raeschae

Title: Creative Control (2/3)
Author:

raeschae
Pairing:J2
Rating:NC-17
Word Count: 10K

Summary: In the hierarchy of filmmaking, there are those with distinct vision, and then there are production assistants.

Thanks to:

neutraldeviance, for the beta.

vamphile, for the persistent cheerleading.

Graphics by:

raeschae

Jared's excited. Sure, he's told himself for the last three hours that Jensen could be dressed in sweats and smoking a carton of Marlboros on the couch again, but he's trying to be optimistic.

He knocks and the door swings open almost immediately, like maybe Jensen was watching out the window for him or something. But when he steps inside, the only glimpse of his date that he gets is the swirl of Jensen's white button-down furling around his waist as he disappears into the bathroom.

“Sorry. I got caught up tryin' to change a vacuum cleaner bag,” he calls out. “Nobody tells you that shit, ya know? Like I knew you had to change the fuckin' bag.”

Jared chuckles to himself. The fact that Jensen is a thirty-year-old man living independently, and has not yet figured out for himself that you have to change a vacuum cleaner bag is slightly disturbing, but he doesn't say anything.

Mostly because he's too distracted by the sight of the living room around him. It's like a different house, like he would maybe think he wandered into the wrong apartment if Jensen hadn't let him into this one himself.

The laundry is all gone, and the treadmill is folded up in the corner of the far wall. All of the dvds have found a home in the tower, and the magazines are gone from the coffee table. There's even a faint smell of Lysol in the air. “When did you,” Jared starts and then looks up to find his breath catching in his throat.

“Didn't want you to be uncomfortable,” Jensen explains, but Jared barely hears the words coming out of his mouth because he's wearing the most perfect jeans Jared has ever seen, with that white shirt hanging out, the sleeves unbuttoned and loose over his fingers. The collar is open, giving just the slightest hint of tanned skin and a shining sliver of a platinum necklace. “You like?” Jensen nods around the room.

But Jared just crosses the room and cups his hand around the back of Jensen's neck. He looks like sin, and he cleaned his house for Jared. Also, he has the most kissable mouth Jared's ever seen in his life. “Oh, I like,” he grins just before sealing his mouth over Jensen's and plunging his tongue hungrily between those plush, parted lips.

Jensen clings to Jared's biceps for a second, kissing back, and then he pulls away and his eyes dart around the room. “So, uh,” he breathes and then clears his throat. “We gonna get dinner?”

Part of Jared wants to say 'fuck dinner' and just drag Jensen into the bedroom. But he looks so fucking good, smells so good, that stripping him out of those jeans so soon seems cruel. Or something. Yeah, that sounds like as good an excuse as any not to prove Jensen's theory that he can get laid without dinner.

“Burgers okay?” Jared asks over his shoulder as he leads Jensen toward his car.

Jensen nods and lets Jared open his door for him. “You're such a goddamn gentleman,” he rolls his eyes. Off of Jared's look, he slides into the car and shrugs his shoulders. “Dude, McDonald's is fine with me. Whatever.”

They end up at 8 Oz. Burger Bar on Melrose, barely able to hear the waitress, let alone each other, over the roar of other diners practically shouting to be heard around them. But the food's good, and their eyes say enough across the table to make up for whatever their words can't. Jensen's boot against Jared's ankle under the table doesn't suck, either.

By the time they leave, Jared's willing away a headache that just won't stop persisting. Jensen's hand is in his, and their shoulders brush with each step, so it's not all bad. In the car, Jensen reaches to turn the radio off and Jared quirks an eyebrow. “Not your sound?”

Jensen smiles softly and lets Jared take his hand again. “You have a headache,” he shrugs.

“Did I say that?”

“Didn't have to.”

They ride for awhile in silence, Jared's thumb rubbing over Jensen's wrist. He doesn't really think about it, but notices the way Jensen's pulse races on initial contact each time, and then slows when he's sure that Jared's not pulling away. It's an interesting observation. In an observationally interesting kind of way.

“Did you wanna catch a movie or somethin'?” Jared asks when they're back on the 5. “We could go walk around Griffith Park.”

Jensen shrugs. “You sure you're feelin' up to it?”

What he's really feeling up to is taking Jensen home and fucking him stupid for the next eight or ten hours. But he can't do that yet. Doesn't want to rush anything with this one. It feels too important. So he just nods instead. “Fresh air'll do us both good.”

They walk for a little while before Jensen pulls Jared over to a bench and nods for him to sit. Standing behind him, Jensen's fingers knead into the back of his skull, and Jared doesn't even try to fight the groan that erupts from his throat. “Jesus Christ, Jen. You're hands.” The ministrations stop. “What's wrong?” he asks immediately.

“You called me Jen.”

“That a problem?”

“No,” Jensen goes back to massaging Jared's head. “It's not,” he adds, but it doesn't sound like he's trying to convince Jared. More like he's surprised at his own answer. “Huh.”

“Come here,” Jared holds a hand out to stop Jensen, though it pains him to do so. Jensen takes it and does as he's told, settling into the seat beside Jared without letting go of his hand. For a long time, he lets Jensen work at the palm of his hand with a thumb, marveling in the way it seems to relieve the pressure in his skull. “You okay?”

“Are you?” Jensen challenges back.

“I asked you first,” Jared sticks his tongue out and Jensen rolls his eyes. “Fuck all, man, what are you doin' to me? My headache's . . . it's gone.” In just a few minutes, with a few touches, Jensen has managed to make his brain settle down, to stop trying to claw its way out of Jared's head.

“Must be the fresh air,” Jensen smiles knowingly, dropping Jared's hand and standing. “You wanna keep walking? Head back to the car?”

“Want you to sit down for a second,” Jared stretches his arm over the back of the bench in an invitation. Jensen does and Jared can't help resting his hand against the back of Jensen's neck. If he's not careful, it's going to become as much a thing as feeling his wrist. “You never answered my question.”

Jensen nods and smiles, easy and relaxed. “I'm fine.” He sounds sincere. When Jared only nods, he goes on, “I really am fine, Jared. I know you see me as this fragile little girl or something. Or maybe some self-destructive, anorexic alcoholic?” Jared chuckles at the assessment. “Sex addict?” With a shake of his head, Jensen lays his hand on Jared's thigh. “Dude, I'm fine. Been takin' care of myself for a long damn time, alright? I ain't dead yet.”

“Could argue you're not really alive, either.”

He didn't mean for the night to get heavy. Good burgers, good beer, and some hot sex was all he had on the agenda truthfully. But being here, in the quiet of the early evening, Jared can't help delving deeper. Can't seem to stop himself from pushing Jensen's personal boundaries just a little bit further.

And Jensen reacts exactly like Jared expects him to. By pulling away, digging a cigarette out of the pack in his jacket pocket, and sucking a long drag before answering. “You and my fucking mom, man. I'm thirty fucking years old. Don't know why everybody seems to think I'm about to fall apart at the seams or some shit.” He inhales another drag sharply and blows the plume in the opposite direction of the man at his side.

Jared's hand. Jensen's wrist. A whispered, “Hey. . . Come on, man. . . Look at me.” Jensen complies. “Is it so bad to have people care?”

“Yes,” Jensen answers, and it's not bratty. Just honest. “I mean, Jesus Christ, man. I don't want everybody worryin' about me. I'm fine.” He takes another drag and flicks his cigarette onto the sidewalk. “Just . . . don't worry about me.”

His eyes are gone again, drifting to the place where his cigarette burns until it extinguishes itself. Jared wants to pull him back, but thinks better of it. Just strokes the soft skin under his thumb until Jensen slumps back on the bench and lets out a sigh.

“What?” He looks surprised at Jared's question. “What are you thinkin', huh?”

Jensen shakes his head and turns even further away. “Who the fuck are you?” he repeats the first thing he ever said to Jared, and Jared can't help noticing that it looks different in defeat, rather than defiance. “Why do you care, Jared? I mean, I know why my parents care – they're my parents and all. But why the fuck would you?

“You'd never even seen me before you broke up that fight in the bar. Brought me home and started fuckin' around in my fridge.” He rolls his eyes and finally looks into Jared's eyes. “I know you wanna fuck me.” There's not an ounce of arrogance, or even seduction, in Jensen's words. Just fact. “You know I'm gonna let you. Say the word, I'll pull your dick out and suck it right here.” He smiles when Jared swallows hard. “But you won't say it, will you?”

Jared shakes his head. Because, dammit, you can't just say that shit to a guy in the middle of a fucking public park. This is how George Michael shit happens. Also, they both own cars, and have beds of their own. “Not gonna fuck you in the middle of Griffith Park,” he manages to say, though it's hard through the squeeze of his throat. “You're not a goddamn two-bit whore, Jen.”

He's not sure if the flinching is because of the nickname, or the 'whore.' “Nobody calls me Jen,” Jensen clarifies almost immediately. “Not since my grandfather died.”

Jared stands and pulls Jensen with him. “I won't use it again,” he promises.

Shaking his head, Jensen follows Jared's path back the way they've already come. “No, it's okay. It's just . . . You freak me the fuck out, man,” he laughs a little bit. “I mean, you're . . . I'm not . . . I don't know how to take you.”

“You don't know how to take someone wanting more than just your ass,” Jared corrects, and he feels pretty confident in his assessment.

Jensen doesn't correct him. “You wait much longer and I'm gonna start thinkin' you don't know what to do with my ass.”

Jared laughs as they approach the car and then pins Jensen against the passenger side door. Bending low, he presses his mouth against the side of Jensen's throat and trails his tongue to the junction of his jaw and neck. “Don't get it twisted, Jen,” he growls, feeling Jensen's hips twitch instinctively. “ Know exactly what to do with your tight little ass.”

Jensen raises an eyebrow in challenge, hands digging hard into the sides of Jared's shirt. “You sure?”

“Mmm hmm,” Jared moans against his ear, tongue circling the lobe as Jensen cranes his neck to give unfettered access. “Gonna lick you open. Work you with my tongue until your nice and wet for me,” he groans at the thought, and then goes back to the place behind Jensen's ear. “Then I'm gonna let you suck my cock while I stretch you with my fingers. Have you fuck yourself on 'em while my dick's down your fucking throat. Until you're begging me to fuck you. To take this ass. Make it mine.” Jared's hand clenches around the globe of Jensen's ass and he feels Jensen buck against him, not even aiming for 'subtle' anymore. “That what you want, Jen?”

“Fuck, Jared, yeah,” Jensen pants against his chest, face buried in the soft cotton of Jared's shirt. “Need you in me. Now. Come on, please,” he pleads softly.

It would be so easy. Just turn Jensen around, push him against the side of the car and fuck him stupid. But Jared meant what he said earlier – he's not going to treat Jensen like a common whore. He deserves better, whether Jensen thinks so or not.

Lips still nipping at his throat, Jared reaches behind Jensen and pulls his door open. “Come on,” he instructs, pushing Jensen and his groans of protest into the car. “Not here.”

Neither of them says a word on the short trip from the park to Jensen's apartment. When they're outside his front door, Jensen turns and looks up at Jared, his face serious. “I open this door and you start mouthin' off about my virtue and shit? I will knock you the fuck out.”

Jared would laugh if he wasn't having trouble standing at the moment. “Unless your virtue's in your ass, my mouth's not interested anymore,” he grits through clenched teeth, hand pressing against the door as soon as Jensen gets it unlocked.

He kicks the door shut and watches as Jensen all but tears his own shirt off. Flicks the button on his jeans and steps out of them with grace, like someone who's done this before. Jared doesn't think about that, though, because Jensen standing in the bedroom doorway in nothing but his underwear. It's an image that Jared hopes he never gets used to. Shit.

“Get in there,” he nods toward the door, working the buttons of his own shirt open slowly. He needs a minute. Needs to compose himself. “Get the condoms and the lube and get on the bed. Wait for me,” he instructs, shrugging the fabric from his shoulders. Jensen stares for a second and then snaps into action, disappearing into his bedroom.

Jared hears the dresser draw open and slide shut, and then hears the creak of the wrought-iron bed as he slides his jeans over his hips and inhales deeply. He's got to pull his shit together before he can step into that room and find Jensen all splayed out for him. Vertical, he was a vision. Horizontal, Jared might blow his load faster than a seventeen-year-old virgin on prom night.

When he finally steps into the room, he can't help smiling as he leans against the door frame. Jensen's on his stomach, arms stretched to grip the slats of his headboard, pillow under his hips, ass on display. “Look at you,” Jared says slowly, eyes traveling the length of Jensen's body. “All eager and ready to get fucked.”

Jensen rolls his head and rests his chin against his own arm. “You wanna stand there and talk me through it?” He quirks an eyebrow. A challenge. One that he clearly wants Jared to accept. “Or you gonna get over here and do somethin' about it?”

“Oh, I'm gonna do somethin' alright,” Jared chuckles darkly, slowly making his way to the bed. “But I don't want you on your knees, Jensen. Not yet,” he pulls the pillow out from under him and watches as Jensen falls to the mattress with an 'oomph.' “Roll over.”

He does as he's told, any and all hint of playful resistance swallowed in the lust now blowing his pupils wide and dark. His thighs fall open and Jared kneels between them, careful not to touch any more of Jensen than his lips as he bends to kiss him. It's brief, almost chaste, before Jared sits back up and tilts his head, considering.

“Where's your key?”

Jensen doesn't ask for clarification, just nods to the dresser. “Lower right corner,” he whispers, and his voice is already gravel low.

Shaking his head, Jared runs the back of his hand down Jensen's torso and smiles when the muscles jump and dance beneath the skin. “I meant the other one,” he says, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he strokes lightly at Jensen's hip. His cock is hard and wet, and it's taking every ounce of control Jared possesses not to dip and lick at the head.

For a brief moment, Jensen's brow furrows in confusion. “The other,” and then he stops and shakes his head. “No,” he asserts.

“No?” Jared rolls his hand, fingers squeezing into Jensen's hip. “Do you trust me?”

Jensen nods. “But I'm not tellin' you,” he holds fast, eyes steeled with resolve behind the lust.

“Why not?” Dipping his head, Jared swipes his tongue flat across Jensen's nipple and drags the point around it in a circle, feeling Jensen's breath catch beneath his mouth. “You can tell me, Jen.”

Though he makes no move to escape, Jensen does make a valiant effort at one of his nonchalant shrugs. “Not the reckless idiot you think I am,” he points out, hips rolling for friction even as he continues. “My safety. My secret. Not yours to take.”

Jared climbs from the bed and retrieves the key from Jensen's drawer. He's not sure even Jensen knows how big that declaration is. To know that there are boundaries, lines that Jensen won't cross, limits that he's not willing to give up for Jared, for anyone, makes him want to sing. Or the far more manly equivalent.

“Good,” he compliments, straddling Jensen's hips, his eyes flitting back to the cuffs on the end of the bed. “Change of plans,” he winks and Jensen's breath hitches visibly in his chest. “I'm not gonna lick you open. Not yet,” Jared goes on, fingers of one hand caressing idly at Jensen's collarbone while the other toys with the silver key. “First, I'm gonna cuff your hands over your head. And then I'm gonna let you suck my cock, like you been beggin' since the night we met.”

Leaning forward, Jared feels Jensen's moan against his neck as he retrieves the hand cuffs, their hard cocks brushing for an infuriatingly short moment. Before he can issue further instructions, though, Jensen raises his arm over his head and grips the slats of the headboard, lip bitten almost white between his teeth. He shifts his hips and then looks back at Jared.

“Ready.”

Jared threads the cuffs through the slats and clicks the first one into place on Jensen's left wrist, eyes laser focused on the way Jensen's about to bite through his own fucking lip. He doesn't move, just watches as Jensen's arm flinches and then relaxes in the restraint.

“Come on, Jared,” he begs, hips rolling beneath Jared's thighs again. “Wanna suck your dick. Come on.”

Leaning forward, Jared reaches for the other end of the cuffs, his eyes flitting to Jensen's face beneath him once again. It's there, the cringe. The flinch. The flutter of eyelashes as he waits for the inevitable click. “Jensen,” Jared stops, using the key to release the first cuff. “Look at me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jensen gawks, eyes flying open in defiance. “Don't you dare fucking leave me like this, asshole,” he spits through gritted teeth, his hands leaving the headboard to reach for Jared's hips. He's bound and determined, or just determined as the case may be, to get Jared into his mouth. That much is clear.

Jared just holds the cuffs on the end of his finger and Jensen moves his hands back to the headboard. “You want me to cuff you, Jensen?”

“If you want to, fuckin' do it. If you don't, don't. I don't really fuckin' care anymore. I just want your cock in my mouth before I fuckin' lose my mind!”

Jared tosses the cuffs to the floor beside the bed, vivid images of those red marks on Jensen's wrists flooding his mind from a few weeks back. “You don't like it, do you?” he asks, stretching his body out over Jensen's and lowering his head to suck on his collarbone.

“I don't mind,” is Jensen's response, groaned more than spoken as Jared's hands explore the sides of his body, their cocks rubbing hot against each other. “Fuck, Jared,” he sighs, fingers burying deep in the back of Jared's hair as their lips meet once again.

“Answer me and I will,” he promises against the hollow of Jensen's throat. “Do. You. Like. It?”

It's a simple yes or no question really. Shouldn't take as long as it does for Jensen to answer. But he raises his arms over his head and grips the headboard one more time, eyes fixed solely on Jared's. “I can hang on. Won't move, I promise. You don't have to,” he stops and closes his eyes, like he's got something to be ashamed of. “I'll be good for you.”

Someday, they're going to talk about why in the name of all that is fucking holy and sacred Jensen lets strangers cuff him to the bed if he doesn't even fucking like it. Though Jared suspects it will be a short conversation. He already knows the answer.

Instead of pressing the issue, he climbs forward on his knees and cradles the back of Jensen's head, lifting him from the pillow. “Careful,” he warns, using his free hand to trace the shape of Jensen's lips with the wet head of his cock. “Sit up a little?” Jensen does and readjusts his hands on the slats, elbows pointed out and shoulders pushed forward. “Open up for me, Jen,” he instructs, and Jensen's tongue snakes out to circle the head. Jared can feel his hips following the same motion as his eyes drift shut. “Look at me.”

Jensen's eyes open lazily, lips quirking into a smirk as he tightens his grip and opens his mouth wider, sucking Jared slow and steady between his lips. The passion, the hunger, and the wantneedgimmenow in those jade eyes steals Jared's breath for a second. He keeps one hand on the base, guiding himself into Jensen's mouth, and tightens his fingers in Jensen's hair with the other hand.

“Fuck, Jen,” he sighs, head dropping back and then falling forward. Jensen's eyes are still watching him, tongue drawing sinful patters under the head of his cock. “So fucking good. Such a goddamn perfect mouth. Jesus fuck,” he pants, one hand moving to cover Jensen's on the headboard while the other still supports his head. “So good for me,” he adds, and he feels the effects of the words as Jensen begins to hollow his cheeks and suck in earnest.

He continues to mutter words of affirmation and encouragement until Jensen pulls off and sucks a deep, ragged breath. His eyes are watering, his lips bright red and slick. “Please, Jared. God, please,” he begs, eyes falling shut once again.

Nodding, Jared takes a second to catch his own breath before sliding back down the length of Jensen's body, whimpering along with Jensen at the slip slide of their cocks before Jared pulls away quickly. “Been so good, Jen,” he praises, popping the lid of the lube bottle with one hand and letting it drizzle over his fingers. “Gonna be good to you now.”

Jensen's knuckles are white against the headboard, body slinking back down against the mattress, long and lithe beneath Jared. He moves his hands again, gets a stronger grip against the top railing. His eyes droop but he never lets them close, even when the blush blooms on his chest and neck. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Jared remembers promising to lick Jensen open, but fuck if he can wait to be inside him now.

“Relax,” Jared's voice is calm, steady, and reassuring as his finger circles Jensen's hole and he feels the clench. “Easy, Jen. Nice and easy,” he assures. A swell of anger flares in his chest as he thinks about all of the drunken idiots who have been here before, restraining Jensen and fucking painfully into him for their own pleasure. He can feel it in the strain, in the hesitation just before Jensen relaxes and lets him in. He wants to kill every damn one of them.

If he doesn't cap the jealousy, and the fury, he's going to have to add his name to the list of those who have hurt this beautiful man holding so dutifully to the slats in his hands, clinging to his promise to hold on. “Jared,” he breathes, head falling back when Jared pushes a second finger inside.

“Yeah, that's it. Gonna open you up,” Jared promises. “Come on, Jen. Show me you want it,” he encourages, stilling his hand. “Fuck yourself on my fingers.” He adds another and Jensen pulls up with the aid of the slats and then lowers himself onto Jared's spreading fingers, his eyes flying open with a gasp.

“Oh, fuck!” It's the loudest he's been since . . . well, Jared's not sure Jensen's ever been that loud.

And it's so fucking hot, he fumbles with the condom wrapper once before gripping it between his teeth and tearing it open. He rolls it on, pulling his fingers from Jensen to slick himself and Jensen fucking whines.

“Come on,” he begs, pulling himself up again, muscles straining beneath his freckled skin as he waits. “Jared, come on, man. Come on!” He's sweating, glowing in the light spilling in from the living room, his skin flushed, voice wrecked all to hell.

Hands on Jensen's hips, Jared guides him back onto the head of his cock, head stretching the rim as Jensen growls out a cry Jared's not sure is even human. His fingers slip against Jensen's skin, and before he can make it slow and painless like he promised, Jensen slams himself down hard, taking it all in one thrust.

“Christ!” he growls, body stilling as his eyes open and his head raises. The grin that splits Jensen's lips is enough to quench the guilt in Jared's gut. “Fuckin' hell,” he pants as Jared tucks his shoulders under Jensen's knees. “You're fuckin' huge!” He sucks in a deep, relaxing breath and then groans as his eyes roll back. “Feels so fuckin' good, man.”

Jared chuckles low in his chest and thrusts forward, Jensen's knees pointed at his head, body stretched to the limit from the new position. “Look at you, Jensen,” Jared breathes, more than a little in awe of the way Jensen's body writhes and flexes beneath him. “So goddamn hungry for it.” He leans further forward and Jensen hisses at the burn, whether in his ass or his thighs, Jared doesn't know. To be fair, he does have the guy folded nearly in half. “So fucking good, Jensen.”

Their lips meet again as Jared rocks against him, and Jensen takes it, though a slight whine escapes when Jared pulls away. “Jare,” is all Jensen manages to get out before he cringes again.

Stopping all movement, Jared looks down at Jensen and starts to back off, but Jensen's eyes fly open and his ass clenches around Jared's cock. “Don't!” He flexes his arms. “Just give me,” he stops and shifts, the movement sending shock waves through Jared's entire body.

“Hands on my shoulders,” Jared orders when he realizes the problem. How could he be such a fucking idiot? “Don't let go,” he adds.

Jensen nods, eyes finding Jared's again. “I won't,” he promises, fingernails digging into Jared's shoulders. “Thank you.”

“If you're in pain, Jensen? Real pain?” He dips his head and kisses the center of Jensen's sternum. “Tell me. Some people don't get off on pain.”

Jensen rolls his eyes. “Awesome. Can you fuck me now?”

He does. Hard. Fast. Frantic. And then Jared slows down. Gentle. Easy. Long strokes that nearly bring Jensen to tears. He's mumbling words Jared hasn't heard in a long time, if ever in that order, and it takes every last ounce of control Jared has not to come before he's able to get Jensen there.

“Jared,” Jensen groans low and deep in his hoarse, fucked-out throat, fingers biting into Jared's biceps until he's pretty sure there could be blood.

“Come for me, Jensen,” Jared growls against his ear.

It's immediate. The rush of wet warmth splashing over Jensen's stomach, rubbing hot against Jared's along with the frenzied cry of a man with no voice left to scream.

Jared follows him, unable to stave off his own orgasm as Jensen's ass clenches around him. “Jensen, fucking GOD,” Jared hisses into Jensen's shoulder as he comes for what feels like an eternity.

“Jared,” Jensen whispers against his ear a minute or two later.

“Huh?” is all Jared can muster in response.

“Can you, uh,” Jensen sucks in another breath and releases it. “I'm kinda,” he stops again. “You're kind of crushing me.”

He can't help laughing as he rolls off of Jensen's body and falls boneless against the mattress. “Jesus Christ,” he huffs.

“You can call me Jensen,” comes the cocky response.

Jared pries one eye open and raises the brow. “Really? You had to?”

Jensen just nods, eyes closed as he drops a hand onto his stomach and then scrunches his face. “Dude, gross,” he exclaims, rolling his hip and stepping out of the bed before Jared can stop him. He staggers, sways, and braces himself against the wall for a minute.

“Jensen, you don't have to,” Jared starts.

“Dude, I'm covered in my own jizz,” Jensen shoots over his shoulder. “I do have to.”

He's gone only for a minute, and when he returns, he's limping. Jensen wipes himself down with the wet towel and then slides back into the bed, propping himself up on his side to drag another warm rag over Jared's stomach.

“I can clean myself up, Jensen.”

But Jensen just shrugs Jared's hand off of his and continues, working softly and meticulously to make sure that Jared's belly and cock are clean. “I don't mind,” he says, voice softer.

When he disappears again, Jared rolls onto his back and studies the ceiling. It wasn't as good as he thought it would be, fucking Jensen. It was a thousand times better than that, and he fucking knows it was more than physical chemistry. Of course, that doesn't mean that Jensen will. Once the endorphins wear off and he comes down off the fuck high, Jared's not sure what to expect, what the reaction will be. It could go either way.

He doesn't notice Jensen's return until he rolls his head and finds him leaning in the doorway, cigarette between his lips as he studies the man in his bed. “Hi,” Jared smiles when those eyes make it back up to his face.

Jensen smiles right back and offers a wave as he exhales. “You gotta get home?” he asks, and the grin fades. Jared kind of hates the way Jensen asks it like this is every other time. Like Jared's every other guy.

“Not if you want me to stick around,” Jared answers, hoisting himself onto an elbow and resting his head in his hand.

“Up to you,” Jensen shrugs.

“No, it's not.” Jared holds his eye for a long moment, words and emotions flowing freely between them. “This is your house. Your bed,” Jared reminds him. “This one's your call.”

His shoulders rise like he's going to shrug again, but Jensen relaxes slowly and looks away, stamping his cigarette butt into the tray in his hand and leaving it in the living room. He climbs back into to the bed, shifting around until he's shoulder to shoulder with Jared. “I want you to stick around.”

It's a bitch and a half getting Jensen out of bed the next morning – seems his normal routine consists of rolling out fifteen minutes before he leaves the house, showering, and throwing a hat on before walking out the door. Jared waking him up an hour ahead of schedule isn't exactly greeted with a smile and a good morning blow job.

Jensen ends up leaving before Jared, telling him to lock up on his way out, and Jared tries to tell himself that Jensen's just not a morning person. He's not pulling away or regretting last night. He's just grouchy before he gets to the set and has his coffee. A lot of guys are like that, so it's not a reflection of anything other than Jensen's inability to cope with the start of a new day.

They don't see each other much on set, but that's not unusual, either. Sure, Jensen is nowhere to be found when lunch rolls around and that's kind of outside the norm lately, but they're getting deeper into production now, and he's bound to be busy. So Jared lets it slide, because it doesn't matter how much he wants to talk to Jensen about what happened last night, and what it means, and where they stand. They both have jobs to do, and right now, that's more important.

That logical line of thinking only actually lasts until the following day, however. Jared is in the middle of arguing with the director over which filter is best for the upcoming love scene, the actors are being whiny bitches, and Jensen has definitively avoided him three times in the last two hours. It's not a good day. Jared's not in a good mood. And Jensen does not look good. At least, that's what he tells himself when Jensen blows him off for lunch with some mumbled garbage about Egyptian cotton sheets and thread count and what the fuck ever.

By the time he wraps for the day, Jared is tired of the bull shit. Tired of being avoided. They're not in fucking junior high, and Jensen was plenty adult enough to take Jared's dick up his ass, so he can be adult enough to talk to him about it now.

When Jensen makes his way to the car fifteen minutes later, Jared is leaning there, arms crossed over his chest. “You do still work here. I was starting to wonder.”

Jensen offers him a wry smile and an eye roll. “What do you need, Jared?” he asks, checking his watch and tossing a duffel bag into the back seat.

“You've been avoiding me,” he cuts directly to the chase.

Jensen fucking shrugs, and it pisses Jared off more than it should. That goddamn shoulder shrug is going to be the death of him, and not in a positive, I've shot every fiber of my being all over your ass and now it's time to stop breathing kind of way.

“Been busy,” is the only defense he offers.

Jared pushes his hand against the door Jensen's trying to open and waits until those green eyes turn to him before he speaks. “Bull shit. You're freaked out about the other night and you're avoiding me.”

“What the fuck, man?” Jensen takes a step back, face twisted in confusion. “We're not fuckin' married, Jared. It was just sex. Trust me, man,” he rolls his eyes this time, and Jared finds that he hates it as much as the shoulder shrug, “it doesn't mean anything.”

He takes a step back, head shaking as Jensen pulls the door open and sinks into the driver's seat. It's just sex. It doesn't mean anything. “You're full of shit,” he says just before Jensen can close the door. “You know it, too.” Narrowing his eyes, Jared rests on hand on the top of the car and bends at the waist to meet Jensen at eye level. “What are you so fucking scared of, Jensen?”

The strength with which Jensen slams the door nearly catches Jared's fingers and he jumps back on impact just before the guy can roll over his toes in his speedy exit.

It's alright. He doesn't need an answer. Jensen's not exactly an enigma or anything.

Jared gives Jensen his space for the rest of the week. A few times, he's pretty sure that Jensen wants to join him for lunch, but his pride (or something more akin to fear) keeps him from making the first move. Jared doesn't take the bait. If they're going to proceed with whatever this is, Jared's done playing games. He's done using Jensen's job as a means to an end.

It's five o'clock on Friday night when he knocks on Jensen's door. He's not sure this is the best move, but if he's been reading Jensen right for the last few weeks, it will work.

Jensen looks surprised when he answers the door, dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, baseball cap backwards on his head. “Jared,” he says, and maybe Jared's imagining it, but he doesn't seem upset or pissed off anymore. Just, maybe a little, relieved.

“Come on,” Jared rolls his shoulder and doesn't bother entering the apartment. “I'm makin' you dinner.” Jensen looks conflicted for a second, eyes darting from Jared to his comfy place on the couch, with the television remote, a two-liter of soda, his ashtray, lighter, and three packs of cigarettes. “Jensen?”

“Give me a minute to change,” Jensen answers, disappearing into his bedroom.

Jared looks around the living room – not as sparkling clean as it was last time, but Jensen's definitely put in the effort to keep the place uncluttered. “Place still looks good,” he compliments when Jensen emerges from the bedroom, clean tee shirt and jeans, without holes, hanging off of him in just the right way.

With a shrug and a smile he tries to hide, Jensen grabs his keys and his jacket and follows Jared out of the house. He doesn't say anything, and he doesn't really have to. Jared leaves him to his thoughts and weaves through Friday rush hour traffic.

Jared pulls his car into the driveway and kills the engine, turning his head to note Jensen's bewildered expression. “This is your house?”

It's not exactly an estate, but Jared kind of fell in love with the single-level, three bedroom house the minute his realtor unlocked the front door two years ago. As far as he was concerned, a twenty-five, it was perfect as a starter home. Since then, he's made a lot of money, and could upgrade to something far more “Hollywood,” but this is home, and Jared's not really looking to relocate any time soon.

“What'd you expect?”

Shaking his head, Jensen lets himself out of the car and follows Jared up the walk to the front door. “I guess I didn't,” he admits.

Inside, Jared toes his shoes off and takes note that Jensen does the same. He points toward the hall just to the left. “Bedroom's are back there, bathroom's around that corner. This is the living room, and the kitchen, obviously,” he points things out as he gives the abbreviated tour and moves on to the kitchen without really stopping.

As Jared washes his hands and pulls marinating steaks from the refrigerator, Jensen stands awkwardly in the middle of the living room, eyes taking in the details of the architecture as his toe drags lazily back and forth over the polished hardwood floor. “This is nice,” he says without letting his gaze drift to Jared. “Can I help?”

Though he really was just planning on cooking for Jensen, Jared knows he can't just let the guy stand in the middle of the living room looking all lost for the next hour. “Sauté some mushrooms and onions for me?”

Jensen's face twists as he makes his way to the kitchen. “Um,” he considers the butcher's block and enormous knife Jared has laid out and then captures his bottom lip between his teeth. “You got anything that requires boiling water? I'm awesome at that.”

Without thinking, Jared chuckles and grabs the knife, working it quickly through the first onion. He turns his head to find Jensen watching him studiously. “You think you can handle it? Without, ya know, losing a finger?”

“I'm on it,” Jensen answers with a nod and looks up when Jared's hand falls on his shoulder. “Hm?”

“We're not on set,” Jared reminds him, leaning in to press his lips against the side of Jensen's head. “It's a date, not a job.”

Jensen rolls his eyes and takes his time measuring the distance between slices in the onion. “Date?” he asks as Jared moves past him toward the back door.

Tossing a glance back, Jared offers him one of those shrugs Jensen's so fond of and continues onto the deck, knowing full well that Jensen's going to take the next ten minutes to freak out about the fact that he's on a second date, possibly for the first time in his life. He also knows that Jensen will do the job Jared asked him to do, and probably do it better than Jared would have done it.

He gets the steaks on and closes the grill, along with a couple of potatoes, heading back inside to grab beers for himself and Jensen, only to find one waiting on the end of the counter. Jensen's still chopping, his cell phone resting between his shoulder and his ear.

“I swear, everything is fine,” he says, rolling his eyes and nodding toward the bottle, in case Jared wasn't sure that it was for him. “No, I'm not . . . I'm just . . . I'm kinda busy right now.” Jared sips from his bottle and leans his hip against the counter, watching as Jensen grows increasingly frustrated with whomever he's speaking. “I told you that I would call you if I did.”

Casually, Jared pushes away from his resting place and moves around Jensen, standing close as he drinks his beer with one hand and lets his fingers gently play with the soft hairs on the back of Jensen's neck with the other. He smiles into his bottle when he feels the droop of Jensen's shoulders.

“Oh my god, really? We're still on this?” Jensen sags into Jared's side and drops his head back, eyes closed in obvious frustration. “Whatever. Mom, I have to go. I’ll call you later. I know. Yeah. I love you, too.”

Jensen's got a death grip on the knife and Jared can feel his body thrumming with nervous energy. Without words, Jared dips a hand into Jensen's back pocket and produces a half-smashed pack of cigarettes. He drops it into Jensen's hand and smiles softly when he turns wide eyes up to Jared's face. “On the deck,” is all he says.

Jensen goes, and Jared wants to follow, wants to find out what he was talking about and what's got him so worked up, but he can't. Because he doesn't want to spook the guy. Pushing before was all about testing the limits and finding the boundaries. Now that he has a better idea of where they are, he's okay with loosening the reins a little bit.

He leaves the onions for Jensen to finish and sets about throwing together a salad. When Jensen returns, he washes his hands and goes back to his chopping. It almost surprises Jared when he breaks the silence first. “My mom thinks you sound like a very nice young man.”

“What'd you tell her?” Jared asks, lips quirking into a soft smile.

“That you ambushed, kidnapped me, and are currently forcing me to make food that doesn't come out of a box.” He grins brightly when Jared turns to look at him. “So she said you sound like a very nice young man.”

“I am,” Jared answers definitively, tossing a few tomato slices into the salad bowl. “You can start tossing those into the pan. It should be hot enough.”

Jensen does, and they work in relative silence, chatting mostly about people they both know at work. It's easy, and the tension that's been hovering between them since Sunday is fading. Jared goes out to check on the grill after leaving Jensen instructions to get the sauce and salad dressing from the fridge. When he returns, Jensen has laid out plates, silverware, and new beer bottles for each of them on the dining room table.

Jared places the steaks and potatoes on the plates and drops a kiss on Jensen's mouth, his hand running the length of his spine. “Table looks good,” he whispers before stepping back to his side of the table and sliding into his own chair.

There's another hidden smile on Jensen's side of the table and Jared watches him prepare his plate. He's been so caught up in closing whatever distance Jensen's been trying to put between them this week that he hasn't stopped to just consider how fucking good the guy looks. He's just . . . Jared's honestly not sure he's ever seen a better looking individual. Which is probably saying something from the guy who lights and films movie stars for a living.

“What?” Jensen asks, eyes meeting Jared's across the dining room table.

Shaking his head, Jared tilts his beer bottle to his lips and holds Jensen's eyes with his own gaze. “I'm just thinking about how good you look,” he says honestly. Jensen rolls his eyes but Jared shakes his head. “Don't do that. You know you're hot. Let me acknowledge it, too.”

Another shrug as Jensen chews his steak and then quirks a smile. “You're not so bad yourself,” he winks.

Any awkwardness that might have been hanging around the corners of the evening dissolves as they flirt, eat, and generally enjoy each other's company. By the time dinner is over, and the dishwasher is loaded and started, Jared almost believes that maybe he and Jensen have gotten over the hump in their relationship.

Jensen wanders onto the deck after handing Jared the last dish, and Jared wavers between following him and hanging back. In the end, the desire to slide in behind Jensen and feel his firm back against Jared's chest wins out.

Hands on his hips, Jared pulls Jensen into his embrace and breathes in the scent of his hair as Jensen exhales a long, lazy plume of smoke. “Thank you for coming with me,” he whispers, lips finding the side of Jensen's neck.

“Did I have a choice?” There's no trace of bitterness or anger in Jensen's tone. Not even a hint of resentment. In fact, he's smiling. Content.

He turns his face when Jared pulls back, and they're practically sharing breath. Steak sauce, garlic, and smoke mingle between them. “You always have a choice,” he says firmly, eyes raking over Jensen's face.

A flicker of doubt passes behind Jensen's smiling eyes and he slowly runs his tongue over his bottom lip. Stepping away from the warmth of Jared's body against his, he crosses to the deck railing and leans, arms crossed over his chest. He sucks in another drag and then exhales it slowly.

“I'm not all that good with choices,” Jensen says, his voice low and soft in the falling night. When Jared doesn't say anything, he goes on. “Never really have been. Even when I was a kid.” He huffs a sarcastic chuckle. “Just tell me what to do, I'll get it done. I can. I just . . . don't leave it up to me. I'll fuck it up every time,” he shakes his head again and inhales deep. Exhales easy. “My dad says I don't have any foresight. Don't think beyond the moment I'm in.”

“What do you say?”

Jensen looks surprised by the question. “I don't know, man. I don't care. I'm not all 'alpha male' or whatever. I just . . . I don't care. I just wanna know what's expected of me, and I'll make it happen.”

“Even if it's not what you want?”

“Don't look at me like that,” Jensen rolls his now-extinguished cigarette butt between his fingers and looks toward the slatted floor of the deck. “I know it's not normal.”

Jared pushes off of the grill and sinks into one of the deck chairs. “Nothing wrong with not being Type A, ya know? Not everybody is a natural, born leader. Not exactly freakish.” He rolls his neck and then winks at Jensen. “'Sides, I'm not into alpha males.”

Moving forward, Jensen digs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “No shit,” he laughs. “I can't even imagine you taking a cue from somebody else.” Jared quirks his head and Jensen's smile is genuine, illuminated by the glow of the light from the dining room. “What do you want me to do, Jared?”

The air charges in a new direction and Jared shifts in his chair. Squaring his shoulders, he studies Jensen's expression. He's not blinking, not looking away, and not blushing. Without breaking eye contact, and without a word, Jared opens his belt buckle and unbuttons the fly of his jeans.

Jensen sinks to his knees and braces one hand on Jared's thigh, the other reaching into his pants. The slight chill of the night blows over them, but Jared doesn't have a chance to notice. Not with the way Jensen's stroking and licking at his hardening cock.

Jared grips the back of his neck and Jensen lets him go with a pop, licking his lips and looking up with a sensual confidence Jared's pretty sure he doesn't even know he possesses. It's the hottest fucking thing in the world and Jared grunts as Jensen's fist clenches around his fully-hard shaft. “Christ, Jensen,” he growls, his thumb rubbing along the soft curve of Jensen's ear.

The things he does with his tongue, those sinful lips, and his fingers? There's no doubt Jensen knows how to be the perfect little cocksucker. There's a natural flow to his rhythm, to the way he hollows his cheeks and bobs his head, sucks and licks and strokes in absolute sync. There's an ease that screams of natural skill over practiced perfection, though.

And the way he wants it. In the short time they've known each other, Jared has yet to hear Jensen admit to wanting much of anything, but that doesn't mean he doesn't make it known. The way he writhes and moans and stares up at Jared with a lust-blown expression he couldn't control if he tried? Jensen's not doing this because it's expected of him. And when Jared mutters words of encouragement, telling Jensen how good it feels, how much he loves Jensen's mouth, he somehow manages to make it even better.

“Stop,” Jared commands abruptly, hand squeezes the scruff of Jensen's neck when he knows he can't stand another trail of that tongue over the vein in his shaft.

“Please,” Jensen croaks out, eyes watering when he pulls off, fingers digging into the denim on Jared's thighs. “Jared, god, please,” he begs.

Applying a soft pressure, he tilts Jensen's head. “Please what? What do you want, Jensen?”

“Want you to come. Wanna make you come.” He's in that place where pride and shame give way to overwhelming need. It's the only way he'd ask Jared for anything. “Just let me,” he leans forward, red lips parting. “Make it so good,” he finishes the promise by slipping his mouth over the head and then pulling back again, eyes meeting Jared's in a silent plea for permission.

What Jared desperately wants is to bend Jensen over the railing and fuck him until he disrupts Jared's quiet neighborhood. Wants to run his fingers down the spine Jensen keeps arching while sucking him, and sink into that ass that keeps swaying with each bob of his head. He wants to come buried deep inside Jensen, to whisper filthy words against his ear until Jensen explodes in his hands.

“Do it,” Jared says instead, watching as Jensen's eyes roll back and his mouth seals over Jared's cock again. There'll be time to fuck Jensen later. For now, he's rolling Jared's balls in one hand, stripping his shaft with the other, and tonguing the slit while sucking on the head. The sensation is too much to fight, so Jared doesn't even try.

He curls his fingers into Jensen's hair and tries to pull him back, but Jensen just sinks further, until Jared feels himself hit the back of Jensen's throat, the muscles working to relax. It's entirely possible that the guy doesn't even have a gag reflex, which only serves to make him more perfect than he was five minutes ago.

The strangled sound that rips from Jared's throat is barely human, but he couldn't form actual words right now if you paid him. He's spilling down Jensen's throat, and he can feel Jensen stroking him through it, swallowing and licking until he's managed to pull every last possible drop.
When his vision returns, Jared lifts his head from the deck chair to find Jensen sitting back, gathering what little he couldn't swallow onto his thumb. His eyes are heavily hooded, seductive, as he holds Jared's eye and sucks the digit into his mouth. “Good?” Jensen's voice is hoarse, ragged.

The only response that Jared can compile is a laugh that forces his head back and the soft scratch of his fingernails against the back of Jensen's head. “Yeah,” he nods when he can finally breathe again. “Fuckin' phenomenal,” he adds.

Jensen beams at the compliment. “You have any idea how hot you are when you come?”

“Not half as hot as you are.” The words are still a little breathy, even as Jared's hand moves from the back of Jensen's head, over his jaw, until his fingers can stroke idly at Jensen’s shiny lips.

“Don't sell yourself short,” Jensen teases, grunting as he makes his way to his feet. “You're at least seventy-five percent as hot.”

Pulling Jensen close by his hips, Jared leans forward and rests his head against the soft cotton of his tee shirt. He lets his hand drift to the bulge in Jensen's jeans. “How 'bout we take care of this,” he suggests, deftly popping the button of Jensen's jeans with one hand, the other pressed flat against the small of his back. With a seductive grin of his own, Jared looks up to see Jensen's breath hitch when their eyes meet and Jared's fist closes tight around his rock-hard dick. “I think you've earned it.”

It's almost three in the morning when Jared collapses onto his bed, freshly showered and what he can only describe as completely fucked out. He is nothing resembling 'inexperienced' in the bedroom, but there are things that Jensen can do with his ass, his hips, his hands, and his mouth that Jared has never seen before. It bothers him more than a little bit how Jensen learned some of his techniques, so he doesn't let himself think about it.

Truth be told, he's not thinking about anything because Jensen's standing in the bedroom doorway, wrapped in a towel, and looking awkward and uncomfortable. “Are we gonna,” he starts to ask and then bites his lip like he's not sure he should ask.

“Thought we were gonna sleep,” he answers, holding out an arm in invitation. “Cause I got stamina, but shit, man,” Jared smiles lazily when Jensen climbs onto the bed and lays himself out at Jared's side. “Didn't carbo-load for a marathon this morning.”

“Not what I meant.” He doesn't clarify what he actually did mean, and somehow Jared thinks that's probably for the best.

They don't say anything else, and it's possible that Jensen is asleep, but Jared can't stop the words that pop out anyway, his hand trailing slow up and down Jensen's spine. “Thanks for tonight. Even if I did ambush and kidnap you, thank you for trusting me.”

Jensen huffs out a chuckle. “Not about trust,” he mumbles into the pillow. “Always about getting laid.”

“Don't do that.”

“What?” Jensen's eye pops open and he turns his head to see Jared staring back at him.

“That stupid thing where you pretend you're not good for anything more than fucking.”

“I'm really good at fetching coffee, too.”

“Jensen, stop,” Jared states a little more firmly, rolling onto his side and hoisting himself up on an elbow. “I like you. You know that. And it's not about your PA skills, or your ass.” When Jensen's eyes cloud and his lips part, Jared places a finger over them. “Don't ask me why again, either. I just do, okay? And you're not going to believe any of my reasons right now, so let's just sleep.”

Though he nods, Jared notices that Jensen's body doesn't really uncoil when Jared settles back down into the bed. His fingers are tapping against his thigh, and he can practically feel the guy thinking. It's not a surprise when Jensen speaks.

“So, what? You're, like, my boyfriend now?”

“Do you want me to be?” When Jensen doesn't answer, Jared smiles a little and runs his knuckles over Jensen's ribs. “Not yet, Jen.” The words seem to ease the man at his side and Jensen rolls toward Jared, drifting into sleep almost peacefully.

They've only been on a couple of dates, and Jared knows they're not really in 'boyfriend' territory yet. He described Jensen as 'the guy I'm seeing' to his mom a few days ago, but that doesn't mean he's going to tell Jensen that. Not yet. The guy's freaked out enough by titles, definitions, and boundaries. They'll never get off the ground if Jared starts claiming him and fencing him in so early in the relationship.

If you ask him, Jared will tell you that he doesn't really have a type. That he's attracted to a lot of different kinds of guys and that he doesn't limit himself to a certain look or swagger. The truth is, his type is pretty damn obvious to anyone who's known him for awhile. Guys who take a little extra finesse to get close to, who need to be looked after without knowing they're being looked after. Guys who desperately want something they can't admit to wanting.

Jared's type is Jensen. Eventually, Jensen will realize that Jared is his type, too. And then they can define whatever the hell this is.

Part 3