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Jensen knows there’s a lot of innuendo to be made of car language. But after working in the shop the last three years and hearing it at least a hundred times a day, he’s stopped paying attention to it.
Jared has a way of making everything sound dirty, and Jensen’s pretty sure it’s intentional. Take a look under my hood, check my oil. That little smirk, the smiling, fox-slanted curve of his eyes. He’s not Jensen’s usual type. Too tall, too broad. Jensen generally likes men about his own size, a little less bulky than Jared is.
Jared’s standing close behind him, watching. Jensen hates that, hates people watching him while he works. He’s half tempted to send Jared away like he would anyone else--out to the office to get a coke and watch some TV until Jensen’s done here. It’s mid-summer and the fans in the shop aren’t doing much good against the oppressive Texas heat. He’s dripping sweat, covered in engine grease and he’s not exactly feeling at his most charitable.
What he can feel--almost--is the front of Jared’s left thigh brushing the back of Jensen’s right, and it’s a little distracting. He pushes out the thought, makes a thorough inspection of everything, can’t find a thing wrong with the car. Just like Tuesday. Just like last Friday. Three times in two weeks, and he almost feels like he’s gotten to know Jared and Jared’s car personally at this point. Which makes him a feel a little bolder about this whole thing than he normally would.
"Okay," Jensen finally sighs, standing up straight, wiping his hands carefully against a shop rag. "I think I know what the problem is."
"Really?" Jared sounds the tiniest bit surprised, and Jensen feels his mouth curl.
"Yeah," he says, drawling the word slow as he turns around and leans his hip against the grill. "Pretty sure I know how to fix it, too."
"How?" Jared asks, tilting his head.
“How about I show you, after we have dinner tonight?”
It looks like it takes a second for the words to sink in, and then Jared gives him the sexiest smile Jensen’s seen in a good long while.
“Thought you’d never ask.”
*
Saturday night and Jensen’s working late, dripping sweat, hands covered in black grease no matter how many times he wipes them. Rebuilding an engine is one of the most involved, difficult processes he’s ever done. Which is a nice way of saying it’s a fucking bitch, he thinks and smirks, rubbing a hand to catch the sweat dripping down his jaw line. But the kind of bitch that’s worth figuring out, because when it’s all said and done, it’s recreating life in something that should have been long dead.
It’s rewarding work in its own way, and normally he enjoys it so much he doesn’t have room for anything else in his brain. But he can’t seem to keep the nagging thought of Jared from his head. He’d finally gotten a clue, asked Jared out today, and then had to call at the last minute to cancel when this project came in. Jensen had gone on awkwardly for about three or four minutes about how important this project is, how the client’s paying for the speed of getting it done. Jared’ll probably never speak to him again, even though Jared was plenty polite on the phone. Probably thinks Jensen isn’t interested. And what’s really interesting, is just how interested Jensen actually is. How he’s almost kind of regretting it, thinking about calling Jared and seeing if he’s up for dinner tomorrow.
He’s got the garage doors flung open, fans working overtime, and it sounds like a fucking airplane hangar in here. Not that it’s doing anything against the Texas summer heat. He’s just finishing seating the C-clips on the pistons when he gets this feeling, a sense of someone watching him. He lifts his head, turns.
“Hey,” Jared says, smiling easily as he moves up alongside Jensen.
“Hey,” Jensen says back, blinking. “What are you doing here?”
Jared shrugs. “You kidding? The way you were going on about this? Had to drop by and see what all the fuss was about. Oh, and since we can’t do dinner tonight, I brought food,” Jared says casually, setting a greasy bag on the shop bench next to the engine.
And Jensen… has no idea what to make of this. He hardly knows this guy at all, yet here is, right here in the shop like he belongs here, bringing dinner for both of them, smile on his face. He should be pissed that Jensen cancelled on him, and Jensen should maybe be a little worried that Jared isn’t. That he is here at all. It’s a little fucking weird, right? Cancel a date and the guy shows up anyway? Then throw in that Jared’s been here three times in the last two weeks for non-existent repairs, just feeling Jensen out… And just to top it all off; maybe he’s not Jensen’s usual type, but still, a guy as hot as Jared? You’d think he’d have better things to do on a Saturday night.
But Jensen can’t see an ounce of duplicity in Jared. He can’t imagine a bit of scariness hidden anywhere under that open, honest face.
“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” Jared goes on, rustling sounds as he opens the bag. “But I figure burgers are the universal language for most people,” he says, holding one up. “And if you’re vegetarian…” he digs into the bag again and pulls out French fries. “There’s always these.” Jared presents them with a triumphant grin and Jensen laughs, shakes his head.
“You need me to feed you?” Jared asks jokingly with a glance at Jensen’s hands while he pushes a French fry into his mouth, and Jensen can’t help but watch the way his lips curl around it, white flash of teeth behind.
“No,” Jensen says abruptly after a second of silence. He reaches for a rag and starts to clean his hands, then realizes it’s going to take Lava soap and a whole lot more scrubbing before he can even think about picking up food.
“Come on, dude. I got it, seriously,” Jared says, offering Jensen a French fry. “No reason for you to interrupt your whole groove.”
And this is just... bizarre. Jensen can imagine it easily; leaning forward just a little, taking the French fry into his mouth, Jared’s fingers following behind, brush of skin over Jensen’s lower lip, taste of human salt on Jensen’s tongue.
“It’ll just take me a second,” Jensen says, exhaling. He washes his hands quickly in the bathroom, tries not to think of the teasing smile on Jared’s face.
When he comes back, Jared’s about halfway through his fries, and Jensen picks up the burger Jared laid out for him, eats it without tasting a single bite while he watches Jared polish off his fries. Jared then proceeds to eat two burgers, laughing when Jensen’s eyes widen. But, okay, that’s a lot of body to feed. A lot of lean muscle and sinew, miles and miles of it underneath that olive-tinted tanned skin.
Jensen tucks the last French fry into his mouth and gets his ass back to work.
“So tell me what you’re working on,” Jared says pulling up a stool and sitting just a little too close.
This is beyond weird. Jensen hates it when people watch him work. Prying eyes judging his movements based on little to no knowledge of what he’s actually doing. But Jared’s asking. Seems to genuinely want to know. So Jensen runs through the basics of engines, and the various processes that can be involved in rebuilding one.
“The cylinders were worn on this one,” he goes on. “I had to bore them out to fit in the oversize pistons and piston rings. I already rolled in the new pistons, now I’m putting in the rings.”
Jared nods, eyes riveted on what Jensen’s doing—fingers flexing around the piston ring expander. “See,” Jensen says, angling his head to see the fit. “Some of the experts’ll tell you to roll the rings into the grooves during installation. But you want to use the ring expander here to install the rings. Rolling them in will stretch them, and then they don’t seat or seal properly.”
He knows Jared doesn’t really understand, but he listens to Jensen, patiently nodding and asking questions as Jensen works.
“You sure you’re not bored?” Jensen asks, glancing up.
“No. It’s kind of fascinating. Like art in a way. Not all that different than what I do. More parameters, defined results, but you’re still making something.”
Jensen looks back down at the engine, doesn’t quite know what to say to that. And he isn’t sure why he doesn’t know. He just knows that suddenly, he can’t stand looking Jared straight in the face.
“Not to mention I get to watch you work with your hands,” Jared adds, and Jensen can hear the grin in his voice.
Jensen stops working, turns to face Jared. “You can’t really be interested in all this.” He means to say it like statement, but somehow it comes out more like a question, and Jared just laughs, reaches out and strokes a thumb over the back of Jensen’s hand, smearing through the grease.
“I’m interested in you,” he says.
“Let me…” Jensen says, pulling his hand away, starts to reach for the rag. Jared’s hand falls on his wrist, light touch that sends the blood racing under his skin.
“No. Leave it,” he says, eyes sparking low heat.
Jensen is being seduced. It’s an odd thought to be having, right here, right now, like he’s observing this without being part of it. And then it all sinks in, smashes through his senses and leaves him kissing Jared breathlessly, thumbs pressing into the soft space under Jared’s jaw, fingers spread across the back of Jared’s neck. Mouth opening, hot and eager for him, tongues meeting, slick and swirling, clash of teeth. Bodies shoved rough up against the table as Jared comes up off the stool, tall frame bent backward under Jensen’s arching spine, pinning Jared, hips pushing into the hard, hot line between his thighs.
Jensen breathes out hard through his nose, spins them around, lets go of Jared with one hand long enough to slam the hood of the car shut. Hands pushing Jared’s hips onto the car as they devour each other, fingers tugging up under the hem of Jared’s shirt, and Jared lifts his arms, lets Jensen strip him out of it in one smooth motion. Mouths sealing together again, sweetness and wet heat, fingers popping the button on Jared’s jeans, Jared’s fingers buried in Jensen’s hair, tugging the short strands and begging in a deep whisper for everything Jensen can’t wait to give him.
He yanks Jared’s pants down, peels them off Jared’s ankles and gets his hands under Jared’s thighs, pushing them open and apart. Hot, so fucking hot, spread open for him, huge hard cock angling away from Jared’s perfect belly, tight pink hole exposed. Jared falls back against the hood with a gasp, and Jensen dips his head, tongue parting the heat of Jared, sinking inside. Searing, musky sweet, and he pushes in all the way, suddenly too impatient to take his time. Wants to sink balls deep inside the tightness between Jared’s legs and fuck the pre-game bullshit.
Jared gasps, seizing around the sudden intrusion of Jensen’s tongue, and Jensen moans out his appreciation of how it feels—Jared’s body clenched around his tongue, tip curling and fucking deep. Jared’s hands in his hair, yanking him in harder, gasping out yes, yes, begging Jensen for more. Hips beginning to move in a desperate rhythm, rocking into Jensen’s face, grinding, wriggling, writhing on the end of Jensen’s tongue.
“God, want you to fuck me,” Jared moans, shuddering against Jensen’s chin.
Jensen yanks back, leaving Jared shivering without his tongue, starts to reach for his cock, realizes he can’t, not with his hands dirty. Shit, can’t even…
“Fuck,” Jensen gasps. “Condom’s… in my wallet.”
Jared’s hand snakes around Jensen’s body, tugging out his wallet, finding the condom easily. He rolls it onto Jensen’s aching hard cock while Jensen moans, shuddering into the grip of Jared’s hand around him—and then Jared folds his body in half, sucks the length of Jensen’s cock into his mouth right through the thin layer of rubber. Jensen inhales sharply, sinks his dirty hands into Jared’s hair and tugs him in eagerly. Jared moans, vibration thrumming down Jensen’s dick, sucks eagerly, tonguing the underside.
“Wet enough,” Jared croaks, pulling off. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jensen. Fuck me already.”
Jared’s mouth tastes like rubber, slippery with lubrication, and Jensen sucks out every last bitter trace as he sinks inside Jared, hot, tight heat, closing around him like a velvet fist, inch by agonizing inch.
“Not gonna break,” Jared whispers into his mouth, and Jensen feels something in him let go, shoves forward with his hips, fast and hard, bodies meeting with the sudden jolt.
“Fuck yes.” Feverish moan into Jensen’s mouth, teeth shuddering, sinking deep into Jensen’s lower lip.
He fucks Jared right there, arms hooked under Jared’s knees and wrapped around his back, holding him in place on the hood of the car. Jared’s hands splayed against red metallic paint, arms bracing while he rocks with Jensen’s thrusts, moaning out into Jensen’s mouth about how much he’s wanted this since the first time he laid eyes on Jensen. Fingers slipping, greasy against Jared’s spine, short nails dragging red marks behind, Jared’s long, long legs wrapped around his body. Hot and sweaty and graceless, all need and desperate want.
Looking back later, Jensen thinks he knew then, in that moment, how it would all turn out.
*
Jared’s a photographer, and a pretty damned good one, at that. He sells his work to magazines and newspapers on a pretty regular basis, works his own hours, and seems completely comfortable with the idea that there might be months where he might not sell anything at all.
It seems like such a half-assed, by-the-seat-of-your-pants way to live, and Jensen really can’t fathom it.
“I’ve got enough saved up to get me through if it comes down to it,” Jared says with a shrug, making a minor adjustment to his camera lens.
Jared is every single thing Jensen is not. Jensen’s not surprised anymore that Jared came down to the garage that night. Or that he brought his car in for imaginary repairs until Jensen finally asked him out. Jared knows what he wants, knows how to get it by doing exactly what he wants.
That should frighten Jensen a lot more than it actually does.
*
“Come on, Jensen,” Jared breathes, leans in to kiss Jensen slow. “Let me photograph you.”
No, no, no and no. Jensen doesn’t like having his picture taken—doesn’t enjoy the spotlight the way Jared seems to.
“You’re depriving the world,” Jared whispers three nights later when Jensen’s buried deep inside him, still sweating and shuddering with aftershocks.
“You’re so hot,” Jared says, tipping up into a gentle kiss. “You should let me share it with everyone.”
Jensen turns his face into Jared’s shoulder, skidding sweat over muscle and bone. Jared tastes like honey and salt against Jensen’s parted lips, and all he can do is breathe.
*
“Let me,” Jared says again four days later, camera in hand as Jensen works on a manifold. “Your hands, Jensen. Please.”
“It’s just grease,” Jensen says, bites his lower lip. “Grease and sweat and gears. Manual labor, Jared. There’s nothing artful about it.”
“You are so wrong,” Jared says, shaking his head. “Let me show you.”
Jensen tilts his head down, tries to focus on his work, ignore Jared, but Jared moves closer, doesn’t quite touch him.
“Please,” he asks.
“Fine,” Jensen grates. Let Jared photograph his fucking hands if that’ll make Jared happy.
And he thought he’d have to endure the pulsing of a thousand flash bulbs, but Jared’s got his own light source. Hooks it right to the shelf above Jensen, tiny lamp with brilliant light, adjusts it downward. It casts too many shadows on his work, makes it harder to see what he’s doing.
He pushes his glasses up to the bridge of his nose in a quick, practiced gesture, fingers of his other hand holding tight against a seal. “I can’t see.”
Jared adjusts the light again, moves it until Jensen nods, feels comfortable.
Snap, snap, click, whir, and Jensen tunes out the sound of the camera, tunes out Jared moving all around him. Scrape of the stool as Jared drags it over and stands on it, shooting Jensen’s work from above, and Jensen grits his teeth hard, endures it.
Maybe now Jared will be satisfied.
*
It’s the next day when Jared shows up in the garage during work hours. Todd and Jason are whistling, making catcalls to embarrass Jensen, and Jared—Jared just shakes his ass a little harder, turns his body around at a dramatic angle like he’s some kind of fucking model, waist twisted and hips slung out to the side, blows them both a kiss. Jensen pauses in awe at the display, and Todd and Jason shut the fuck up more suddenly than Jensen thought possible, go back to work on their respective cars, like nothing ever happened.
Jared sits down on the stool beside Jensen, plugging his laptop into the outlet alongside Jensen’s power tools like it’s just an every day thing, like it’s totally okay for him to be here.
“What are you doing here?” Jared’s awesome, and Jensen’s… fond of him. But Jared can’t just… do this. This is where Jensen works.
As if on cue, the door to the main office swings open.
Johnson steps into the room like a shadow that eclipses everything, smell of sweat and cologne, sharp cheekbones and glittering, discerning eyes. “Chavez,” he calls out. “You done with that fuckin’ exhaust system yet or what?”
Chavez hesitates, then calls back something about the catalytic converter, and Johnson tells him to get it done or Chavez is fucked to the curb without a quart of oil.
Jensen tenses. Johnson normally doesn’t give him any shit—Jensen knows his trade, gets the job done and gets it done right without any drama or bullshit, and Johnson loves that. But Johnson’s an asshole on his better days, and he runs the kind of ship that doesn’t allow for personal visits during work hours. And Jared’s here. Jared’s undeniably here, couldn’t be any more here, because Jared sticks out like a fucking sore thumb in his open collared, button-up white shirt that accentuates the tan line of his throat and the glint of silver gathered in the hollow, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Hair carefully messy, brand new designer blue-jeans and shoes that run somewhere above the hundred dollar mark.
Johnson’s going to flip.
Johnson stops behind Jensen, and Jensen can feel sweat trickle down his spine.
“Hey, Jared,” Johnson says, and Jensen blinks, hard.
“Hey,” Jared answers, cheerful as can be. “Was just showing Jensen.” Jared lifts the laptop and displays it.
“Well, don’t keep him too long. He’s worth four of these other guys.”
“Sure thing, Dave.”
Dave?
Johnson pats Jensen’s shoulder and then he’s off, yelling at Todd about leaving his goddamned tools all over the floor.
Jensen just turns and looks at Jared wordlessly.
“Oh.” Jared laughs. “Yeah,” he says, having the grace to look a little embarrassed. “I stopped in to introduce myself first. I told him I was doing a shoot for a magazine.
Jensen arches a brow at Jared and then goes back to working. “And he believed you?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Jensen can almost hear Jared shrug. “It’s the truth.”
“It…” Jensen’s hand falters. “It is? You didn’t tell me that.”
“I didn’t want you to freeze on me.”
“Damn it,” Jensen mutters, shakes his head. “Jared—”
“Look,” Jared says soft and insistent.
Summer, just beginning to turn to fall, and the garage is only slightly cooler. Jensen sighs and wipes beaded sweat from his brow, turns to look at the laptop screen.
Is that… him?
Black and white, shades of gray and light and dark, sharp focus, tiniest details visible. He’s turning a bolt in this shot. It shouldn’t be anything special, but the gleam of light against the metal between white skin, black grease cut into the lines of his fingers, flecks of black dirt scattered across the manifold between brilliant chrome, accentuating every texture…
It’s beautiful, gorgeous, capturing everything about the humanity of the trade. Man and machine, fragility and strength and metal. Human will.
“What do you think?” Jared asks, glancing over from under his bangs.
“I think it’s amazing,” Jensen says, honestly. “But anyone can take one amazing picture.”
Jared laughs, finger clicking against the keyboard as he moves to the next picture. “Like I said before; let me show you.”
Jensen sets down his wrench, leans back against the work bench.
In the end, every opinion Jensen ever had about art and manual labor turns out to be a lie.
*
“Hope you don’t mind,” Jared says, over dinner in the Hard Rock Café one week later. “But the magazine bought half the pictures of you.”
Jensen stops, hand halfway to his drink. “Seriously?”
“I think their exact words were… ‘Epic’.” Jared’s practically beaming.
“Trust me, it’s not that epic when I’m doing it,” Jensen says, shaking his head.
“It’s all about capturing the grace,” Jared says. “Capturing the moment when everything clicks and comes together.”
Jensen knows that feeling, knows it from turning bolts and reseating a rebuilt engine into place, hearing the roar and purr of it when he turns the key and listens.
“Like everything’s exactly the way it was meant to be,” Jensen says.
“Yeah.” Jared slides his fingers across the table, twines them between Jensen’s.
“Exactly.”
*
Jared shows up at his apartment a few weeks later with a stack of magazine in his arms.
“Ten copies,” he says standing in the doorway, grinning. “For you.”
Jensen shakes his head, lets Jared drag him to the couch and show Jensen the entire article. Hips and shoulders pressed together, Jared practically leaning over into his lap, holding the magazine in front of Jensen as he explains the curvature of Jensen’s fingers against the metal, the crook and bend of Jensen’s knuckles, the way the joint bends, widens and flares, the strength of tendons moving under the skin, perfectly delineated by the cut of the light and shadow. Voice dropping lower and huskier as he describes the visceral beauty of the black crescents under Jensen’s nails, the grease worked into the fine pattern of lines across his fingers and palm, until Jensen’s practically blushing from embarrassment, cock stiffening against his belly. Jared’s going on about the line of vein rising along Jensen’s thumb when Jensen finally turns, puts one hand on Jared’s cheek. Jared twists his face, skin sliding like silk under Jensen’s hand, sucks the tip of Jensen’s thumb into his mouth.
“So. Fucking. Sexy,” Jared whispers, swirls his tongue and catches under the nail.
“So, you’ve got a thing for my hands, then?” Jensen asks, voice unsteady, vaguely hoarse.
“Damn.” Jared swears softly, teeth grazing the pad of Jensen’s thumb, hazel eyes dark as storms as he looks up at Jensen. “What gave it away?”
It isn’t fair. It isn’t one goddamned bit fair, the way Jared looks at him, so earnest, raw and open. Leaves Jensen with blood pumping, pulse pounding, chest aching.
Jensen puts his other hand on Jared’s face, watches Jared’s eyes flutter closed, small sigh breathed out like relief between his lips.
Jensen moves, magazine falling from his lap, hears it slither to the floor in a heap of thick, satiny pages. Lifts his leg and turns his hips, pushing Jared down against the couch with a kiss like a slow burn, lips dragging hot, mouths opening, tongues testing, teasing the edges of each other. Suckling, biting, plunging deep and circling, smooth ceramic of teeth, rough swirl of tongue, the sleek places between, each texture licked out slow and thorough.
Jared tastes like sugared coffee, bitter and sweet, raw and perfect underneath. Sharp edge of cheekbones under Jensen’s fingers, skin yielding against his thumbs, Jared’s face framed, held in place, and Jensen angles it against the couch, licks up the inside of Jared’s cheek, slow curl of his tongue, thumb sinking into the edge of Jared’s mouth, sliding between Jared’s lips and pushing inside. Jared moans, tongue flicking, seeking out the taste of Jensen’s skin, and they meet in the middle, tongues colliding around the knuckle, chasing the tang of salt.
It’s rough and quick after that, hips and mouths locked together, thrusting sharp rhythm against the creak of the couch, staccato bursts of breath scattered between. Jensen’s got his hands all over Jared’s face, his throat, wants to put them everywhere, all over Jared’s body, watch the way Jared twists and shudders under his touch. Cocks gliding, rubbing together through denim, bright, aching burst of pleasure in Jensen’s stomach, pooling in the heat between his legs, the hard line of Jared’s cock against his. He wants, but it’s too much this, too much now, and he can’t stop.
After, cock softening in the slick mess inside his pants, he peels Jared slowly out of his clothes, fits his hands over every inch of Jared’s skin. Admiring the span of his thumb and forefinger framing each side of Jared’s chest, then to the center, pinching Jared’s nipples between. Slow squeeze, palm to fingertips against every muscle, down to Jared’s belly button, thumbs and forefingers pressed together against slippery come, tongue dipping into the center between. Jared arches, hands sunk deep, fisted and twisting in Jensen’s hair, and down and down until his hands rest on either side of Jared’s cock, watching it fill and round out slowly as he teases little licks up and down the length, until Jared’s shivering, begging underneath him.
He takes Jared slow, lips locked around the crown, sucking, tonguing underneath, fisting the length of Jared’s cock, other hand spread across the tensing muscles of Jared’s stomach. He makes Jared come again, ragged voice crying out Jensen’s name as he writhes against the couch.
Jensen nips at the shivers of aftershocks rippling through Jared’s belly, and when it’s over, Jared proceeds to suck the drying slick from every single one of Jensen’s fingers until Jensen’s panting, rock fucking hard all over again.
Okay. So maybe the pictures weren’t such a bad idea.
Jared gets up, falls to his knees on the floor and sucks Jensen off until Jensen feels like he’s going to rip Jared’s hair out by the roots, cursing under his breath and coming down Jared’s throat so fucking hard.
Jensen can still taste himself on Jared’s tongue when Jared crawls up into his lap and kisses him.
*
Jared’s not his type. Jared’s the opposite of everything Jensen is. So Jensen doesn’t understand how it can be that three months and more than two dozen dates plus unplanned meetings later, he’s more enthralled than he’s ever been.
Like everything’s exactly the way it was meant to be.
Yeah. Exactly.
Jensen shakes his head and turns back to the oil leak he’s been working on.
This. This makes sense. It has logic, and a process, and a certain outcome.
Jensen’s never been a betting man. He’s got shit for a poker face, and he knows the house stacks the cards, always wins. He knows better. Gambling’s for fools, for the ones who don’t give a damn how calculated and screwed they really are.
His cell phone rings in his pocket, and he reaches for it, knows it’s Jared before he even looks at the display.
He runs his thumb along the edge of the phone, toying at flipping it open. Knows he’s not going to stay late and finish this job tonight.
“Hey,” he says into the mouth piece, catching the phone against his shoulder.
He knows it. How calculated and screwed he really is.
And he… he goes to the counter and buys more chips.
*
When Jensen gets to Jared’s place, Jared’s got the studio set up; lights on, deep blue cloth spread on the floor, hung from the walls.
“You expecting someone else?” Jensen asks.
“I was supposed to do a nude shoot,” Jared says, shrugging and handing Jensen a beer from the fridge. “Model cancelled on me, though.” Jared stands up straight, long angles of him falling together, and uncaps his own beer, looking Jensen up and down. “You wanna model for me instead?”
“Depends on how much you’re paying,” Jensen says, smirking as he takes a step closer to Jared.
Jared tilts his face down and Jensen can feel him exhale, puff of warm breath over Jensen’s mouth. “I’d make it worth your while,” he says, softly, eyes glimmering.
Jared’s serious. That stops Jensen cold. One thing to play along with the joke, but model naked in front of the camera for real? No, thanks.
“Come on, Jensen,” Jared pleads, sets his beer down and snakes his arms around Jensen’s waist. “It’s for an art book,” he whispers, forehead leaning against Jensen’s.
“No fucking way,” Jensen says, backing up.
Jared moves with him, smoothly, easily. “Then just do it for me. You can have the pictures, I won’t even keep them. I just want to see you.”
“You’ve seen me before.”
“Not like that.” Jared shakes his head.
“It’s the same thing.”
“Really? So your hands always look the way they did in those pictures?”
Jared’s got a point. But be damned if Jensen’s gonna say so.
“It’s the light,” Jared whispers. “The angles. Capturing moments.”
“Jared… do you even understand what the word ‘no’ means?” Jensen asks, exasperated.
“No,” Jared says and grins.
And that’s how, two hours and six beers later, Jensen finds himself standing in front of the camera barefoot, Jared’s fingers lingering on his belt loops.
“Wanna start slow,” Jared whispers into Jensen’s mouth like sex and sweetness. “Get you stripping out your clothes.”
There’s just so many ways this isn’t fair at all; Jared’s tone of voice, the cant and slant of his voice, his eyes, heat of his words pouring out against Jensen.
“Pushy bitch,” Jensen breathes, shoving Jared away. He lets his own hands fall to his belt buckle, undoes the clasp. Jared wants to play it like this? Fine. Jensen can do that. Stares straight into Jared’s eyes, hazel left wide and surprised above the camera’s boxy shape.
“You gonna shoot this, or just stand there with your mouth hanging open?” Jensen asks, wriggling his hips a little as he pulls the clasp of his belt free.
The click of the camera hits Jensen like the sound of satisfaction.
“Slow, right?” he asks, drawing his belt from the loops with an exaggerated motion. Okay, maybe he’s a little bit drunk, and his words are a tiny bit slurred… but who gives a shit? Jared wants this. Jensen’s going give it to him, and he’s gonna make sure it’s not like anything Jared’s ever seen before.
Slide of leather against denim, camera shutter snapping out a frantic rhythm. Jensen draws it free, lets it slither out of his hand to the cloth on the floor and takes a step back, jaw tilted up and outward.
Five buttons on his jeans, and he takes each one with care, metal sliding through denim as Jared clicks the shutter again and again. Shoulders pressed against the wall, blue drop cloth against his back, hips pushing out, head tilted back. Lips parting as his fingers snag beneath thick denim, hips wiggling, slow side to side as he drags the material down.
“Jesus,” Jared whispers, and Jensen can feel him step closer, so close they could almost touch.
Jensen leaves his hands there, gripping the edge of his jeans, not quite pulling them past the point of no return… and then he lets his hands slide up the buttons on his shirt, trailing, circling each to the top. Undone, one at a time, chest and stomach revealed in slow bursts, and Jared’s breathing heavy, so hard Jensen can almost feel it, hears the shutterclick of the camera, again and again.
“Fuck. Yeah,” Jared mutters, press, snap. “Like that.”
Open sides of his shirt drawn back to his shoulders, upper body against the wall, Jared’s hand on his hip, tilting the angle up and outward.
“Shit,” Jared breathes out, fingers trembling against Jensen’s bone. “God, Jensen. So fucking hot.”
Jensen lets his head loll back, fingers trailing lazily down his stomach, tracing out the crease and curve of muscle, fingertips lodging between the vee of denim at his hips.
“Jesus.” Jared sounds like he’s swallowing his own tongue, and it’s exactly the sound Jensen wants against his ears. Jared does this to him all the time; undoes him, unmakes him with a moan or a gasp, and Jensen… with sex, he’s always about the power, the intensity and pleasure of the moment. Never really understood the small motions, movements, how they build until they break. How they’re something refined and special and perfect; something you don’t just give to anyone.
Jared snaps a dozen or more frames, and then, fingers shaking, he slides the open sides of Jensen’s shirt down his arms, light cotton falling, pooling around his forearms. Jared mutters a bitten off curse under his breath, shakes his head and steps back, keeps shooting.
Jensen waits until he thinks Jared’s got the shot, and then he curls his hands, slowly pushes his jeans down past the line of his hips. The camera snaps, fast and frantic rhythm, Jensen tugging unevenly, angling one side down, then the other, until they fall away, sliding down his legs. Lifts one foot, then the other, toes his jeans away across the cloth on the floor. Straightens his arms, cotton shirt drifting free of his body, curling in a soft cloud around his feet. The click of the camera seems far away as he stands, spine straight, feet apart, shoulders pulled up and forward just a little, head tilted, chin angled down. Arms at his sides slightly bent, cock still soft, nudging the crease of his thigh.
Jared makes a strangled sound, looks like he’s going to bite through his lower lip. And then Jared is in motion, down to one knee and back up again, catching Jensen at every angle, but Jensen can hear Jared breathing from here. Jared directs him through a few more positions, voice deep and rough.
“Lay on the floor for me,” Jared finally says, eyes intent, riveted to Jensen.
Jensen goes to his knees, can’t suppress a smirk at Jared’s reaction to that; eyes wide, sharp gasp through parted lips. Jared snaps a couple of shots quickly before Jensen lays down, body stretched out on one side. He puts a hand under his head to lift it, lets one leg slide forward, bend across the line of the other.
“Look to your left, away from the camera,” Jared directs, voice shaky. Jensen turns his head, tilts his face up.
“Oh, my God,” Jared whispers. “Don’t. move.” He can hear Jared move, make an adjustment, see the light shift just a little. Jared moves slowly, shooting Jensen from head to toe, close and far away, until Jensen’s starting to feel the strain from holding his neck in one position for so long.
Jared’s stopped, staring at the camera display, and Jensen lets the position go, feels his muscles relax.
“What?” Jensen asks, fascinated by the look on Jared’s face.
“Just. That’s it.” Jared looks slightly awed as he nods. “That’s the shot.”
“So we’re done, then?” Jensen asks, falling onto his back. He puts his hands behind his head, draws one knee up.
Jared just looks at him for a second. “We were. Until you did that,” he says, lifting the camera again. He snaps a quick series of shots, far away to close, until he’s kneeling in front of Jensen. One last shutterclick, and then Jared sets the camera aside on the floor.
Jensen feels exposed suddenly, without the camera between them. And well, a little late for being shy now when he’s naked, sprawled out on Jared’s floor in a pose that practically screams “come hither”. Jared strips out of his shirt, tosses it without a glance, hands falling to the button on his jeans. He pushes them down past his hips and stops, staring down at Jensen, eyes tracing out every curve and line. Jared sets his hands against Jensen’s skin, and Jensen can feel him shake, fingertips trailing the contours of Jensen’s skin.
“You are gorgeous,” Jared says, eyes following the pattern of his hands over Jensen’s body, and Jensen shivers, feels his heart speed up. Jared presses his lips to Jensen’s raised knee, kisses down the inside, hands roaming over skin. “Told you I’d make it worth your while,” Jared whispers, sliding between Jensen’s legs, tongue and hands gliding the way up Jensen’s body. Biting, licking his jaw, chin. “Wanna fuck you, Jen.” Jared catches his own lower lip between his teeth then licks out over the swell, tip brushing the curve of Jensen’s mouth. “Can I? Please?” His eyes are huge, full of fire and need and Jensen feels caught in the pull of them, can’t look away, no matter how much he wants to.
Jensen’s mouth feels dry, words caught in his throat. “I’ve… I’ve never.” He feels trapped suddenly, blinks hard. Jared isn’t supposed to do this to him; isn’t supposed to twist him up and turn him inside out like this. He could explain. Tell Jared how he didn’t figure out he was gay until just a few years ago. How this is just something that’s never come up before. How he’s never been with anyone long enough to even seriously consider it. He could say all those things, but they don’t go anywhere, don’t answer the question. And distilled down, they’re all leading to one place—one word.
“Yes.”
Jared presses him down gently against the floor, hard wood against his spine as Jared kisses him slowly and thoroughly, until Jensen can’t think past the aching hardness of his cock, the feel of Jared’s body all over him. Slick skin and sweat, wicked mouth pulling at him, fingers trailing up the exposed crease between his thighs.
“You’ve really never done this before?” Jared asks lazily, lips painting words over Jensen’s mouth, breathed out hot.
“No,” he whispers, hands locked around the base of Jared’s neck.
“Why not? I mean,” Jared says, pressing his mouth to Jensen’s, sweet and wet. “Everyone’s got to try it, at least once.”
Jensen lets his head tilt to the side, catch Jared’s mouth at the end of the words. Slow, searing kiss, Jared’s cock pressed against his belly, fingers circling over Jensen’s hole. Teasing, rubbing, Jensen’s heartbeat caught in his throat, and Jared’s so smooth, so fucking cavalier.
“Come on, Jensen,” Jared whispers, fingers tracing patterns against the sensitive skin. “Tell me why I get to be the one.”
Because you’re not like anyone else I’ve ever known. Because I trust you. Because I want you, every way possible.
What comes out of his mouth is something else entirely. “Because I never felt like this before,” he says, words escaping him in a breathless rush.
And, oh. Oh, fuck. He did not just say that.
Jared stiffens, stops, stills against him, just staring, God, staring with those wide, hazel eyes. Jensen feels stripped to the bone, taken apart by that look. Body thrumming, high and tight as a tension wire, and he’s about two seconds from taking it back, running away, calling it all off.
And then Jared says, “I love you, Jen,” brands the words right into Jensen’s mouth. Jensen lays there, still with shock as Jared works his way down Jensen’s body, sucking, kissing, licking skin, between the peaks of Jensen’s nipples, tongue trailing the line of his stomach, lapping into his belly button, catching the skin beneath between his teeth.
Fear twisting up his belly, heart thudding in his throat, and it feels amazing, Jared kissing around the line of his cock, down the crease of his thigh. Jared loves him? Jared. Loves him.
There should really be more time to give that thought the consideration it deserves, but Jared’s there pressing against him, touching, licking him. His spine corded, arched tight against the floor, Jared’s tongue lapping at him, pulling him in like gravity, flat and slick up and down the crease.
“Relax,” Jared whispers, smooth breath over hot skin, glide of it making Jensen’s hips twist.
“Won’t hurt you,” Jared promises, tongue laving, curling tiny circles against Jensen. Hand crawling slowly up Jensen’s body, curving against his jaw, pulling his face down. “Watch me,” Jared demands.
Jensen lifts his head from the floor, and all he can see are Jared’s eyes staring right back up into him. Face tilted downward, and oh, God. Jensen’s hands tighten reflexively in the material on the floor, Jared’s tongue filling him, slow, slick fullness of muscle, squirming, licking deep inside.
Jensen’s had this before, but not like this. Jared takes Jensen likes he’s worshiping him, humming down the line of his tongue, vibrations into Jensen’s body, and it’s glorious. Flexing, twisting, stretching Jensen open, fingertips squeezing the outside of Jensen’s thighs, eyes staring hot, bright and hard at Jensen the whole time.
Jensen’s going to lose his fucking mind. Slick bliss of Jared’s tongue inside him, and he can’t stop his hips from wriggling, pushing back into Jared’s face. Jared’s fingers dig deep into Jensen’s thighs, pressing him down and holding him still. Jensen thrusts, struggles against the hold, too much, can’t just be held there, can’t just take it.
“You’re the one who wanted this,” Jared says, voice throaty and dark, teeth nipping the inside of Jensen’s thigh. “So let me give it to you.” Jared thrusts back inside, growls, sound reverberating into Jensen, pushes Jensen back hard.
And… well. No. Jensen growls back, shoves with his hips, slides his hands into Jared’s hair and yanks against his head.
Jared laughs, sound of it ricocheting through Jensen’s body, and he shudders. “You,” Jared says, pulling out, kissing, licking around the ring, “suck as a bottom.”
“I liked your tongue better where it was,” Jensen informs him, and he can feel Jared shake his head, still chuckling, hot puffs of breath between his legs.
Slick fingertip, pressing against the entrance, slipping inside to the first knuckle, and Jensen braces, arcs against the floor, forgets all about Jared’s tongue. Yeah, okay, that’s fucking good, hard fingertip inside him to the first knuckle, circling, widening, slipping slowly deeper by centimeters, up to the second knuckle, fingertip rotating, deeper, deeper, and then, oh--fuck. Jensen’s hit that spot on half a dozen guys over the years, seen them twist and writhe on the end of his cock, his fingers, ridden it relentlessly and watched every expression he could wring out them. But he’s never felt it before. Christ. Fingertip against the tiny cluster of nerves, sending explosions through his veins, pleasure spiraling up through the base of his spine, cock twitching, hot, slick drip leaking.
“Oh, yeah,” Jared breathes, leans in and licks the head of Jensen’s cock, tongue swirling up every last taste, fingertip twisting inside him, and Jensen fists his hands against the material on the floor, back clenching into an arch, teeth ground together tight. Jared locks his lips around the tip of Jensen’s cock, sucks, tonguing the underside, presses a second finger inside, slick fullness, twisting, pressing. Sweet sting, burn and stretch, and it feels so motherfucking good. Jesus fucking Christ. This is what it feels like? No fucking wonder—
The thought cuts off as Jared tongues the bundle of nerves under the head of Jensen’s dick, sends him shooting up in a thrust so hard that he pushes past the barrier of Jared’s lips, cock sinking deep into his throat. He freezes there, Jared moaning, sucking, squeezing all around him, and oh, oh, fuck yeah, like that. He grips Jared’s hair hard, rides his mouth, fingers inside him working counter rhythm to the strokes of his hips. Cheek pressed hard against the floor, teeth almost biting through his lower lip, and Jesus, yes.
When Jared pushes in a third finger, Jensen comes up off the floor like a shot, yanks Jared’s head from his cock, sits up and pulls Jared’s mouth to his, kisses him hard fast and deep. Tongues clashing, teeth colliding, fingers stretching him, fucking him, burning sting that feels better than it should.
“If you don’t fuck me right now,” Jensen bites out the words against Jared’s hot fucking mouth, hands buried in Jared’s hair, holding him there. “I’m going to flip you over and fuck your sweet little ass raw.”
Jared shudders against him, moans into his mouth, hot and sweet, and Jesus, Jensen’s about two heartbeats away from doing just that when Jared pulls his fingers free, leaves Jensen gasping for breath. And then there’s no time for breath or anything else as Jared pushes him back to the floor, kicks out of the tangle of jeans around his ankles. Sound of a wrapper torn open, condom rolled quickly over Jared’s cock, lubed with one swipe of Jared’s hand. Slick cock head pushing between his legs, and he has half a second to rethink it, to be afraid, and then Jared’s opening him, stretching him wide, so much wider than Jared’s fingers. It feels amazing, so fucking good that Jensen forgets to breathe, fingers clenched in Jared’s hair, staring into Jared’s eyes, so wide open, burning, on fire just for him, and fuck.
Jared loves him. He can see it.
“Hold on,” Jared whispers, and Jensen tightens his fingers reflexively in the strands of Jared’s hair. “Push.”
Jensen flexes his muscles, feels his body open, take Jared in as Jared thrusts. Sharp burst of pain like lightning, air forced from his lungs, and God, fuck. He wasn’t ready for that, wasn’t expecting that. Jared’s buried deep inside him, body to body, hands on his shoulders, holding him so very still.
“Only hurts in the beginning,” Jared gasps out, trembling.
“Better,” Jensen grates, bites hard against Jared’s lower lip. “Or I’ll take it out of your ass later.”
“Promise?” Jared is shivering against Jensen, body coiled tight.
“Oh, yeah,” Jensen breathes.
“I like you when you’re drunk,” Jared confides, and Jensen grins against his mouth.
“And I like you when you’re begging for it.” Jensen seizes Jared’s mouth, kisses up into him hard. “Now shut up and fuck me.”
Jared moves, hips drawing out, mouth feverish against Jensen’s. “Fuck. Feel so good.”
It still hurts, twisting up in his gut like a knife, sharp and brutal, but there’s pleasure bleeding through the pain, and Jensen can feel it spreading, racing under his skin with his blood. Hands sliding down the canvas of Jared’s back, stroking up the curve of his ass, and he moves, fingers locked into the grooves of Jared’s hips.
“Fuck,” Jared groans, shivering, mouth dragging hot and spit slick across Jensen’s collar bone, thrusting back.
Give and take, rocking together, and the pain drowns out under the surge of pleasure spiraling through Jensen, dissolves until there’s nothing but Jared moving inside him, sweet push and pull of him. Fingers gripping Jensen’s shoulders tight, fused together, hips and chests and mouths. It doesn’t feel like anything else ever has, twined so tight, so intimate, Jared, twisting his hips, rocking up into that spot, sending jolts of pleasure coursing through Jensen again and again, Jensen stealing the air from Jared’s mouth, Jared breathing it back. His cock is aching hard, throbbing with building pressure, and he lets his grip on Jared’s hip slacken, starts to slide his hand between their bodies.
“Let me,” Jared gasps. “Want to.”
Jared reaches down between them, fits his fingers to the width of Jensen’s cock, squeeze, tug and gentle pull, and Jensen moans, shoves his hips into Jared’s grip, cock inside him pushing deep. It’s too much, so amazingly hot and perfect.
“Fuck.” His voice is so strung out and mangled he can barely understand the word. “Gonna…”
“Yeah,” Jared sighs out, strokes Jensen’s cock quick and hard, snaps his hips and hits that spot, and oh, sweet Christing fuck--
Jensen comes, spilling across Jared’s fist, slicking Jared’s palm, grip sliding smooth, slippery all over his cock, and it just makes him come even harder, body tensing with each burst, breath rushing out of him in ragged sounds, throat tight, back curving like a bow from the floor. It’s volcanic, searing pleasure shooting up from his balls with violent contractions until his mouth works soundlessly, fingernails digging into his palms, whole world narrowed to Jared, the space between his legs, the intense, pulsing pleasure of his dick. Finally he shivers, spent, and breathless. Jared strokes him slower as he comes down, still shuddering, shaking, cock twitching.
“So hot,” Jared moans, kissing Jensen. “Jesus Christ, you wreck me. So… so…” Jared falters for words, thick sound catching in his throat, muscles in his thighs clenching, quivering. Jared’s staring at him, helpless, like a little boy, like he can’t even believe he’s here, like Jensen’s unlike anything else he’s even seen.
Jensen lifts his hand, touches the pads of his fingers to Jared’s cheek. “I love you.”
The words come out before he knows he means to say them, honest as anything given without thought, and then there’s nothing else to do but kiss the stunned look from Jared’s face. Jensen tightens his hands against Jared’s body, lifts his hips and meets Jared with quick, sharp thrusts, feels each one rumble under Jared’s skin like an earthquake, fingers twitching against Jensen’s cock, sliding free, nails sinking into the soft flesh of his belly. They move faster together, Jensen sliding up and down Jared’s cock, squeezes his muscles tight, feels Jared gasp for air. Jensen runs a hand through Jared’s hair, threads it through his fingers and turns Jared’s cheek against his mouth, lips brushing behind Jared’s ear, hissing out a hot whisper.
“Yeah, come for me. Come inside me. Wanna feel you.”
“God, Jensen.” Hand skidding, sliding down his chest, clawing at Jensen’s skin desperately. He can feel Jared stiffen and pulse inside him, shuddering, muscles straining, hips sputtering, mouth biting out Jensen’s name against Jensen’s neck. Jensen keeps moving, rocking his body up with stretches of his hips, milking Jared with his movements, his muscles, until Jared’s twitching, seizing, nails digging furrows into Jensen’s skin. Jensen finally slows, stills as Jared comes down, and after a minute of gasping against Jensen’s neck, Jared pulls back, face flushed red, hair glistening with tiny droplets. He’s beautiful, so sexy, and Jensen isn’t sure how he ever thought Jared wasn’t his type.
“Fuck,” Jared breathes, panting heavy, face shining with sweat. “That was...”
“Yeah. Gimme about ten minutes and I’m gonna return the favor,” Jensen promises.
Jared grins and shakes his head. “I’m gonna have to get you drunk more often.” Then his face softens, smoothing out, fingers brushing the short spikes of Jensen’s hair. “So… you mean it?”
Jensen hitches in a breath, sucks the edge of his lower lip under his teeth and nods. “Yeah.”
“Me, too.”
“I know.”
*
It happens like this; one day, Jensen wakes up and Jared’s just there. In his home, in his bed, under his skin, tall, lean body angled against every surface of Jensen’s life. Smiling, laughing, taking up all Jensen’s space and stealing the breath from Jensen’s chest.
He doesn’t know when or where it happened, but the idea of Jared not being here, seems impossible now. Unimaginable.
He goes to the kitchen counter, where Jared’s already pouring coffee into two mugs. Jared looks down from under those tangled, messy bangs with sleepy eyes and grins.
And looking at that face? Jensen, well, he’s pretty much as calculated and screwed as he could get.
He leans up, kisses Jared’s grinning mouth, and thinks he couldn’t be happier about it.