raeschae | Maybe It's the Chaps, 1/1, NC-17, Jared/Jensen

Title: Maybe It's the Chaps
Author:

raeschae
Pairing: J2
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 5100ish

Summary: Jensen has a thing for Jared in cowboy boots and a hat. Turns out, chaps aren't so easy to resist, either.
Follow-up to It's Gotta Be the Hat and It Could Be the Boots, but can completely stand alone, as well.

A/N: This is the final installment in what I'm calling The Cowboy Trilogy. For those of you who have been awaiting a resolution, I hope it satisfies.

Thanks to billysgirl5 for the awesome beta!

If you ask Jensen his favorite part of being an actor, he'll tell you that it's about characters and art, and it'll probably bore the hell out of you in about thirty seconds. At least, it usually bores Jared. That could be because he's already heard it a thousand or so times, though. The truth is, when they're interviewed together, he usually just slips into listening to the cadence of Jensen's deep, rumbling voice instead of the actual words coming out of his mouth.

Of course, if you ask Jared his favorite part about being an actor, you'll get fifteen minutes of bull shit about some book he read and some actor he admires and some literary crap about archetypes that Jensen never really listened to in the first place, so it probably evens out somewhere in the middle. Besides, Jensen would much rather watch the expression on Jared's face when he really gets into whatever it is he's saying, the way his long fingers punctuate every word and his shoulders roll with the movement. It's pretty fucking fascinating.

Neither of them, however, will say that photo shoots factor remotely into the pantheon of reasons they love what they do for a living. Dressing up in whatever designer's label, posing in ways that are neither natural nor comfortable, and plastering fake smiles and pensive pouts on their faces is not their collective idea of fun.

Truth be told, their collective idea of fun is pretending that they aren't remotely interested in one another outside of their somewhat touchy-feely friendship, and then occasionally fucking each other stupid behind closed doors. But they don't talk about that, in public or otherwise.

If they did discuss it, they would realize that neither of them has fucked anyone else in the last six months. Not since Spain. Not since Jensen put Jared on all fours in a cowboy hat and boots and then rode him like he was John Wayne or some shit. Jensen has no idea that Jared hasn't fucked a single woman since that night, hasn't even really thought about it. And Jared has no idea that Jensen hasn't so much as looked at another guy since then. Sure, they only find their way to each other a couple of times a month, but the hunger for anything else is just . . . it's gone.

Which is probably why Jensen's about to go out of his motherfucking mind at this particular photo shoot. He hates them on principle alone most of the time, but this one is especially painful. Sometimes they're in jeans and tee shirts. Sometimes it's suits. Occasionally, it's Sam and Dean's eight layers of stifling flannel. But once in awhile, some magazine wants something different. Every now and then, they want costumes.

This time, it's stolen (completely out of context, by the way) from something one of them said in some interview neither of them remembers. It could also be Kripke's big mouth that got them into this one, Jensen thinks. Jared doesn't remember, and he doesn't care. Someone, somewhere along the way, referred to Supernatural as a modern-day Western.

And now Jensen's spending three hours trapped in a pair of Wranglers so tight his balls have gone numb. The tips of his boots are so pointed that his toes are cramping. And this goddamn belt buckle digs into his abdomen every time he tries to breathe. His hair's shorter than normal, and the hat is too big, and somebody thought it was a brilliant idea to strap a fucking lasso to his hip. It weighs, at his best estimate, roughly three hundred and twelve pounds. Give or take.

The only thing that makes the day remotely bearable, and equally infuriating, is Jared.

He's always good for taking Jensen's mind off of whatever stupid bull shit the photographer is saying. Never fails to distract Jensen from slipping too far into “supermodel” mode. To keep him more manly and less fashion editorial. Jared makes him laugh, reminds him that they actually do love this job of theirs, and if they have to suffer through stupid bull shit to keep doing it, it's worth it. Jared's good like that.

He's also very, very bad. Because in this scenario, he's dressed in a pair of equally tight jeans, and a plaid shirt that makes his shoulders look twice as broad, and his waist twice as narrow. He's wearing the hat. And the boots. And, if that's not enough to drive Jensen out of his motherfucking mind, they also thought it would be a great idea to throw a pair of black, leather chaps over his pants. Chaps. Fucking chaps. Every time he turns around, every time Jensen catches a glimpse of that tight, fuckable, little ass encased in denim and framed in leather, he has to remind his cock that his pants are too damn tight for it to stand up and cheer.

When the photographer calls for lunch, Jensen drops the lasso onto the ground and yanks the hat off his head. Jared settles for unbuttoning his shirt half way and exposing the sweaty column of his throat, right down to that place where the moisture pools in the hollow and drives Jensen absolutely, bat-shit crazy.

Before he can think too much about what he's doing, he grabs Jared's arm and yanks him down the long, darkened hallway of the warehouse-cum-studio this particular photographer calls home. He pushes through a door marked 'Private' and presses Jared into the wall before he has the presence of mind to fight back.

“Jen, what are you,” Jared starts and then drops his head back against the wall. It's too fucking dark to see, but Jensen's got his serving platter of a belt buckle open and the zipper of his jeans down before Jared can say much else.

Moving on sheer instinct, Jensen reaches into the open fly of Jared's jeans and feels the rapidly hardening flesh under his fingers. He's not sure what's gotten into him – Jensen's usually the textbook definition of propriety at any work-related assignment or event – but he knows that he has to have Jared in his mouth, rightthefucknow.

He pulls the hard cock between his lips and holds it steady in one hand while trying desperately to work the zipper of his own jeans. They're too tight. He's not going to be able to push them off. Not going to be able to get free. To feel anything other than worse when it's all over.

“Ouch!” Jared exclaims above him and Jensen pulls back. He can't really see anything in the darkness of the room, but he can feel Jared's hand tightly in his hair. “Dude, zipper,” he growls.

“Take your pants off,” Jensen barks the command.

And for the first time, possibly ever, Jared pulls the 'professional' card. “Jen, we can't do this here.”

Sinking back on his haunches, Jensen sighs and rakes his fingers through his hair. “You're right,” he concedes, making his way to his feet and readjusting himself in the pants that have now become the bane of his existence. He reaches for the door knob and then says over his shoulder, “Bring the fuckin' chaps home.”

*-*-*

After lunch, they do a few more cowboy shots and then the director wants to switch it up. Wants them dressed down, thankfully not in a costume of any kind. By the time they break and head home, Jared's tired, but Jensen looks downright exhausted.

His head sags on his shoulders when he's tired. Eyes drift, even though he keeps trying to talk through it. Like maybe he can fool the world into thinking he's not about to lose the battle for coherency at any moment. His words slur, and he jerks himself awake what seems like every three seconds. He's really not fooling anyone, but Jared thinks it's cute that he tries.

Jared thinks it's cute when Jensen does a lot of things, but he can't say that. This game that they play with each other, this cat-and-mouse, will they/won't they thing isn't about cute, and sweet, and can'tlivewithoutyou. It never has been. And if this is the only way that he can have Jensen, Jared will learn to adapt. He might even start fucking girls again soon, just to prove that he doesn't need Jensen in a way that Jensen clearly doesn't need him.

Except that Jared doesn't want to fuck girls anymore. He doesn't want to fuck anyone else. And it's more than that. He wants more, and it's taken him years to admit it, maybe even years to want it, but he can now. He can stand in front of a mirror, look himself in the eye, and admit that he wants Jensen as more than an occasional dick in his ass when the itch gets to be too much for both of them and they have no choice but to . . . well, scratch.

But this is Jensen's game. It always has been. Jared knows how to draw him out, how to get what he wants, but he has to be subtle. If Jensen ever figures out that Jared has cheat codes for this game they play, he'll pull the plug. He has to be in control of it, and if it bothered Jared all that much, he'd just opt out. Or, he would have in the beginning. Now he's pretty sure he's so far in, he'll never be able to walk away.

When they get back home, Jared guides Jensen into the hotel suite they use when they're in Los Angeles on business. It's not the swankiest place on Earth or anything, but the network pays for it, so neither of them complains. It has two bedrooms with en suites, a kitchen, and a living room. They don't really need anything else, since they don't normally stay here all that much. One, or both of them, usually hooks up with friends and stays out until far too late, or just doesn't bother coming back at all. In fact, Jared thinks this might be the first time they've both come back from something together without someone running off the second their driver is out of sight.

Jensen makes it into the kitchen for a bottle of water and then makes a weird face at his hand when he pulls it out of his hair. “The hell'd they put in our hair, man?” he asks, pressing his fingers together and then struggling to pull them apart.

Jared accepts the water bottle he's offering and considers Jensen for a second. “Shower,” he suggests with a shrug.

Jensen considers him for a moment, like maybe it's not even okay to take Jared's advice on something as stupid as washing gunk out of his hair. “Knew I kept you around for something.” He heads down the hall. Just like that. Conversation over.

Fans seem to think that they're the kind of friends who spend all of their free time together, even when they're not working. It's true that they do hang out together sometimes. And they do live together all of the time. But it's not like they don't have their own friends. Their own lives. It's not like they actually live in each other's pockets.

But lately, Jared's not sure when or why it happened, they kind of do. Live in each other's pockets, that is. They spend a lot more time watching television together, and cooking together, and going to bars after work together. All that time he used to spend fucking around with random girls or Genevieve or whatever? Is now spent hanging out with Jensen. Even when they're not fucking, they feel more . . . connected. Or something.

Maybe it's just the exhaustion talking. Maybe tomorrow, everything will look different. Like it used to. When it was easy and they were just fucking.

*-*-*

Last night, Jensen was pretty sure that he could sleep for a month or more. He's been drained for awhile now. Somewhere between filming season 4 and now, he stopped referring to his and Jared's job-induced silence as 'character bleed' and started calling it 'character hemorrhage.' That's what it felt like, after. Like Dean Winchester was split so far open that Jensen Ackles couldn't stop the guy from saturating his every thought and emotion.

Of course, that was months ago. And somehow, he and Jared managed to shave their stupid beards and start to find themselves again. They started to feel normal, like the friends they used to be. At least, that's what he tells himself when he's alone in his trailer, or his bedroom, or anywhere that Jared isn't.

Because, if he doesn't tell himself that it's what it used to be, then he has to admit that it's turning into something else. Something more. And if he allows himself a rare moment of brutal honesty, he has to admit that it's been more for a long damn time. That his feelings for Jared haven't dissipated in five years, and they're not going to any time soon.

The bitch of it is that Jensen's okay with that. He doesn't mind wanting Jared around or even liking him when he is. What he does mind is the way the guy sets him on edge. Causes his control to slip. Makes him want to let it all go. And maybe if he wasn't so fucking scared to admit that, they wouldn't still be pretending that they're just fucking around.

If they didn't both know it was something else, Jensen's dragging Jared down the hall yesterday all but proved it. Because he's not that guy. He doesn't do shit like that. Doesn't need someone so badly that he just can't fucking wait to get home. Doesn't get overwhelmed like that. For anyone. Except when he does, apparently.

After coffee and a quick shower, he dresses and figures he might as well pack. Jared's probably not going to be up for another couple of hours anyway. And their flight back to Vancouver doesn't leave until ten tonight. Red eyes are safer than any other for getting them in and out of the airport unrecognized.

Fifteen minutes later, he's bored out of his mind, and there's nothing on television. He doesn't want to call Steve or anyone else he might know in LA. Doesn't want to hit any of his favorite haunts for lunch or even drop in on his agent for an unannounced check-in. He really wants to flop down on the couch in the living room and watch television with Jared, but he hasn't heard so much as a stir from down the hall, so it's entirely possible that he's not even up yet.

Thirty minutes after that, Jensen's had just about all he can take of the four walls in his own bedroom. Sliding off the bed, he makes his way across the hall and listens for any movement, or even the sound of the television in Jared's room. It's silent, so he pushes the door open.

Only to find Jared standing in front of the mirror in nothing but his cowboy hat, a pair of white boxer briefs, and those goddamn chaps from yesterday. He's checking himself out critically, as though trying to figure out if he looks okay or not. Or, he was until Jensen pushed the door too far and the hinges creaked.

Then Jared jumps, yanks the hat off his head and uses it to cover the front of his shorts. Which is kind of funny when you think about it. Not like Jensen hasn't seen it before.

“What the fuck, man?” Jared shrieks. Okay, it's less of a shriek and more of a guttural sound from his throat, but whatever. “You ever heard of knocking?”

Jensen leans against the doorjamb and doesn't even try to pretend that he's not watching the way the dark, smooth, tan skin against the inside of Jared's thigh is accentuated by the black leather. They fall lower on his hips than yesterday. Of course, yesterday, he was wearing pants with them.

“You were quiet,” Jensen answers with a smirk and a shrug. He doesn't have any kind of humiliation kink or anything, but the way Jared's chest blooms pink under the scrutiny lets him know that he has the upper hand. And that he does have a kink for. “Thought you might have died in your sleep.”

Rolling his eyes, Jared seems to regain some of his own composure, tossing his hat onto the bed and resting his hands on his hips. “So?” he raises an eyebrow and turns his back, wiggling his ass just a bit before turning back around again. “You told me to bring 'em home, right? Is this what you had in mind?”

Jensen doesn't say anything; eyes fixated on the cut of Jared's narrow hips as he pushes out of the doorway and makes his way over. Circling like a shark, he rests a hand on Jared's back and lets it drag over warm skin as he zeroes in on the perfect frame of that ass again. “Better,” he finally whispers into the spot behind Jared's ear that makes him crazy. His hand slips low, runs over the soft fabric of Jared's underwear, and then drags up over the leather. “So much fuckin' better.”

Jared shivers, probably visibly. He can't be sure, but he knows that Jensen's breath and his grazing fingertips are almost too goddamn much. “Jen,” he sighs, eyes drifting closed when Jensen's thumb grazes his nipple. He can feel that breath ghosting against his chin, and he can't really seem to help the way his tongue juts out to run the length of his bottom lip.

And then Jensen pulls himself away. Backs up to the bed and sits on the unmade mattress. “Come here, Jay,” he beckons, hands flat against the bed.

Jared does as he's told. Almost. Instead of stepping between Jensen's spread thighs, though, he stops just shy of brushing his knees against Jensen's, and reaches one of his long arms out to run it over the top of Jensen's hair. “Man, this cowboy thing really gets to you, doesn't it?”

He smiles, so brightly it nearly knocks Jensen back, and that's when it happens. When Jensen says the one thing he swore he was never going to say to Jared. The one thing that was never supposed to enter into this entire arrangement.

“It's not the cowboy thing that gets to me.”

Sure, it's not a true confession, but the way his eyes zero in on Jared's mouth when he says it, the way that he averts his eyes so quickly afterward, tell Jared everything he needs to know. He doesn't ask him to clarify. Doesn't need to.

Besides, Jensen's mouth is now otherwise occupied. What with the way he's licking and sucking at the cut of Jared's hip, tracing it with his tongue to the top of the white boxer briefs. Jared just lets his head fall back, soft moans escaping his throat when he tucks his fingers inside the waistband and pulls the underwear down beneath the leather chaps.

How the hell he ends up in these ridiculous situations with Jensen, Jared's not sure. It could, of course, have something to do with the way Jensen's perfect lips envelope his cock and lave at it like a Popsicle in summer.

Jensen feels Jared's hand on the nape of his neck, supporting and guiding him as he wraps his fist around the base of the cock in his mouth and works it slowly. Firmly. Normally, he would push the hand away, shake it off, and do this his way. Refuse to leave Jared a shred of hope that he held a single card in this game they're playing.

But they're not playing a game anymore, and Jensen's tired of pretending. He lets Jared tighten his fingers in the back of his short hair and speeds his suction on the thickening cock between his lips. Can't stop the moan that escapes his throat. Can't help wondering if Jared knows that he doesn't do this often. Doesn't suck just anybody's dick. Doesn't particularly like it a lot of the time.

This is different, though. It's all different, because Jared is. Doubling his efforts, Jensen hollows his cheeks and begins to bob his head on Jared's cock, the pulling of his hair and stream of filth spilling over his lips urging him forward.

Jared can feel the release building, knows that he won't hold out much longer. Gripping tight to the back of Jensen's head, he pulls himself away and groans when his dick pops wet from Jensen's bright red lips. “Fuck me,” he growls low, nearly under his breath and Jensen nods.

Sliding off of the bed, Jensen strips out of his tee shirt and jeans while Jared stands at the end of the bed, waiting for word on where and how Jensen wants him. There's a part of him that wants Jared to slide those boxer briefs over his ass and just keep those damn chaps right where they are. Seriously? They frame his ass like classic art, and it's a damn tempting proposition.

Instead, he steps into Jared's personal space and pulls the soft leather through the silver buckle. “Take 'em off, Jay,” he instructs, hands trailing lazily along Jared's chest and shoulders as he fumbles to rid himself of the heavy pants. His underwear follow, and when he's naked, Jensen nods over his shoulder. “Get on the bed.”

Jared sits back on the mattress and notes that Jensen's not telling him what to do. No on your hands and knees or get on your side or ride me, Jay. Jensen's just watching him, and it's not awkward or uncomfortable. Well, aside from the fact that he's granite hard and thinks he might pass out from loss of blood to his head.

“However you want it, Jay,” Jensen's voice is low, rough, and it catches a little in his throat. He's not the only one feeling this moment, and now, Jared is sure of it. It's not exactly unusual for Jensen to ask Jared what he wants when they're like this, but it's unprecedented for him to do it for any reason other than teasing or taunting Jared into begging.

The truth is that Jared doesn't usually care how they do it. He cares that Jensen is inside of him, filling him up, and growling under his breath like it's the best thing that's ever happened to him. How they do it doesn't usually matter.

But there's nothing usual about this. And even if they were the most oblivious people on the planet (which . . . ), they'd have to feel this shit. The energy between them is electric, and Jared slides back on the bed, legs falling open, with a smile on his face.

They've done this in about as many different positions as you can possibly imagine, but rarely like this. It's not something they've ever discussed, but there's an intimacy in lying on his back, Jensen resting on top of him, faces so close together that they can't help breathing each other in, that they stay away from most of the time. Jared wants the intimacy now.

At home, Jensen would reach for the condoms and the lube in the bedside table. Here, in Jared's hotel room, he's not sure where they are. That probably says something significant about the state of their relationship, and he should probably consider what that is, but Jared is naked and sprawled out on the bed, and it's just going to have to wait for further contemplation. “You got any,” Jensen starts to ask.

Jared rolls over and pulls the drawer open on the bedside table with a sheepish grin. “I put it in here last night in case you wanted to,” he shakes his head and throws both onto the bed between his spread knees. “So you'd know where to find it.”

He's always hot, Jared is. There's really never a time when Jensen doesn't want to devour him whole. But when he's embarrassed, he's almost kind of cute. Jensen's not going to tell him that or anything, or ever really admit that he notices, but nonetheless, there's a cute factor.

Of course, in the time that it takes Jensen to come to this realization, Jared has reached for the lube and popped the lid. “Wait,” Jensen stops him by grabbing his wrist. “Let me.”

Jared's gotten used to prepping himself for Jensen. It's not something they actually discuss, but Jensen loves watching him do it, so he doesn't mind. Turns out, Jensen's slick fingers teasing in and out is actually much better. “Fuck, Jen,” he hisses, head falling back against the wall as Jensen crawls over his body, lips trailing a wet swath up his chest and neck.

“You like that, Jay?” Jensen's words are hot against his ear, his fingers (three of them) sliding in and out of Jared's ass. He doesn't talk a lot during sex, but what he does say, and the tone he says it in, never fails to push Jared almost to the edge.

Releasing the sheet with one hand, Jared wraps his long fingers around Jensen's neck and turns his head, lips skirting over the stubble of Jensen's jaw. “Want your cock,” Jared growls, because Jensen's fingers are good, but there's a better alternative here.

Without further prodding, Jensen pulls back, resting on his heels between Jared's knees. He works the condom and then the lube over his own shaft, noting the way that Jared's eyes track the movement of his fist, and then he leans back. “You want it?” he asks, capturing Jared's lips and swallowing his whimper. “Take it.”

He does as he's told, like he always does with Jensen, guiding him in and then wrapping his legs around Jensen's thighs. There's really no reason to believe that Jensen is going to try to escape or anything, but Jared's not taking any chances. It's entirely possible that Jensen could change his mind about this tomorrow, that this doesn't really mean what he thinks it does, and if he only gets one shot, Jared's not going to waste it.

They rock together, bodies in perfect sync, lips and tongues sucking and biting with the rhythm. They moan and grunt and make other indecipherable sounds of pleasure against each other's necks and ears, no words needed to convey just how right this is.

It feels like maybe this thing with Jared has been heading here for a long damn time now. For the better part of the time they've been fucking each other, Jensen has known it, but he just wasn't ready to admit it. Wasn't ready to relinquish control. Wasn't ready to share his life with anyone.

But now, with Jared sighing and nipping at his ear and telling him that it feels so goddamn good and amazing and perfect, he knows that he can't run anymore. There's no reason to. He prides himself on giving his best to the guys that he fucks, but Jared has seen him at his absolute worst and is still here, writhing and pleading and keening under him. Jared knows all of his faults and foibles, and he still wants this.

“Fuck, Jared, gonna,” Jensen bites off the groan and pulls fast and firm at Jared's wet cock.

“Yeah, Jensen, yeah,” Jared responds in kind, tightening his legs, and raising his hips to take deep the thrusts that Jensen is giving. “Almost gonna,” he sucks in a gasping breath, “Fuck, don't stop.”

As if he can. His hips snap erratically, and Jared keeps the rhythm, erupting messily over Jensen' fist and tightening hard around his dick. “Dammit,” Jensen curses when Jared's eyes hold his through his orgasm. How long have they been staring at each other? Jensen doesn't know, and he doesn't fucking care. He just knows that he can't tear his gaze away from those wide, hazel orbs.

Though, when Jared grabs the hand Jensen still has gripped around his cock and licks his tongue flat over the palm, it's pretty damn hard to keep from squeezing his own eyes shut. Because fuckin' hell, man. Jared's licking his own come off of Jensen's hand and that's not supposed to be the death of him?

He comes suddenly and so hard he thinks he maybe loses consciousness for a few minutes. When he flops onto the bed at Jared's side, he can feel Jared's hand gently removing the condom, but he doesn't bother opening his eyes to watch him throw it away. Isn't really sure he could do anything about it if he did look.

“You gonna grab a shower?” Jared's question seems innocent enough, but this is the tell. Jensen always rolls out of the bed when they're done, makes some excuse to scuttle off to the shower before things can get anymore “serious.”

This time, though, Jared knows it's different, because Jensen's answer is simply a non-committal, “Eventually.”

Trying his damnedest to hide just how happy that makes him, Jared grabs the remote from the table and turns the television on, flipping through a few channels before stopping on an old John Wayne western on some classic movie channel. “Look, Jen,” he smirks wickedly, rolling his head to catch the side of Jensen's face in his peripheral. “This must be like porn for you, man.”

Jensen shakes his head, smirk on his lips and his eyes still closed. “I hate you,” he mumbles.

“You love me,” Jared fires back the automatic response.

What's Jensen supposed to say? No? What's the point in denying it anymore?

In lieu of an answer, he rolls his head, lets his eyes drift open long enough to catch Jared's attention, and then dips to press a kiss to the sweat-moistened skin of his shoulder before returning his focus to the television.

It's time to admit that he has a kink. Something that just gets to him every time, without fail. But it's not a cowboy hat, or a pair of pointed-toed boots. It's not even some damn leather chaps. It's Jared. Always has been. Always will be.

Though, any time Jared wants to throw those chaps on, with those boots and that black Stetson? He's not going to object or anything.