go of the napkin and leaves.
He’s so nervous he nearly throws up twice on his way back to the motel. Yeah…yeah, good thing he left before getting close to yet another drink.
~
Jared doesn’t remember getting back into his room so it makes sense that he’s still in his entire outfit when he wakes up. He slurs, “Yeah?” before he remembers where he is and that the person who knocked can’t let themselves in without his help, and… as he pushes himself off the bed and to a stand, he also remembers—who the person on the other side of this door must be. Talk about fucking whiplash.
Up close, Jensen is even more handsome than previously assessed.
Green eyes. Oh, man, that cologne of his. Jared swears he can feel that body heat.
A testing glare. “You sober yet?”
Jared opens his mouth; halts. Reconsiders. Says: “Mostly.”
Jensen scoffs. God, he’s beautiful. “You gonna let me in?”
“I, yes, sure. Sorry.” Jared steps aside. Jensen lets himself in. Jared closes the door.
Jensen looks around the cheap room. It’s on the small side and Jared and him are tall—oh, so, so tall. Jared swallows. His dick is apparently back in the game.
Jensen moves with the same smooth confidence he worked the bar with. Smells like said bar, too, but his cologne and deodorant are vibrant. Must have freshened up after closing. For Jared. Oh, shit, this is happening.
“Bathroom?”
Jared startles. Jensen nods towards the according door. “Uh—yes.”
“You mind if I…?”
“Uh, sure, go ahead.”
“Thanks.”
So, Jensen disappears in the restroom. Jared stares. Takes a seat on the bed. He rubs his face with both hands and is still where he was when he’s done, so…not a dream. Jensen actually picked him up on his desperate offer and it’s not a dream.
Jared hears the toilet flush, hears the tap run, and his heart picks up. Fuck. Fuck, Jensen wants to…! Man, Jared is definitely still drunk, but not…too drunk. He can do this. Oh, he’s so gonna do this.
Jared’s cock chubs for just the sight of Jensen, exiting that damn bathroom. Looking all soft after all that work and he’s so buff, so firm and tall and his beard is just an offense, really…
“I can’t, uh. Believe you’re…actually here.”
“Well—you made some enticing points.”
“I’m just, uh.” Jared smiles, helpless, and fiddles with his hands. Distracts from his crotch, hopefully, because damn. “I’m not normally like—I don’t get that drunk, normally. Sorry.”
“If I had a penny…!” Jared begins to insist that, no, seriously, but Jensen cuts him off: “They showed me your blog. You weren’t kidding about that anatomy thing.”
Jared’s mouth closes. He swallows again, blinks. “I wouldn’t—lie about that. Not ever.”
“You clearly don’t have to,” and then Jensen begins to move forward, towards Jared, and—the second Jared will put his hands on that man, it’s gonna be Game fucking Over for any brain cell struggling awake in his stubborn head. Oh, this town. This fucking town. “We don’t get celebrities around here that often. I’ll admit, I’m kinda—”
Jared grabs Jensen’s ass to haul him closer as soon as he is within reach.
“—flattered.” Jensen looks down at him. Jared’s entire six foot four frame cowering before him on the bed, gritting his teeth with how fast his blood centers right between his legs. Jensen’s lashes droop, and he licks his pretty lip. Oh, freckles. His entire face, freckled. “You do that often? Screw around when you’re not on set?” Soft, like it means something. “You see a hot dude and just go for it?”
“I haven’t told you you’re hot yet.” (Jensen scoffs.) “You are—so hot, by the way. Jesus fucking Christ, I was this close to just say ‘fuck it’ and climbing you in front of everyone…!”
Jensen chuckles, “If I had a penny,” but his mouth closes to a pleased smile when Jared spans his ass with both hands and squeezes, hard. Jensen just looks down at him. Cat with the cream.
“Fuck, if you knew how fucking hard you get me right now just by fucking standing there…”
“Why don’t you put that money where your mouth is, ‘Jack’?” and yeah, yup, that’s it, goodbye.
Jared yanks the guy so close that warm, considerate bulge in those beautiful jeans rides firm between his tits, and Jensen’s hands fly to Jared’s shoulders for stabilization—Lord, he’s warm, burning up…!
“What do you want me to call you? Jared? Jack?”
Without missing a beat: “‘God’ should do it,” and Jensen laughs whole-heartedly, and he gasps when Jared refastens his grip on him, pushes his fingers right up Jensen’s crack, makes him feel them.
Jensen refocuses on Jared’s eyes with a new gloss to them. Jared imagines those lips flushing pink from all the worrying Jensen’s tongue is putting them through. “Shit. Your dick’s not the only thing that’s big about you, huh?”
“Big guy, big hands.”
“I was actually talking about your ego.”
“Well, I have this shirt for a reason.”
“You sure fucking do,” and either Jensen leans down or Jared cranes his neck as he stands up but Jared does get a taste of that mouth any which way, and—it’s about as spectacular as it looks. Soft and perfect and slick and Jared licks right past those lips and Jensen meets him immediately, hungry, welcoming him. Jared can’t tell which one of them that groan belongs to. It doesn’t matter much.
“You do that a lot? Go home with your patrons?”
“Only if they’re from Texas,” and then Jared licks into him again. Hands fly to Jared’s face, cup and hold him and Jensen sighs, sweet, right against Jared’s mouth once he lets up on him, grinds them dick to dick. Jensen’s ass is thick as all hell in his hands and as nice as those jeans are, they need to go. Now. “But as said, we don’t get many—Texans around these parts.”
“Porn stars from Texas. With big dicks.”
“Yeah, that,” Jensen sighs, and, “fuck, I can tell. I can already fucking tell how fucking big it is,” and Jared growls and gets Jensen’s belt undone, his fly; yanks jeans and briefs down and they’re kissing again (still) and Jensen grabs at him, sucks at him, and he curls right up against the fingers Jared wedges between his bare cheeks. Jared holds him open with his other hand and Jensen groans through clenched teeth, like he, too, has been waiting for this.
Jensen’s asshole is just slick and soft enough for it not to be an obvious coincidence and Jared steels his glare and tells him, “I’ll fuck you until you can’t fucking walk out of this door,” and Jensen simply pants,
“If I had a penny for—”
and breaks off into a groan as Jared crams two fingers right past the still-tense snatch of his hole. He then laughs, slurred and high. Jared grins and stuffs him full to the knuckles, sharp enough that Jensen lifts with it, inhales like he’s getting punched. Jared laps back into that mouth. Makes it good, keeps his tongue fat and flat. Makes Jensen aware of the size of him, all over.
Jensen breathes, “Fuck yeah,” once he can, and Jared goes a little firmer for how one of those beautiful hands fastens to a fist in his hair.
“You wanna see it? See what you stretched this pretty pussy for?”
“Fuck, please,” and Jared smacks one of those soft-furred globes of ass before he uses that hand to instead unzip his jeans. He yanks his cock out and lets it slap right against Jensen’s hip, and Jensen gasps like it hurts, like he can feel it on himself how Jared wrings himself by the base, pinches himself stiff and steady and he breathes, “Holy shit,” and Jared’s still pumping his fingers, makes Jensen shudder around them and draw up tight because hell yeah, he likes what he sees. “Holy shit—holy shit…”
Jared jokes, “If I had a penny,” but Jensen dives against his mouth and wraps his right, capable hand right above Jared’s hold on his cock. Jared chokes, stiffens his buried fingers in a warning—Jensen claws into his hair in a blind mirror. Jared breathes against that mouth. Stares into those eyes that bore through him with equal desire.
“You’re gonna make me come on this,” Jensen says, matter-of-fact, with a tug all the way to the crown of Jared’s cock. Smears the tip against his bare skin and Jared shudders. “You’re gonna use me with this. Understand?”
“Jesus Christ…”
“No; ‘Jensen’.” Jensen half-blinks. Jared can’t see his mouth they’re so close. “And you call my ass a pussy one more time and I’m leaving, no matter how big your fucking prick is. Understand?”
Jared manages, “Crystal clear, sir,” and Jensen growls and yanks at Jared’s hair hard enough that he has to tense his neck to keep his head where it is. Jared kisses him entirely out of spite. And then because it’s hot. And then…well, Jensen won’t let him go.
They get distracted on their way going horizontal because apparently, up on one leg and one knee bent is an ideal position for Jensen to get his prostate banged the fuck out, and Jared makes it count. Gives it to him good until he’s shaking and his cock drips sweet onto Jared’s happy trail and Jensen groans for, “Shit, easy; let me up, fuck, c’mon…!” Jared does. Withdraws his fingers when Jensen pushes him down all the way, straddles him to take off his own shirt—God, the tips he’d get for that topless barkeeping idea of Jared’s—and Jared has about enough time to breathe once and stare up at the guy and plant his hands on those hips before Jensen reaches back to squeeze Jared’s cock between his cheeks. Jensen helps it rubbing against him by pressing his flat hand against it from behind but oh, Jared’s hips buck on instinct.
“Fuck…!”
Jensen hums. “You gonna let me suck you off before—or after?”
Jared groans like he got shot (which feels painfully accurate). “Yes.” Jensen laughs. Jared helps rocking him with his hands on Jensen’s hips. “Anything you want. Fuck, it’s yours. Tell me what to do to you. Tell me what you need.”
Jensen hums, “Already told you,” and Jared groans in remembrance and worms his hand between them so he can get his fingers back into that heaven. Jensen moans, “Fuck me,” and leans down so they can kiss. Can work Jared’s mouth so sloppy they’re drooling on each other, and Jensen momentarily halts his grinding for that third finger wedging in next to the other two, but he does take it. Fucks back on them. Oh, why is the cosmetic bag all the way in the fucking bathroom, goddammit?
“You’re so fucking tight,” and Jensen gasps, tosses his head. Jared presses up to the knuckles and pulses his hand, makes Jensen’s lip wobble. He drinks that shit up. Burns it into his retinas. A low whisper. A snarl. “You think you can even take it? You think my cock will fit in your tight little ass, Jensen?”
Jensen sobs for, “Yes,” and, “Yeah,” and, “fuck, you asshole, get fucking in me,” and Jared knows a threat when he hears one. He gives Jensen a last shove of his hand before he peels them apart, does a quick dash to the bathroom. Condoms, lube. Jensen is tossing his second boot across the room when Jared returns. Jared keeps one wrapper and throws the rest onto the bed next to Jensen.
The hour is highly unchristian and the curtains are just as open as they were when Jared waltzed in here earlier to shower and get ready. Jensen looks like he’s about to murder or mount Jared (or both) and the fucky little lamp on the bedside Jared had turned on in his blurry and sudden wake-up is just bright enough that the straining tip of Jensen’s cock gleams deliciously, sloppy-wet pink.
Jared jerks himself as he rips the condom wrapper open with his teeth, fishes the latex out with his fingers. Rolls it on. Makes it a show.
Jensen watches with his mouth in a pout like he’s still considering getting up. To leave Jared hanging if he doesn’t meet the requirements. Joke’s on him—Jared really really is into prissy, hot bartenders. And beards. And ginger pubes.
Jensen’s had one leg drawn up even before Jared came back to him and he finally snaps, “Are you gonna fuck it or are you just gonna look at it?” and Jared tells him, matter of fact,
“Neither,”
and then he gets to his knees in front of the bed and Jensen yelps as he yanks him forward, ass off the bed and tipping up with Jared’s hands in the back of those knees, and then he growls something else and low, and then Jared latches onto where he never, ever wants to leave again, which gets Jared—a ripple, a sigh, and then quiet.
Jared closes his eyes. Does his best.
Jensen sighs again after a while. Soft and small.
When Jared looks to check on him, Jensen is crossing his arms behind his head. Jared splutters.
Jensen mutters, “Don’t,” and he’s all pink, his brows furrowed and his mouth pinched. “I’ll touch my dick if I don’t.”
Jared hums. Laps into him. Sucks on the sensitive skin, the remnants of lube Jensen had worked the worst strain away with after his shift. In the employee bathroom at the bar? Do they even have one? The main restrooms, then, in one of the stalls? Or, since they were already closed up and Jensen was all by himself: over one of the sinks? Bent at the hips, eyes closed, thinking of—this? Of Jared?
Jared feels himself drool. Feels himself throb inside the condom, grabs himself by the base. Oh, fuck. Fuck, he hasn’t wanted to come so hard in ages and he’s not even gonna record it.
He hears a muttered, “Fuck,” and, “I’m ready… I’m ready, goddammit, stop being such a bitch…” and laps extra slow on emphasis. Jensen’s cock taps into the sticky puddle already forming next to his navel. Jensen is more than proportional himself, Jesus… “Get in me or I’m leaving, asshole,” and Jared takes pity on that.
Jensen accepts the kiss without hesitation. Lets Jared kiss the taste of his own ass back into his mouth and sighs for it, hot and flushed and Jared tells him, drunk on it, “I’m so fucking happy you got that divorce, man,” and Jensen splutters, hums. Donates one arm from behind his head to grab for Jared’s cock, smears it up and down his gash. “Wait, here…” Lube. Lots of it. “Jesus, like a starved kitten in front of a tuna can…”
“Did you just call me a pussy again?” but Jensen’s smart mouth stays open without adding another word because Jared is now—pushing. Inside.
Jensen’s body blooms easy until it doesn’t. Jensen gasps,
“Oh,” and, “fuck,” and Jared leans in to kiss him, take his mind off it. Curls one hand below that right shoulder whose arm is still tucked away under that dirty blond-haired head, and Jared feels Jensen’s lashes dragging over his cheek as he gently thuds into him, half an inch at a time, keeping the pressure steady.
Jensen looks at him like Jared’s got two heads and at least one of them is making faces at him, and Jared finally finds a moment to slip a mean grin himself. “Not so bossy anymore, are you?” and Jensen doesn’t even reply. Doesn’t even react.
Jensen’s hand stays between them, even if only to push flat over Jared’s pubic bone. His fingers scissor around the root of Jared’s cock and he breathes, “Fuck,” when Jared’s worked himself deep enough that he knocks Jensen’s knuckles against his own split-open asshole. “Fuck… Oh my god…!” Even softer, “Fuck me,” and Jared gets his tongue back into that mouth. Eats every breathy little half of a word right up.
Jensen repositions his hand to Jared’s hip. Uses it for resistance and Jared slows back down, shallow—watches the tremors on Jensen’s face and finally gets a huff, a nod, and pushes back inside, all the way. Jensen groans and lets his head roll back over his arm; Jared sucks on that bared throat. Feels Jensen swallowing and muttering about Jesus and fuck and shit you’re so deep, how can you be that deep, and Jared closes his eyes, too. Focuses on his body. How it feels, to be… God, nobody’s ever gonna see this…
Jared rubs himself through the silken-tight clench of Jensen’s insides. He keeps his mouth on Jensen at all times—neck or lips or face, he’s not picky. Jensen makes the most amazing sounds that vibrate all the way through his chest, his throat.
Upon Jared sitting up and ridding himself of that stupid fucking shirt, he hears Jensen’s unashamed, “Fuck, how are you real?” and chuckles, comes back. Kisses. Rolls his hips. Jensen’s got his one available arm around Jared’s shoulders, now.
“You still want me to use you? Yeah?” Jensen nods desperately, blindly. Jared hums, shoves forward a little harder. Jensen suppresses a gasp; his hand slips on Jared’s sweaty, bare shoulder. Jensen tucks his knees further back. Jared groans with appreciation. Mumbles, “Sweet thing,” and sucks on that tongue some more. Down on one elbow and his hand roams over that pretty body, enough softness covering all those muscles that he could pinch, if he wanted a black eye. He finds and plays with one already-stiff nipple and gets Jensen quivering for it. Jared hums into his mouth. Keeps it up.
The last time Jared fucked someone off the clock had been before he even did his first gang bang shoot. Years ago, years and years… It’s different. Nobody’s watching. Nobody is gonna see this, know of this, except for them. Jared braves up and sets up a steady, shallow rhythm, and Jensen reacts immediately.
Squirms on Jared and hums, focused on letting him in, making himself soft. His skin is all salty with sweat and Jared tastes the booze on himself as his breath hits him right back in the face.
Jensen’s next, drawn-out moan drips off into, “And they pay you for this lovey-dovey kiddy shit? Really?” and Jared splutters a chuckle. Jensen groans his pleased laugh and then Jared speeds up as apparently desired. Jensen’s voice breaks off all shocked, all strangled.
“Slap my ass if you need me to slow down.”
“I’ll slap your ass all right…!”
Jensen doesn’t speak again because, judging by the noises he makes, he simply doesn’t have any breath left to do it.
The bed is ancient and Jared’s gonna tip the place generously, but he wouldn’t stop right now if a whole herd of Karens and/or staff tried to kick down the door. He’s worked Jensen all soft inside and can now just hammer home over and over, and Jensen meets him every time, never asks for wait, stop, I need a moment, go slow; nothing. He’s completely caught up in it. He loves every second.
Jared has a feeling it’s gonna happen even before Jensen’s mouth drops open and gulps. Jensen tucks his second arm off of Jared to pin behind his head again and he just gasps, “Shit, shit,” and Jared watches, enrapt, while Jensen bites his own lip so hard Jared sees the skin split, sees the skin around Jensen’s eyes wrinkle, hard.
He feels it, too. Deep inside. Drawing up and going wide and then pressure, and Jared agrees, “Holy fuck,” and bangs him through it with clenched teeth. Jensen’s body contracts steadily with every punch to his swollen insides, every gush of his load Jared proceeds to fuck out of him—it hits Jared below his chin, all the way up to Jensen’s clavicle. Jared hadn’t noticed Jensen’s folded into a tight ball until Jensen’s flat palm taps him on his back, still no words. Jared stops, worried.
“A-are you—?”
“You said slow down, not stop; oh my God, don’t—!”
So Jared lays into him all over, even if more tender. All about himself now, he understands; no need to make it pretty. No need to pull out and jerk himself off over Jensen’s stomach or face—Jared can just let go. Tucked up nice and tight and hot and just the thought alone is enough to shove him right to the edge. Jared hadn’t noticed he had paced himself. It’s become such a blind habit.
His climax overthrows him. Makes him claw into what he can get of Jensen, shove the guy even deeper into the bed—they’re pushing against the headboard at this point—oh, he hasn’t done this in ages. Even with the casual pickups he’s had on his trip so far, it wasn’t—this selfish. This uninhibited.
Jared’s still not done coming by the time his soul has once again merged with his worldly shell. He hears himself grunting and Jensen groans below him, buried by Jared’s weight. He’s not getting pushed off, though. Jensen…hell, Jensen really can take him, huh?
“I’m pulling out.”
Jensen babbles, “No,” but Jared’s already moving. Jensen cringes. His face scrunches up.
Jared tells him, “Sorry,” and Jensen digs his nails into his ass, tucks him forward, back in.
Jared’s stomach flips in tune with how his nuts tense.
Jensen grits, “Don’t be sorry, put it back,” and Jared does, hesitantly. He lets Jensen have it, curled around each other until Jared’s cock has gone soft and threatens to slip out on its own. Jensen lets him proceed, this time. Jared ties the condom off, throws it into the nearby bin. He sits on his haunches, hands on his thighs—the bed is too small to hold both of them comfortably.
He’s still out of breath.
“Give me…give me a second,” mumbles Jensen, rubbing his eyes, his face. Jared huffs. Wipes Jensen’s jizz away with his bare hand. Hears, “Gross,” and is tempted to lick his hand, but, no. Keep it professional, Padalecki.
“Was that up to par for you?”
Jensen grumbles. “I liked the part where you didn’t talk.”
Jared laughs. “Hey now.”
Jensen slaps his thigh, but Jared sees him smiling from below his arm.
Jensen makes it vertical, eventually. He waddles into the bathroom to wash up and Jared is left alone to finally lie down. He breathes, deep, and looks at the ugly popcorn ceiling—the dusty lampshade. The toilet flushes. Jensen’s voice mumbles something incoherent and probably insulting.
Jared smiles. Turns to look at the door. Man. That was…something.
He gets a lot of advances on the regular, so he should be used to pretty guys, licking their chops for him. But Jensen is just…Jensen.
Jensen leaves the bathroom door ajar behind himself.
“Good thing I don’t have to sit a lot.”
Jared chuckles. Jensen bends down to pick up his clothes. Jared watches, smiling.
Jensen sniffles as he pulls his underwear and jeans back up. He checks his watch and his phone. He stays on the latter for a moment to maybe send a text or check a message. It doesn’t dawn on Jared what’s happening until Jensen sinks to a (very wincing) seat to slip into his boots.
“Wait, uh, you can—you can stay; it’s like, what, seven AM? I don’t mind it,”
and Jensen cuts him off, “But I do,” and Jared balks. It’d be easier to feel offended if the offender didn’t look this heartbreakingly good (albeit dismissive). A derogatory look at Jared over that shoulder. “What? I’ve got my own bed. No offense.”
“None, uh…taken.”
“You were great. Thanks.”
“Uh, you—too?”
Jared watches with increasing wonder as his future husband simply gets up and leaves. As in, deadass tells him good night and doesn’t even wait for a reply before he pulls the door closed behind himself.
Jared gawps at the shut door. The dangle of the DO NOT DISTURB sign.
Oh, right. That’s why he doesn’t do this more often:
feelings.