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Title: It Could Be the Boots (Sequel to It's Gotta Be the Hat)
Author: [livejournal.com profile] raeschae
Beta: None – I'm on my own this time, though [livejournal.com profile] vamphile did approve for hotness and give me some pretty fantastic ideas.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Jared/Jensen
Warning: cowboy!kink, rimming, boys being oblivious
Word Count: 3200
Disclaimer: I do not own a black Stetson or brown leather cowboy boots. Jared does let me borrow his occasionally. In my dreams.

Summary: As it turns out, it's not just the black Stetson that Jensen can't resist.
(This is the sequel to It's Gotta Be the Hat. It's not really necessary to read that one first, I don't think.)



Jensen's always been pretty anal. Er, detail-oriented. So it doesn't strike Jared as weird that, while sitting at dinner the night before a con appearance in England, Jensen casts a glance over the side of the table and says, “You get new shoes?”

Jared barely flicks his eyes to the floor to note that he's still wearing the flip-flops he wore on the plane. “Had 'em awhile,” he says with a shrug. “Easier to get off at the airport than the boots,” he goes on to explain.

The question is easy, and so insignificant that Jared really doesn't think about it again.

Not until he's sitting on stage the following day, Jason Manns at his side, answering questions for the audience at the over-crowded, under-organized con.

He's tired, jet-lagged, confused from talking to people who don't speak English, and people who claim that they do, but still don't make any sense to him. God help him, he's trying to get through this panel without making an ass of himself, but sometimes he gets thrown.

But then a fan fumbles through a question about Jensen and a cowboy movie, and Jared blurts out, “He'd like to do a cowboy?” and something clicks into place in his brain. “Now that you mention it, that does ring a familiar tone.” He laughs with Jason about the statement, but in his mind, he's back in some honky tonk, wannabe bar in Vancouver, and Jensen's eyes are clouding over with unadulterated lust the second he sees Jared in a black Stetson.

It's been months since Jensen has fucked him, and normally Jared can push it to the back of his brain. Season four kicked both of their asses to hell and back and the character bleed alone put strain on their normally-solid friendship. It fucked the rest of whatever the fuck it is they're doing together all to shit.

More than once, he's told himself that it doesn't fucking matter. That he and Jensen aren't in love or anything, so it's not like he should be bothered by the fact that they're not fucking. Easy come, easy go. That's the philosophy Jared's adopted over the course of his time in Hollywood, and it fits the situation perfectly. Because this thing with Jensen? It's the easiest damn thing Jared's ever done.

He's not gay. Doesn't even really consider himself bi. He fucks a lot of women. A lot of them. Loves it, if he's honest with himself and anyone else who would ask. In fact, Jensen's the only guy Jared's ever really wanted to go there with. Genevieve says it's weird that he's a straight guy who bottoms with the only guy he's ever slept with. Apparently, because he fucks women, he should only prefer to do the fucking, not to have his ass licked, fondled, and fucked for hours on end. She's apparently never been licked, fondled, and fucked by Jensen Ackles.

He can't exactly walk into Jensen's room and demand that the guy fuck him. That's not the way this thing between them works, and even if it did, Jared wouldn't do it. Because that would be admitting his need for Jensen, and he doesn't need Jensen. He wants him. So fucking bad it hurts sometimes, but they're not in love and they're never going to be, so he's not willing to sacrifice his dignity on the altar of a one off.

Still, he misses the feeling of those insistent fingers on his hips and that mouth breathing hot and wet against his neck. He misses feeling Jensen inside him and all around him, and he's been wracking his brain for awhile to come up with a plan to get the guy's attention. To feel Jensen again.

And then the cowboy thing. And for the rest of the panel, all he can think is, 'Jensen said he'd like to do a cowboy, and 'You get new shoes?' and the look in Jensen's eyes when Jared slipped the hat on and rode him like a dime store pony. It's dangerous, because someone asks him what his personal theme song is later in the panel, and the only song flitting through his brain is Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy. Even through his jetlagged fog, Jared knows that would not go unnoticed. By anyone.

Later, when he's skipping the closing ceremony of the Con to “sleep,” Jared decides that he's going to have Jensen again before this European vacation is over. He's going to use Jensen's cowboy kink against him, and he's going to make him realize that six months between fucks is not okay.

Three days later, in Spain, he stands in front of the mirror in the two-bedroom suite they're sharing, and smirks. The fact that he even bothered to bring the Stetson kind of tells him that he already had a hunch about Jensen's cowboy fascination, and he has to admit that he looks pretty damn good in it. The toes of the beaten and worn boots Jensen was missing in London peek out beneath the frayed hem of his favorite jeans, and he just fucking knows this is going to work. It has to.

 
"Jensen!" he shouts at the top of his lungs through the wall dividing their bedrooms.  Stuffing his wallet into his back pocket, he adds, "Move your ass, man!"  The club he's chosen for them is in Barcelona's gay district and if grinding against the guy on the dance floor, dressed like more of a cowboy than Chris Kane ever dreamed doesn't get Jensen in his bed at the end of the night, Jared's just going to give the fuck up.
 
He turns and then stops short.  Jensen is standing in the doorway, thumbs hooked in his belt loops.  There is no mistaking the look of unfiltered lust in his eyes as they practically molest Jared head-to-toe.  With a wicked smirk, Jared tips his hat.  "Thought I'd show Europe what a real cowboy looks like."  His 'actor' voice is gone now, while his Texas twang slips through the cracks, slow and lazy-like, and his fingers stroke the huge belt buckle he's sporting.
 
"Ya know," Jensen points out, pushing off of the door frame and moving toward Jared with the speed of a stalking tiger.  "Spain has, like, bull fighters and shit.  Matadors and gauchos.  They already know what a real cowboy looks like."  His fingers find the waist band of Jared's jeans as he steps into his personal space, and it's almost like coming home.  The familiarity of Jensen's warm hands against his hips feels like everything comfortable in his world sliding back into place.  Like maybe he was missing this more than he realized he was.
 
"Oh yeah, huh?" he concedes playfully, fighting like hell not to acknowledge the press of Jensen's thigh against his.  They both play their parts in this . . . thing.  But that doesn't mean that he has to willingly surrender in under thirty seconds.  He has some dignity, after all. 
 
"Huh," Jensen's breath is hot and moist at Jared's neck, just before he glides his tongue over the Adam's Apple and then continues licking and nipping a trail along Jared's jaw, to his earlobe.  He manages to undo the belt buckle and push the denim off of Jared's hips before he says, "On the bed.  On your knees.  Keep the boots and the hat."
 
Jared nods and Jensen just steps back, gives him room to move while he crosses his arms over his chest and watches.  Watches the way Jared kicks his jeans off over his boots, and the way he shrugs out of his black button down with ease while keeping his head straight enough to hold the hat in place.  He thinks he's sneaky, that Jared doesn't fucking know that Jensen wants this as much as he does, but it's written all over the guy's face as he rakes those mossy eyes up and down Jared's boxer-brief clad form. 
 
Just before Jared begins to pull his briefs down his thighs, Jensen pushes off the wall again.  "Leave those, too," he instructs and Jared does as he's told.  Turning his back to climb onto the mattress means he can't see Jensen watching him, but he knows he's there.  It's enough.
 
If he really thinks about it too long, Jared will probably start to feel a little stupid.  He's got a cowboy hat and boots on, along with a pair of black boxer briefs and he's kneeling on all fours in the middle of a mattress in a hotel room in the middle of Spain.  His life is not like most people's, he would venture a guess.
 
But when Jensen's hands grip his calfs and trail to his knees, up over the backs of his thighs, he doesn't really fucking care about anything else.  The fingers slide over the fabric of his underwear and then over his hips.  Avoiding touching Jared anywhere more intimate than his legs, Jensen trails those whisper-touches back down the front of Jared's thighs, fingers teasing the soft hairs there.  When his hands reach the mattress, they slide back to Jared's calves and then dip inside the boots.  He turns his head to cast a glance over his shoulder when the touch is gone and finds Jensen running his fingers over the stitch work on the boots with one hand while he uses the other to palm himself through his jeans.
 
Licking his lips, he meets Jared's eye and grins wide, all teeth and glinting eyes and it could either look predatory or foreboding.  Either way, it's the moment that Jared knows, without a doubt, that he's going to get fucked.  "Slide up," Jensen says, and Jared does.  Knees pressed against the outside of Jared's calves, Jensen pulls his tee shirt over his head and runs both of his hands from the bottom of Jared's ass to the top, and then continues touching the smooth, tanned skin of his back.  "Christ, Jay.  Fuckin' bigger than last time," he mutters, his thumbs tracing the contours of his shoulder muscles.
 
Jared just laughs and reaches to palm himself.  "Should feel me from this side," he teases, only to have his wrist swatted away by the man now pressing a denim-covered erection against his cotton-covered ass.  "Jesus, Jensen," he hisses before he can reel his reaction back in.
 
"Yeah?"  Jensen's smirk is practically audible.  "You like that, Jay?  You want it, huh?" 

Jared wants to point out that he wasn't the one who went from zero to fuckin' diamond-cutter in the time it took him to tip his hat with a finger, but that's not his role in this game.  They've never defined it, but Jensen's in control and Jared's okay with that.  He knows now.  He's figured Jensen out.  If he wants to fuck around with his best friend, he knows how to make it happen.  So who's in control again?

"Yeah, Jen," he gives the answer he's supposed to give.  Which happens to also be the truth, so that works out well.  Rocking back, he feels Jensen's fingers pressing into his straining forearms as he bends himself over Jared's back and scrapes his teeth over each knob of his spine.  "Fuckin' want," he starts, but the way Jensen grabs the waist band of his briefs with his teeth and pulls them down over the curve of Jared's ass?  Kind of makes higher brain function impossible.

"What do you want?" Jensen asks as he lets go of one arm to help push the underwear down as far as he wants them, "Want me to lick you open?  That what you want, Jay?"  And the strain finally gets to Jared's elbow as his arm flinches and the hat slides forward from the sudden movement.  "Better keep it on, man.  I can stop any time," Jensen warns just before his teeth return to Jared's back, picking up where they left against his vertebrae. 

 
It's not easy.  In order to keep the hat on his head, he has to keep his back and his neck straight.  Can't let his head fall forward and drop back.  He's frozen now to the point that a shift of his hips will upset his balance.  The hat will be gone, and Jensen will stop.  So he holds it.  And it's fine, until Jensen's tongue travels the cleft of his ass and his hands spread Jared to his appraising gaze.  He almost tosses a look over his shoulder, just to see the wicked hungry look in Jensen's eye when his tongue circles the hole for the first time, but he can't do it.  Because the hat will fall, and Jensen will stop.

Using every weight-lifting technique he can remember, Jared pushes through the pain of holding himself steady while Jensen rolls his tongue inside and pulls it back, lips hot and wet against Jared's skin like the deep, sloppy mouth kisses they don't share.  The muscles in his forearms and shoulders stand in stark relief beneath darkened skin flushed pink with exertion.  He can feel the sweat along his cheek, down his throat, sliding down the backs of his legs.  His thighs shake from the pleasure, and his biceps from the strain, but he'll be damned if that fucking hat is falling off of his head.

"Goddammit, Jensen!" he finally grits through clenched teeth.  "Fuckin' do it already," he adds.  It's torture, and if he's completely honest, he fucking loves it.  Because Jensen loves it.  Because he knows that Jensen's hard as a fucking rock back there just from driving Jared insane.  Doesn't make it any less frustrating and painful.

With an obscenely slick smack of his lips against Jared's skin, Jensen pulls back and his breathing is slightly labored when he says, "Relax, Cowboy."  He trails the tips of his fingers over Jared's ass, an echo of a touch, and it nearly sends him crashing to the mattress.  "Gonna getcha there."  Even when Jensen backs off the bed, and Jared can hear him shedding his shoes and jeans, the guy keeps talking.  "Look so goddamn good."  He moves toward the side of the bed.  "Muscles made for biting."  He dips his head and sinks his teeth playfully into Jared's protruding tricep.  "Fucking miles of skin to lick and touch."  His fingers dance over the the marks his teeth just left.  "And this ass?"  he disappears from Jared's view and he feels those soft, plush lips press against the curve.  "God, Jay. I'd fuckin' live in this ass if I could."

There is a whimper.  It's possible that it comes from Jared.  "Jensen, I can't," he starts to say, steeling himself for the inevitable rejection, for Jensen stopping because Jared can't live up to his end of the bargain.  He tried.  God, he fucking tried, but his arms are turning to noodles and he's pretty sure he's going to fall on his face at any second. 
 
He feels knees pressed against his calves and then the weight of Jensen's bare skin pressing the boots against his ankles.  One hand holds the hat to his head and the other wraps around his waist.  "Sit back," Jensen whispers against Jared's ear and then continues sucking at his jaw as Jared collapses against Jensen's bare chest.  "You okay?" he asks, voice husky and low.  Jared just nods and Jensen strokes him slow and lazy.  A second ago, he was sure he would come from one more pass of Jensen's tongue.  Now he's just trying to regain feeling in his limbs. 
 
A few minutes pass and it occurs to Jared that Jensen is holding him.  Fucking holding him, one hand splayed flat against his chest and the other moving lazily up and down his cock.  He's not saying anything, neither of them are.  They're just . . . sitting.  And it's fucking weird because its not what they do.  At all.  And yet, it's not wrong. It doesn't feel strange in the least.  In fact, it kind of almost feels . . . right.  Of course, when he realizes that, Jared freaks out just a little bit.  Because a.) this shit with Jensen only works because there's no "feelings" involved, and b.) Jared's not gay. 
 
Mustering all of the strength he has, he pulls out of Jensen's arms and rolls onto his back, long legs clasping behind Jensen's back and pulling him onto Jared's chest with an 'oomph'.  "What the fuck are you doing?" Jensen asks when Jared's allowed him to push himself up to his knees again. 
 
Legs still securely encircling his waist, Jared grins and rakes his eyes over the freckled, toned chest of the man in front of him.  "You gonna fuck me or what?" 
 
It's all the invitation Jensen needs, apparently, because he grabs the backs of Jared's knees and pulls him closer.  With his legs on Jensen's shoulders, he feels the slick lube and the satisfying fill of Jensen's cock inside him.  Fuck. 

This is what he's been missing.  This is what he needs.  This is what none of women he loves to fuck can give him.  This is the part that is only Jensen's.  Jared can't tell him that or anything.  This game has only ever been played on Jensen's terms, and that's okay.  He's not even sure he wants it to be anything more, or different, or whatever.  He just knows that he's not waiting another six months to come so hard his vision whites and he almost misses Jensen turning his face to rub his stubbled cheek against the soft leather of Jared's boot.
 
When they're finished, Jensen slips off the end of the bed and pulls Jared's boots and socks from his feet.  He takes the hat from his head and tosses it onto the floor and then turns for Jared's bathroom. 

He'll take a shower, gather his clothes, and then either ask if they're still going out, or just head back to his own room.  This isn't a relationship, after all.  It's just a fantasy.  Something to fill some time and scratch an itch.  That's how it's always been, and that's how it's going to be. 
 
Now if that nagging voice in the back of his head would just get the fuckin' memo.
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January 2013

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