raeschae | Like a Virgin (a disclaimer!verse OneShot)

raeschae

Title: Like a Virgin (a disclaimer!verse OneShot)
Author:

raeschae
Beta:

neutraldeviance
Graphics:

raeschae
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters/Pairings: Jared/Jensen, OMC (Brayden), Chad, Sophia, Genevieve
Warnings: Questionable parenting decisions? I don't know – there aren't really any this time.
Word Count: 1800+
Disclaimer: Really? I mean . . . really?

Summary: Convinced that he is now, at 16, a man, Brayden comes to collect on a deal he made awhile back with Jared. Unfortunately, his qualifications for manhood aren't exactly the same as Jared's.
Part of the disclaimer!verse

A/N: I've been itching to do this one for awhile. Takes place about six months after Geeked.

Also, I think it's only fair to warn you that this will be the last disclaimer!verse installment until the Christmas story in December. I need to, at the very least, try to write something else, I think. :)

One more quick thing? Graphics under the cut, so watch out if you need to.

It's not often that Slinging Ink is open to the public and there are no clients inside. Especially at six in the evening. But Jared's not complaining. He bought a new book on Impressionist art last week, and hasn't really had the time to look through it yet. Genevieve's on the phone with some chick she met at a bar last night. Sophia's sitting on Chad's table with her legs wrapped around his waist like a vice. Steve's on the road with Chris, and Katie's up in San Francisco, helping a friend who's a little short-handed at his shop this week. He's not sure where Sandy ran off to, but it's probably important. She doesn't skip out of work for the hell of it.

When the bell dings over the door, Jared drags his eyes from his book and smiles.

Tom told him that they were insane when he and Jensen bought Brayden a motorcycle instead of a car for his sixteenth birthday, but he doesn't so much care what the fuck Tom thinks. It's not a fancy bike, just a Harley Sportster, but the look on his face when the gift was presented to him at his party back in January was fucking priceless. Jared would buy the kid a fucking fleet of the damn things if it meant Brayden would always look that happy.

Helmet under his arm, the kid pushes his hair out of his face by sliding his sunglasses onto the top of his head. He drops the helmet onto Genevieve's desk and then peels the custom leather Ollie jacket from his shoulders with a shit-eating grin that Jared's pretty sure he's never seen on the kid's lips before. “'Sup, Kid?” he asks.

Brayden pulls his tee shirt over his head and drops it with his jacket onto Jared's station before hopping onto the table and meeting his eye. “Ink me,” he says.

Jared just laughs. “The fuck you talkin' about?”

Apparently, Brayden's not joking. “Tattoos are for grown-ass adults. When you're a man, you can have as many as you fuckin' want.” The words aren't his own, they're the ones Jared has been telling him for two years now. Sure, he and Jensen both got tats when they were sixteen, but that doesn't mean it was a good idea. Hell, Jensen's walkin' around with a fuckin' rainbow flag on the inside of his wrist for eternity. It's Jared's experience that sixteen-year-old boys don't make the best decisions when it comes to ink.

“So you're a man now?” Jared asks, eyebrow quirked in amusement. “'Cause I gotta tell ya, dude. Still look like the kid who was bitchin' about his Geometry test on the way to school this morning to me.”

Rolling his eyes, Brayden's gangly legs swing freely over the side of the chair. “Trust me, Jay,” he says with a shrug. “Not a kid. Not anymore.”

Jared's still confused, but Chad lets out a 'woohoo' and disentangles himself from his wife long enough to offer the kid a high five. “Congrats, dude,” he winks and Brayden flushes and practically fuckin' glows.

He's still trying to figure out exactly what the hell is going on, what on Earth Brayden could have done that would impress Chad, when Sophia gets that 'look at the box of puppies and kittens' expression on her face. “Bray!” she coos, sliding down from her seat to wrap the kid into a hug. When she pulls back, she brushes a stray strand of blond hair from his face and purses her lips. “Please tell me you didn't just rush right over here after. You talked to her for awhile first, right?”

After? After what? What the fuck is everybody talking . . . oh. “Oh!” Jared exclaims when the pieces of the puzzle finally slide into place.

He's not an idiot, but dammit if his head was nowhere near that headspace when his kid came walking into the shop. Mostly because he doesn't really have a headspace for the thoughts of Brayden and Demi, or anyone else, doing that. He knows damn well that they fool around in Jensen's supply closet, and that he once caught them making out in the massage chair, hands in places he's effectively blocked out, thank you very much. But he's just never given much thought to his little twelve-year-old kid actually having . . . sex. Fuck.

“That's what she said,” Brayden grins wickedly and Sophia cuffs the back of his head before sauntering across the room to her own station. Attention back on Jared, he rubs his hands together and licks his lips. “Now, I was thinking something in color,” he starts.

Interrupted by the dinging of the bell over the door, Jared and Brayden both turn their heads and Jared can't fight the grin. “'Sgoin' on?” Jensen asks, pierced eyebrow quirking at the sight of Brayden's scrawny, shirtless form on Jared's table.

“Your son is a “man” now,” Genevieve informs him and then rolls her eyes at the confused look Jensen shoots her. “You guys are perfect for each other,” she mutters under her breath.

“The fuck's she talkin' about?” Jensen asks, walking over to his family and dropping onto the stool, his big-ass skater shoes propped up on the table as he leans back. He considers Brayden, with the flushed glow in his cheeks and the bright smile. “Why you lookin' at me like that? Where's your fuckin' shirt?”

Brayden rolls his eyes like they're both the lamest individuals on the planet and huffs in frustration. “Jay promised to do my first tat. I'm collectin',” he explains as though it should be obvious.

Jensen's brow furrows. “You're sixteen,” he says, like Brayden doesn't already know that. “You left a half-eaten bowl of Frankenberries on the counter this morning.”

To anyone else, it would sound like the most random phrase in the history of random phrases, but Jared gets it. He was fourteen his first time. Jensen was seventeen. He knows it didn't make either of them any more manly. Of course, explaining that to this kid without sounding like an even bigger douche is pretty much impossible.

“Is anybody else gonna tell him that dippin' his dick doesn't actually make him a man?” Genevieve asks bluntly, and Jared kind of wants to kiss her. And not just because she has that tongue ring that he wishes Jensen would consider getting sometime very, very soon. Off of the murderous look Brayden gives her, she adds, “Dude, it's cool. I'm happy for ya. Fuck half of Santa Monica if you want. Just . . . it's not like an epic event or whatever.”

“Except the part where it kinda is an epic event,” Sophia interjects, smiling warmly when Brayden turns grateful eyes on her. The three men in the room groan and she glares, mostly at Chad. “Every one of you remembers your first time, so don't fuckin' start with that 'I'm a guy and I don't give a fuck about that sentimental bull shit' stuff. It's a big fuckin' deal.”

The bitch of it is that she's right. Jared remembers his first time with less-than-perfect clarity. If he hadn't been drunk off his ass, he'd recall it in surround sound. She was a few years older than him, and they were on a bathroom floor at some party thrown by some kid he didn't even know. To this day, he doesn't know her name, and he's still not sure how they went from exchanging polite, slurred hellos to her riding his dick.

Jensen told him the story of the preacher's kid at his church who dragged him into his room after some Bible study and bent over the end of his bed. Also told him about the way the kid refused to look at him after that, and started callin' Jensen a ass-munching faggot to anyone who would listen.

So yeah, everybody remembers their first fucking time. Not everybody remembers it with the blinding smile that Brayden's sporting. And maybe that's why Jared makes a snap decision and says, “Ground rules. I am not putting her name anywhere on your body. It's tacky, and I'm not payin' to have it removed later.” Jensen laughs and Jared follows his glance to the place where Chad is almost blushing in the back corner. “Choose carefully, 'cause it's the only one you get before eighteen,” he goes on, and Brayden's eyes are widening with each word. Like he can't believe he's actually going to get his tat. “You gotta be able to tell me exactly what you want, where you want it, and why,” he finishes.

He feels Jensen's hand on the back of his thigh and he angles his head to shoot a glance that says, 'He's sixteen, man.' Jensen just nods his concession.

Digging into his pocket, Brayden hands over a square of paper. “Drew it up over Christmas break,” he explains. “Want it here,” he leans back and pulls the waistband of his jeans down just far enough to expose the jut of his bony hip. “Cause that's where the important shit goes, right?” Jensen smiles and runs his fingers over his own hip beneath the hem of his tee shirt, over the place where Jared tattooed their anniversary date after their first year together. “Listen, man,” Brayden goes on, “We all know this ain't gonna be the last one I get, right? But it is the first, and it's kind of a bigger fuckin' deal than what I did today.” He blushes, but licks his lips and pushes on. “It's about family.”

Jared glances down at the piece and thinks for a second that he couldn't have come up with anything better if he was left to design the thing himself. He hands it to Jensen and sets about gathering the ink that he's going to need to bring the thing to life. Black for the date – 11/3 – that he legally became theirs. Blue for the nautical star behind the eleven. Red for the dragon who's tail wraps around the three.

Jensen drops the paper onto Brayden's leg, claps a heavy, approving hand on the kid's shoulder, and then proceeds across the room to open one of the drawers in Steve's station. When he returns, he drops a box of Trojans onto the boy's lap and Jared recognizes the serious expression when Brayden meets his eye. “Every time, you hear me?”

Brayden is nodding when Jared snaps his latex glove into place and gives him a proud grin. “Alright, Kid, lay back.” Brayden does as he's told and pulls his baggy jeans down far enough for Jared to work. “Gonna hurt a little at first. Don't move, alright? Just trust me. I gotcha.”

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Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

batman-mcghee.livejournal.com

oh now this was great. i love that he thinks getting tattoo'd is more important than gettin laid. ah, men and their ink. you're still going to be working on this verse, right?

From:

Like a Virgin (a disclaimer!verse OneShot)

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