
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/13152483.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Supernatural_RPF
  Relationship:
      Jensen_Ackles/Jared_Padalecki
  Character:
      Jensen_Ackles, Jared_Padalecki, Original_Characters
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Sex, Age_Difference, Robbery, Knifeplay, Emetophilia, Slight
      Sociopathic_Tendencies, Piquerism, Homophobic_Language, Background_Het,
      Hebephilia, Rape_Roleplay, Electrocution, Dry_Sex, Asphyxiation,
      Somnophilia
  Collections:
      spn_j2_xmas_2017
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-12-26 Words: 6948
****** Burn You to Life ******
by dollylux
Summary
     Jared has an itch to scratch. But he pulls a knife on the wrong bitch
     (and, predictably, falls in love).
Notes
     Written for my beautiful homo_pink. This was, of course, supposed to
     be longer, a much more thorough story, but we both know why that
     didn't happen. I hope you like it anyway. You own every single bit of
     me, no holds barred, and I'll never let you forget it<3 /map emoji
     Title from Stone Temple Pilots.
     (Additional FYI: Jared is thirteen, and Jensen's thirty-five.)
Wood Middle School
14800 Judson Road
San Antonio, TX
Library Computer Lab Records
September 1997
Computer #16
Student: J. Padalecki
askjeeves.com searches:
what are the best websites to see free boobs?
where can I find hot pussy pics?
where can I watch Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee’s sex tape?
where can I see Pamela Anderson’s boobs?
what happens if you jerk off too much?
what are knife laws in Texas?
how can I look harmless to strangers?
what are the most expensive cars you can buy in Texas?
is squirting really a thing?
 
---
 
Jared rides the bus to and from school.
Mom’s way too busy to drive him, and he’s never thought to ask his dad. Bus
gives him time to listen to his Discman and curl up with his knees digging into
the back of the seat in front of him and to people watch as the bus makes its
patient crawl towards the school. And Jared’s a master of playing it cool, but
he’s about to jump out of his skin this morning.
Today’s the day.
Mom’s always there in the morning to make sure he gets on the bus, so this
transport to the school is obligatory but just for show. He shuffles off the
bus and heads back down the sidewalk instead of following the drones of kids
into Wood Middle, headphones on, Sponge blasting loud in his ears.
He’s tall for his age, and he knows from experience that if he walks right and
keeps his jaw set, he can pass for a high schooler. His dad’s always told him
that Jared inherited his hitchhiker’s thumb, and Jared curves it out for the
very first time towards the endless line of cars and tries to look like he does
this all the time.
He hopes to fuck nobody recognizes him.
It starts to rain and so he pulls up the hood on his jacket, looking like even
more of a delinquent but managing to shadow most of his face from nosy parents.
After a twenty minute parade of nothing but Toyotas and Jeeps and Fords, a
sleek black Audi sedan comes in to view. Jared shoves a hand into his pocket
and grips the butterfly knife there as his adrenaline spikes.
That’s the one.
As luck would have it, traffic slows down again and the Audi crawls to a stop
right beside him. Jared pauses the CD and shoves his headphones to his
shoulders before curling down to try and see the driver, relieved when he
doesn’t immediately recognize him. The guy, some good-looking dude with longish
hair and longer eyelashes in a suit stares straight ahead, not even glancing
over at Jared. Like he’s hypnotized or maybe just very determined not to pick
up a hitchhiking middle schooler this morning.
Smart guy.
Jared pulls his hand from his pocket and knocks on his window.
The dude startles and glances over to meet Jared’s eyes, bright, clear green
locking with his through the rain-spotted glass. Jared can see the knot of his
jaw when he clenches it. The passenger window lowers slowly, letting out some
of the heat from inside the car. The door is locked when Jared tries it.
“You gonna unlock the door?” Jared says, bypassing some of the niceties he’s
stored up in his head for this. Meg tells him that he looks scary without
realizing it, so he’s been practicing his smile in the mirror at home.
“Shouldn’t you be going to school?” the guy asks. The window is only down an
inch or so. Jared can smell his cologne. His coffee. He looks like a model or
something.
“I’m tryin’,” Jared replies. He tries to rest his arm on the window, but
there’s not enough room. It slips off awkwardly. “I go to James Madison.”
Green eyes squint at him.
“What grade are you in?”
“Ninth.” Jared holds his gaze, trying to look casual and truthful all at once.
“Do you really want me to walk all that way in the rain?”
That does it. The flash of guilt on the guy’s face nearly makes Jared grin, and
his sigh is as good as permission. Jared hears the quiet snick of the doors
unlocking.
“Get in,” he sighs again.
Jared lets himself smile with his victory as he opens the door and sinks into
the warm car, dragging his messenger bag into his lap and shaking the rain out
of his hair when he pulls the hoodie off. That shitty “Butterfly Kisses” song
is playing on the guy’s radio, and Jared can’t keep the look of horror off his
face.
“Oh, shut up,” the dude mumbles, reaching up to change the station. “It’s
better than morning shows.”
“Barely,” Jared retorts, side-eyeing him as he gets his hand on the knife in
his pocket again. They’re next in line to go through the 4-way stop sign that’s
slowing traffic so much, and Jared counts to five after the guy finally gets
past Wood Middle before he pulls the knife out and opens it with a flick of his
wrist that looks easy but had taken him a month to perfect.
He feels like he’s gonna puke, but he leans over and puts on his meanest face
as he presses the blade of his flea market knife to the guy’s throat.
“Keep driving,” he says.
The guy slams on his brakes, just a stutter of the car, but it’s enough to make
the sharp blade dig into his pale skin and the car behind them lay on their
horn.
“Please don’t hurt me. You can have--”
“Just. Drive.” He angles the knife with another turn of his wrist, making the
point of it drive right in against his jugular. The dude’s eyes are so green
that the rest of the world beyond the car looks faded in comparison. He’s
shaking already.
“Okay,” the guy manages, his hands gripping the wheel so tight his knuckles
turn white. “Okay.”
This is so easy.
The guy puts his left signal on when they get to the stop sign at Stahl, but
Jared leans in closer, fights the uneven timber of his changing voice to sound
dangerous.
“No. Turn right.”
The rain really picks up as they inch down Stahl, and the turn into the empty
parking lot of Holy Trinity Presbyterian has them completely alone. The guy
puts the car into park and dares to turn towards Jared, his tender throat
dragging against the blade.
“Are you going to take my money?”
Jared raises his eyebrows. Doesn’t mean to.
“Um,” he starts, shifting in the warm seat and readjusting his grip on the
knife. “Yeah. Yes, I am. Gimme your fucking money.”
It’s intense, the way the guy holds his gaze as he slowly lifts his hips up off
the seat and reaches into his back pocket. A brown leather wallet comes out and
he hands it over without a pause.
“A couple hundred bucks, some credit cards. I just ask that I get to keep my
license. Please don’t make me go to the DMV.”
There’s a hint of a smile on that soft mouth, and Jared stares at it as he
takes the wallet with his left hand and flips it open.
“Jensen Ackles,” he reads off the guy’s license before fishing it out and
handing it over. “You’re the guy on the billboards.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Jensen huffs out, the pink on his cheeks showing up immediately.
Jared almost drops the knife. “The firm took a vote. They decided I was the
most photogenic of them all. Used a picture from my modelling days.
Embarrassing, really.”
Jared digs the knife into Jensen’s neck harder without even realizing.
“You were a model?”
“That hurts,” Jensen says softly. There’s not an ounce of pain on his face, but
Jared eases up with the knife anyway. Almost apologizes.
“Well. You know that I’m for real, then. That I’m not just fucking around.”
Jared sits up as much as he can, just as tall as Ackles is, at least while
they’re sitting. Some Amy Grant song is playing now, and Jared grits his teeth.
“And change the fucking station.”
He notices that Jensen’s fingers tremble as they fumble with the presets, and
he sees for the first time that the rose-stain on his cheeks extends to the
seashell curves of his ears, down his neck and into his expensive suit jacket.
STP’s “Wicked Garden” is in full throttle on 99.5, and Jared’s halfway to
complimenting him for his choice when Jensen speaks again.
“So, what now?”
Jared fights to keep his face neutral.
“What do you mean?”
“You’ve got my money.” Jensen nods at the wallet gripped in Jared’s hand,
strangely forgotten. “I’m late for work. You’re late for school. So what are we
doing? Just waiting for the rain to let up?”
Jared feels his temper flare up. He fights to get a knee on the seat so he can
tower over Jensen, his head bumping the root of the car.
“Listen, I don’t need your smart fucking mouth, you hear--”
“Are you gonna make me suck you off?”
Jared nearly drops the knife.
“What?
“What else would you need me for?” Jensen looks pretty calm, considering, and
Jared watches in some kind of fascinated horror as a wet pink tongue slides
over Jensen’s lips. “Our options are pretty limited inside a car.”
“I’m not a fucking faggot,” Jared laughs, lip curling in disgust. He shifts
backwards in the seat, stopped by the door. “That’s disgusting.”
The knife is still extended between them, the tip of the blade pointed out
towards Jensen, but Jared’s too far away now to really be effective. Back to
back Stone Temple Pilots. “Down” sludges out from the speakers.
Jensen unbuckles his seatbelt. Slides closer to Jared, only stopped by the
console between them. The sharp edge of the knife finds its way back to his
pale throat, right over the irritated lines the blade’s already left there.
“You don’t have to be a faggot to let a guy suck your dick.” He’s so close now
that Jared can smell his cologne, probably some designer shit only sold in
boutiques or something. “Especially not when you’re committing a crime. It’s
just a power play.”
He sounds so persuasive, his voice soft and curling up like a secret between
them.
“You’re in charge, right?” Jensen tips his head back, baring his neck. Jared
drags the knife over his skin, letting it break through just barely, the
faintest tinge of red showing up beneath.
“Yeah,” Jared breathes. They move at the same time, Jared slumped back against
the door and Jensen pressed hard against the console, his hands already
reaching for Jared, for his hoodie, for the button of his jeans. He tips his
hips out without meaning to and lets the hand holding the knife sag to his
side.
“Then make me do it.” Jensen tugs at his unbuttoned jeans, the first couple of
zipper teeth sliding down. He’s curled down like he’s got Jared’s money instead
of the other way around, and Jared can already picture this way too vividly. A
hand clamps around his wrist and pulls the knife back, letting it graze the
side of Jensen’s neck this time. His eyelashes are so long they’ve gotta be
fake.
“Make me,” he says again.
“S-Suck my dick,” Jared huffs, cupping the back of Jensen’s head, gentle at
first but he catches himself, shoves his fingers down into the thick, dark
honey of his hair and grips it hard, yanking it by the root and pulling him
forward. “You better do a good job, too. Gimme the best you got.”
“I’ve never done this before,” Jensen admits, like he’s ashamed. He’s got
Jared’s jeans undone and has his dingy underwear pushed down and Jared’s as
hard as any thirteen year old with a knife in his hand and a mouth near his
dick. His dick is an impressive length and he knows it, maybe even smirks a
little at how wide Jensen’s eyes get, at the way he tries to back up, stopped
by Jared’s hold on him.
“You seem like a fast learner.” Jared doesn’t know where the fuck he got the
courage to talk like this, especially to an adult, but something about it makes
Jensen’s cheeks go even hotter, the color bleeding into his still untouched
mouth. He yanks on Jensen’s hair, giving him a hard shake that makes Jensen
bite down on a whine. “C’mon, we don’t got all day.”
Jared catches the lie the second Jensen gets his mouth on him, because there’s
no way this is his first time slobbering on a dick. Not with the way he starts
in with his tongue and focuses on the head and gets everything nice and wet
before he ventures any further. He doesn’t even have a hand around the base.
Jared’s newly teenage nuts twinge, a fired warning shot.
“Holy fuck,” he blurts out, fingers spreading out at the crown of Jensen’s
scalp, his hips snapping up to try and ride Jensen’s face. The angle down his
throat is awkward and way too tight, and the bend lodges him in a place so
tight he can’t breathe. His eyes are closed up tight and the knife has slipped
somewhere down around Jensen’s adam’s apple, and Jared swears he can feel the
press of it through Jensen’s throat, against his cock buried there.
Jensen gags, and Jared finds a few seconds to feel flattered by it.
He fights against Jared’s now-desperate grip on him, trying to pull away, to
dislodge the dick in his throat, and the struggle just makes Jared grin,
blissful and cruel and he can smell the unmistakable metallic scent of Jensen’s
blood in the air. He must’ve cut him again.
“No,” Jensen tries to say, but his mouth is full, throat bloated with middle
school dick. He chokes and gags, the convulsions life-changing on Jared’s
rutting, excited cock, and it’s just as Jensen lurches and grips Jared’s thighs
too tight, just as he pukes up what looks like a full breakfast and feels like
heaven, that Jared punches his hips full-on against Jensen’s face and comes
straight down into his stomach. Jensen manages to spew that up, too, whole
globs of foamy, thick white burbling out of his mouth and around Jared’s dick,
dripping audibly on Jared’s lap.
The knife clatters to the floorboard and Jared sags boneless against the door,
only his arm still working, using Jensen’s mouth to squeeze out the last few
shivers of his own nut, not minding at all that he’s completely covered in his
own spooge and half-digested cage-free eggs and fresh squeezed orange juice or
whatever the fuck this prissy bitch eats.
He’s in love with his throat.
Jensen pulls off of him the second Jared loosens his grip, and his eyes are so
bright with tears and red with strain that Jared actually keeps his own open to
meet them. He watches Jensen sniffle, watches him wipe snot and puke off on the
back of his hand before he touches his neck, careful and coming away smeared
with blood.
Jared feels it building. The intense, horrifying need to apologize. He tastes
bile in his own throat, the good boy hidden under the bad one wanting to come
out and beg for forgiveness.
But Jensen grins. Leans forward again and swipes his bloody fingers over
Jared’s slack mouth before he kisses him, full and with lots of tongue. Jared
pushes past the instinct to gag and pushes his own tongue against Jensen’s,
tasting bitter remnants of an aborted meal and the weird, familiar musk of his
own jizz.
“You’re pretty good at that, kid,” Jensen mumbles against his mouth, wiping
Jared’s lips off after he pulls back. He looks Jared over as he settles back in
his seat and pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and starts to wipe his own
face clean. The almost motherly disapproval on Jensen’s face makes Jared’s
blood run cold with instinctive fear. “Look at what you made me do. You’re a
mess now.”
Sorry gets tangled up on Jared’s tongue, and he wipes lazily at his hoodie with
the sleeve.
“I-I’ve got a flannel in my bag. It’s cool.” Jared fumbles around on the floor
for the knife and comes up with it, not missing the strange longing on Jensen’s
face when he sees it.
“Are you really gonna take my wallet?” Jensen’s hair is fixed, his face clean
but flushed, and his narrowed eyes force Jared’s to stay locked to them as he
holds his hand out, expectant.
Jared sighs. He drops it into Jensen’s waiting palm, only looking away when
it’s no longer in his possession. A shuffle and a crinkle and Jared feels a
single bill tucked into his hand, trapped between his hand and Jensen’s.
A crisp one hundred dollar bill.
Jared knows he looks as young as he is when he stares at Jensen again, wide-
eyed.
“Now, get out of my car,” Jensen says, but he’s smirking.
The rain has slowed to a drizzle, and Jared barely notices the mess he’s
dripping in the church parking lot. Jensen pulls out and continues up the
street, leaving Jared with his pants undone, his balls empty, and money for his
services clutched in his hand.
The walk back home is dazed, green-tinged and dreamy.
 
---
 
Dad has an ever-shifting group of guys who come over to watch Monday Night
Football, who crowd in the den and fill the house with their boozy cheers and
low-slung compliments about the cheerleaders. Jared only makes himself known
when the pizza shows up, and he eats his pile of slices in his dark room where
he can brood in peace.
Monday night, a couple of weeks after Jared’s first semi-successful armed
robbery. He’d blown the money on a stack of comic books and some badass new
headphones for his Discman, and he’s jerked off every single night inside of
the vivid memory of Jensen’s magical mouth.
He’s stalled-out on his homework and listening intently for the doorbell, dying
for the four slices of bacon, sausage, and black olive pizza he’s gonna swipe
as soon as it gets here.
The Cowboys are losing and all the guys are kind of quiet when Jared wanders
into the den with his empty plate and empty belly, and he doesn’t even look
around at the group of pouty grown men as he stacks slices and snags a bottle
of root beer from the cooler beside Dad’s chair.
“Son of a bitch,” comes a soft voice when a bunch of other guys groan, and
Jared stops just inside the doorway and looks back into the room, heart
pounding loud in his ears, blocking out the game sounds and the distraught
complaints of everyone else.
He knows that voice.
Tucked in between Jon from next door and some guy with a full beard and a
Harley shirt is a comparatively lithe figure, one too beautiful to just be lost
in a sea of body odor and muttered curses.
Jensen Ackles. Jared’s first… well. Everything.
“Get enough, Jay?” Dad asks, distracted but good-intentioned. Nobody really
pays Jared much mind, and he could probably slink out of the room without being
seen by a single one of them, but it’s all too much. Too perfect. Like some
kind of pervert god wants this to go down again.
“Yeah, ‘sfine,” Jared replies, grip tightening on his plate as he stares right
at Jensen in equal parts terror and the kind of lust only brand new teenagers
are capable of. “I’m just, uh. Stuck on some homework.”
“Mm.” Dad still doesn’t look away from the game, but he has his head turned
toward Jared, which is something. Jensen is still glued to the TV, a nearly
empty bottle of Shiner dangling from long fingers, one of which has a gold band
striping it. Jared feels the steady churn of jizz in his balls as his dick goes
from asleep to half-mast just standing here. “Anything I can help with?”
“Oh, just, uh.” He thinks back to his brief conversation with Jensen, the one
that came before he got his spine sucked out through his dick. “Just working on
some social studies. All this stuff about the government and laws. Just
confusing.”
“Laws, huh? Ackles over there is one of those big-shot attorneys who makes too
much damn money. I bet he can answer a few questions.” Dad nods over at Jensen
who reluctantly tears his eyes from the game and glances over at Jared.
The glass bottle of Shiner hits the wood floor with a echoing thunk, the last
few dregs of beer spilling across Mom’s newly shined floor and seeping into the
cracks.
Jared couldn’t keep the desperation off his face if he tried.
“What do you say, Mr. Ackles?” he asks, strangling the bottle of root beer in
his own hand so it doesn’t hit the ground, too. “Would you mind helping me with
my social studies homework real quick?”
Jensen looks truly stunned, his eyes as big as the barely legal Japanese
cartoon girls Jeremy’s so obsessed with. The flush from the other day is back
with a vengeance, spreading over Jensen’s cheeks and creeping down his neck.
Jared has never wanted to fuck something so bad in his whole life.
“S-Sure,” he finally replies, standing up from the couch like he’s being
controlled, completely bypassing the spilled beer and the long legs separating
him from Jared, and it’s only when he’s a couple of feet away and Jared can
smell his cologne that he realizes he’s never seen Jensen standing up. Had no
idea how tall he was.
He’s got a good three or four inches on Jared.
“You workin’ in the kitchen or--”
“My bedroom,” Jared cuts in, his voice way too low to be where they are, who
they are. “Upstairs.”
The guys in the den have already closed up ranks again, all of them tuned back
into the game and completely ignoring Jared and Jensen standing just a few feet
away, planning out a crime. It’s perfect.
Jared takes the stairs in twos, socked feet thundering in a way that usually
has Mom yelling at him, but she’s at her book club meeting down at Bev
Wallace’s place. Jeremy’s out on a date, and Meg’s watching Buffy the Vampire
Slayer at Joni’s.
He practically falls into his room, only a few steps ahead of Jensen, but it’s
enough time to set his food down and kick dirty clothes under the bed and into
his open closet, making sure everything is vaguely presentable before his
doorway is filled with the star of every nasty daydream he’s had for the last
handful of days.
“Are you allowed to have your door cl--”
Jared gets a hand in the soft cotton fabric of Jensen’s dark grey henley and
uses the grip to pull him into the room. He shuts the door as quiet as he can
manage and flips the lock, but all his attention is on crowding Jensen, edging
him in until his back’s pressed to the door and he’s trapped between it and
Jared’s skinny body that’s trying so very hard to be taller here, and Jared
doesn’t have enough pride to stop himself from pushing up onto his tiptoes and
slamming his mouth against Jensen’s so hard it knocks his head back against the
door.
He eats at his mouth like he plans on chewing and swallowing what he can tear
off, and he sucks so hard at Jensen’s tongue that the aborted sound of it being
pried out of Jared’s mouth nearly startles him.
“No, no, no,” Jared breathes, cupping Jensen’s chest like he’s got tits,
squeezing and massaging at them and letting his restless cock press up tight to
Jensen’s warm stomach. “C’mon. C’mon c’mon, please--”
“This is a felony,” Jensen hisses, his hands flat against Jared’s stomach,
pushing back against him but not managing to dislodge him.
“Not if I’m forcing you.” He stares up into Jensen’s eyes and grabs at one of
his wrists, watching his pupils grow wide and dark and take over the green
there as he pushes it down to rub rough and impatient over Jared’s tented
sweats. “You want me to force you?”
“If you’re forcing me, I don’t exactly get a say,” Jensen says, enough of a
smile in his voice that Jared takes it as a yes. His fingers come to life on
Jared’s cock, cupping the heft of it and rubbing it through two layers of soft
cotton, and it’s enough to make Jared sopping wet, to make his slit flutter out
some slick as he rocks into Jensen’s touch, his breath already coming out
harsh, stuttered.
“What’re you doin’ here?” He sucks Jensen’s bottom lip into his mouth and
nurses on it like it’s gonna feed him. Jensen cups his balls and pulls on them
just hard enough to make Jared’s thighs shake like a dog.
“Came over with a guy from work. Friends with your dad. Said he had a 55-inch
TV and surround sound. Couldn’t say no.” Jensen relaxes back against the door,
slumping so that they’re nearly the same height, his light wash-clad thighs
spreading so that Jared can press right up between them, so he can hump at
Jensen’s tight body like it’s mating season, like he won Jensen far and square
in a brawl and he’s his for the taking.
Jared tightens his grip on Jensen’s wrist, cutting off his circulation and
stilling his hand. He rests his forehead against his, his eyes fighting to stay
open.
“Gimme a sec. I’m about to blow.”
He can feel Jensen’s smirk, can feel the curious twitch of his fingers along
the length of his dick. He hisses softly.
“Just from this?”
“Could come just lookin’ at you,” Jared says against his mouth, letting the
shivering tip of his tongue dip out to lick at the seam of Jensen’s lips. It’s
only Jensen clamping down on the root of his dick when he sucks Jared’s tongue
into his mouth that keeps him from busting right there.
“Thought you weren’t a faggot,” Jensen teases him. His lips are so soft as they
nurse at Jared’s tongue that he’s lost for a moment in the thought of what he
must feel like inside.
“I’m whatever it takes to get my dick inside of you again.” Maybe Jared watches
too much porn at Uncle Dan’s house, or maybe he’s just being too fucking
honest, but whatever it is seems to work, key in a lock. Jensen’s hips press
forward, his dick a firm lump in his jeans, and despite being fully clothed,
older, and taller, he’s holding himself like a bitch, like the most needy thing
Jared’s ever let himself imagine.
“We gotta be quick,” Jensen huffs out. He pushes at the elastic waist of
Jared’s sweatpants, fumbling into his underwear to pull his dick out. “Does
your bed squeak?”
“U-U-Uh.” Jared stares down between their bodies, watching Jensen’s fingers get
all shiny with his precome. His eyes flutter. “Um. Yeah. Yeah, I guess. When I
get really into it and--”
“Chair,” Jensen says, pushing Jared backwards and guiding him by his grip on
his prick. Jared shuffles backwards until he hits his desk chair and plops down
in it, his dick swaying hard when Jensen lets go of it to stand over him and
start working on his own pants.
Jared watches in stunned silence, barely processing what’s happening because
Jensen’s kicking off his Nikes and shoving down his jeans and his black Calvin
Kleins and his dick is perfect, is peachy-pink tipped and surrounded by
hairless, freckled skin, like nature decided he was too pretty everywhere to be
obstructed by hair. His thighs are toned but just soft enough, and it’s only
when Jensen spits in his own hand and reaches behind himself that Jared
registers what’s happening, what’s going to happen, why this is different from
the other day in the car and--
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, strangling his dick and pinching his slit so hard that
tears burn in his eyes, but he doesn’t come. Somehow.
Jensen’s eyes are wild and glassy, like he’s as hungry for this as Jared is,
and he can tell that Jensen’s stuffing fingers up into his own ass by the way
his arm is moving.
“Are you g-gonna…” Jared licks his lips, reaching for Jensen’s hips when he
steps closer, spreading his thighs and squatting over Jared’s still-clothed
lap. “Are you gonna let me fuck you?”
“Thought you were making me.” Another gathered wad and Jensen gets one of his
perfect hands on Jared’s dick again, this time to slick it up with spit and
steady it so that he can lower himself down on it. All the muscles of him that
Jared can see in the low light from his desk lamp are tight and stretched, like
some kind of swimmer-ballerina-pornstar hybrid.
Jensen is curled down over him, his solid weight settling down on Jared’s body
at the same time Jared feels a hot, impossible pressure on the head of his dick
that seems like it will never give until it does, until he’s breaching it and
being swallowed up by it and he’s suddenly submerged in bruising tightness so
burning hot and obliterating that it physically hurts.
“Oh, God,” Jensen hiccups, his whole body tense and arched straight up, his
insides so unused and unprepared for this that they won’t take in the last
couple of inches of Jared’s dick, even with all of Jensen’s body weight
pressing down.
Jared feels like he’s drowning, like he’s being devoured whole by Jensen’s
body, and all he can do is grab at him, is squeeze the softness of Jensen’s
belly and his hips and the toned swell of his ass, using all that flushed skin
to anchor himself, to have something to hold onto as his whole life’s purpose
changes.
This. This is where he was always meant to be.
“Feel so good,” Jensen whispers, hot and suddenly so close to Jared’s mouth,
the words said in a purr that sounds like it’s straight from a 900 number. The
wheels on the chair roll until the back of it hits the desk, and Jensen must
use the tips of his feet to keep them still as he starts to move, starts to
work Jared’s dick around up in himself. The chair creaks and protests but not
as loud as his bed would, and it’s only when Jared squeezes whatever he’s
holding in his hands that he realizes he’s gripping Jensen’s ass tight, holding
him just to feel the motion of his body, to feel the rhythm of his hips, to
help guide him in his maiden voyage on Jared’s dick.
He stares up at Jensen like he’s a mystic and Jensen’s a fevered vision, a
whore-hipped saint, his secret Mary Magdalene. Jensen’s got him trapped under
his body, got his arms draped over Jared’s shoulders and his hands in his
sweaty hair and his guts moving in faster and faster sucks around his cock. It
occurs to Jared then that he’s in love already, that this feels exactly like
when real believers talk about religion. He’s making disgusting sounds, messy
ones, almost-a-virgin noises as he uses all his strength to try and lift his
hips, to help out at all, to bang around inside of Jensen’s ass with as much
skill as he can gather.
Jensen sounds like a psalm, like a honeymoon bride, maybe, so thickly contented
and dreamy-mouthed that Jared wonders if he’s even fully awake at this point.
He reaches behind him and fumbles around on the desk, shoving aside notebooks
and pencils and a calculator until he finds what he’s looking for.
The compass he uses in math class used to belong to his dad, so it’s ancient
and metal and heavy, and the sharp point at one end is absolutely deadly. He
grips the whole of it in his hand and brings the thick needle-tipped point to
the exposed meat of Jensen’s neck, to the hollow place where his pulse jumps.
He presses in, maybe a little harder than he means to. Jensen’s hips stutter
hard, his ass rolling on Jared’s lap, his shuddering thighs spreading.
He whimpers, and it comes with a drawn-up, pained face, with a trembling chin
and a tightened clutch of his arms around Jared’s neck. There’s an intimate,
choking series of convulsions around Jared’s cock, a flutter of his insides
that nearly pulls the come straight out of his dick.
“Please,” Jensen breathes. He’s gone very still, his back arched hard around
Jared’s left hand that’s tucked into the dip of it. Jared can tell without
looking that he’s already punctured skin.
Jared doesn’t have to ask him what he’s begging for. Doesn’t have to be guided
this time. He’s thought about this a whole fucking lot.
“You better put that ass to work and make me come, bitch,” he grits out,
twisting the compass and widening the pierced hole in Jensen’s neck, but he
stops before he lets it go deeper. “Or I’ll push this right on through and find
a juicy artery.”
It’s all shit right out of his spank fantasies, all the stuff he’s said under
his breath while he choked his own dick out in that bed right over there,
dreaming about a second chance to have this exact creature on his dick somehow.
He still blushes as he says it though, still has to readjust his grip on the
compass so it doesn’t slip in his sweaty palm. But the way Jensen’s shaking on
top of him now, the tip of his dick nudging at Jared’s belly as he starts to
really work Jared’s cock, slopping it around inside his ass with deep curls of
born-this-way, slutty hips, he can tell that it’s doing it for Jensen, at
least.
“Gonna come,” Jensen tells him, strangled in a way that tells Jared he’s
waiting for permission. He slides the compass from Jensen’s neck and drags it
down his back, not stopping until he’s scratched over the jut of his tailbone
and let the sharp tip dig right in to the delicate, stretched-thin skin of
Jensen’s rim, only millimeters from where Jared’s cock is punching him open.
The way Jensen shakes apart all around him is like the world ending. Jared has
no choice but to fall with him.
Jensen’s mouth is on his neck, and he’s sobbing as he sucks a nasty bruise into
his unwashed skin probably just to gag himself so the whole goddamn house
doesn’t hear him. Jared strains under him, lifting Jensen’s collapsed weight
with hard drives of his hips, getting as much friction as he can as he dumps
what feels like the biggest load in history right up into Jensen’s ass.
Neither of them are playing it cool anymore, and Jared drops the compass with a
clatter and hugs Jensen down on top of him, amazed at how easily they move
together, at how their bodies seem to speak some common language already. He
tips his head up and laps at Jensen’s neck, tasting the blood he drew there
tonight as Jensen rides out the last few waves of whatever is coursing through
his body right now.
“Jesus Christ,” Jensen pants against his jaw, the chair squeaking as he digs in
hard against Jared’s lap, his legs spread almost in a perfect split to do it.
“You’re so beautiful,” Jared tells him, no pride left to speak of, nothing left
in him to keep him from saying it. He pushes a hand up under Jensen’s shirt and
pets over his sweaty, burning hot skin, stroking along his spine and trying to
bring him back down somehow.
His virginity belongs to Jensen now. There’s no turning back from that. He
feels it like the weight of a wedding band on his left ring finger. Like a band
that matches the one on Jensen’s own finger, the one that Jared hasn’t asked
about yet.
“Smart thinking, digging out that compass.” Jensen smiles against his cheek
before he pulls back and meets his eyes, the colors of his face in beautiful
contrast with each other, making him seem otherworldly. “Am I that obvious?”
He runs his fingers down over Jensen’s ass, rubbing at the shallow puncture
beside his still plugged asshole. It comes away sticky-slick, and Jared’s mouth
waters at the thought of what blood from such a sacred place would taste like.
“A little,” Jared admits, grinning when Jensen huffs, like his feathers are
ruffled.
“Pretty observant for an 8th grader,” Jensen remarks as he climbs off of
Jared’s dick, leaving a slimy trail on his sweats in his wake. He reaches for
the box of Kleenex beside Jared’s lap and snatches a few out to wipe at his
ass, the tissue coming away pearl-shiny and the most delicate of pink.
Jared’s eyes widen as his fully grown dick slops out of a prosecutor and lazes
back against his clothed thigh.
“You… you knew?”
He watches distractedly as Jensen gets dressed, wiggling into his tight
underwear and snug pants with private dancer shifts of his hips. Jensen nods at
the desk behind Jared, at the binder there with Wood Middle - Jared Tristan
Padalecki written in pencil among detailed, surrealist drawings of monsters and
dismembered bodies and slimy entrails.
“You don’t fuck like a middle schooler,” Jensen reassures him, primping in the
mirror behind Jared’s dresser, pushing his long, sweaty strands of blond back
from his face until he looks just as perfect as before he ever walked in here.
Jared just stares at him.
“How do you--”
“See you next week,” Jensen says, leaning down for an invasive, teasing kiss
before leaving the room and pulling the door closed behind him.
He wonders somewhere in the back of his pussy-whipped, reptile brain if he’s
being used. He looks down at his lap, at his used, wet dick, at his blissfully
empty ballsack that’s just barely started to sprout hairs. He grins.
It really, really doesn’t fucking matter.
 
---
 
Jensen’s married. To a fucking chick.
She’s pretty and blonde and Jared wonders if he picked her out of a catalogue.
He learned last week when Jensen came back and let Jared load him up doggystyle
that this, tonight, is his tenth anniversary.
He’s been half-heartedly sticking his dick in a girl for a decade. There’s
probably not a Hallmark card for that.
The restaurant is some steakhouse on the Riverwalk, and Jared nearly rolls his
eyes for how hungrily Jensen eats the giant slab of meat on his plate.
“Slut,” he whispers to himself, every part of him soft except the impatient 8
inches in his pants. The view through the window is just enough that Jared can
keep an eye on them, that he can see the moment Jensen gets up and heads to the
bathroom after he’s finished his main course and just before dessert.
Sneaking in through the back and into the kitchen is easy, especially during
the dinner rush. The bathroom is just off from the kitchen, and Jared slips in
before the door has even closed behind Jensen, flipping the lock behind him.
He’s standing there at a urinal, the musical trickle of piss hitting porcelain
muffling the quiet footfall of Jared’s sneakers. He’s got a pocket-sized cattle
prod that he swiped from the Co-op ready to go in his hand, and with Jensen’s
dress pants loose around his hips as he pisses, it takes no effort to push the
prod down the back of them and between his asscheeks as he wraps an arm around
his neck in a practiced chokehold.
Jared feels the wild spray of piss as Jensen lets go of his dick in sudden,
mortal fear.
A press of a button has the electric buzz of the cattle prod singing as it
electrocutes Jensen’s asshole, and Jared has to lock his knees to keep them
both standing as Jensen’s knees buckle. He tightens his grip around Jensen’s
neck, cutting off his air even more, watching his face turn a deep scarlet.
“Happy Anniversary, baby,” he whispers, pushed up to the tips of his toes to
say it right against Jensen’s ear.
He closes his eyes to feel the next blast of current jolt through Jensen’s
system, and the loud echo of his sobs ricochet around them like bullets.
“Please,” Jensen manages, his face going from red to purple alarmingly fast.
His fingers pull ineffectually at Jared’s arm. “Don’t.”
It takes some maneuvering, but Jared manages to get his dick out and wedge it
between Jensen’s clenched cheeks, and when he forces his way in dry, Jensen’s
shiny dress shoes skid over the tile floor until he’s all but hanging from
Jared’s choking grip, more than halfway to losing consciousness.
Good.
“I love you,” Jared says for the first time, and the kiss he presses to the
overheated back of Jensen’s neck is earnest, is the most truthful part of him.
He tears into Jensen’s cunt as he finally passes out, and Jared can just let go
and use his ass in peace for a few minutes until he uses the cattle prod on his
taint to wake him up.
Jared nuzzles Jensen’s well-moisturized face as he works him open, and he
realizes just as Jensen starts to leak come into the urinal instead of piss
that Jensen, his blue-faced, unconscious future baby mama, is smiling.
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