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“What’s this?” Jared’s voice has the edge of command that always makes Jensen’s spine stiffen ramrod-straight. That pig-in-a-poke diner scene they’d filmed for Season Three’s Mystery Spot last year hadn’t entirely been an act. Jensen gulps down the urge to say Yes, Sir, the way he would as Dean Winchester. He swallows again, hard, feeling his Adam’s apple bob. There are no secrets between them, not since he’d moved in with Jared. Jared goes to him, opened Amazon package still in his hand, and Jensen knows Jared’s already looked, seen what he’d purchased. Jared must’ve noticed the deer-in-headlights look that must be in his eyes because his shoulders hunch up, rounding, so he isn’t quite so intimidating. “Just tell me… Please.”
Jensen glances from the pleading-puppy look in Jared’s eyes to the grain of the hardwood floor and back. “It’s a medical-grade, high-saline enema kit,” he finally croaks out.
Jared’s massive brow furrows, worry in his eyes.
“It’s not… I’m not….” Jensen swallows again, his voice failing him. He feels himself flush. From the way Jared’s gaze flickers to the apex of his left ear, he figures they must be fire-engine-red. He waits; hoping Jared will fill in the blanks, take over the way he usually does, especially at conventions.
Except they aren’t at a Con and it’s just the two of them. No such luck, then, he thinks as Jared locks eyes, waits.
Jensen shifts from foot to foot, focusing at a point somewhere beyond Jared’s shoulder — a trick he’d learned to get through the awkward moments of Days of Our Lives. “Idontneedit,” he mumbles out.
“What?”
“I don’t need it,” Jensen repeats sharply. “I just… I just….” He huffs out a breath. Then, in a tumbling rush: “Ijustwannaknowwhatitfeelslike.”
“You… what?” Jared’s brow smooths out, surprise overtaking concern.
“I think it’s hot, alright?” Jensen snaps, “I like how it feels when I clean out before we have sex. I just wanna try more…. A lot more. To see what it’s like.” He palms his lower belly, just above his pubic bone; the place he knows will swell with fluids. The thought alone is enough to make his member twitch.
“Oh,” Jared says, handing over the box that Jensen tries not to clutch like a child reunited with a lost favorite toy. Jensen can tell from Jared’s tone that his boyfriend doesn’t get it. Not really.
Jensen slumps, holding the box listlessly at his side. “Thing is….” Fuck, God, this is so embarrassing, he thinks. It doesn’t matter they’ve been dating going on three years now, since that Season Two episode when Dean pulled to the side of the road after John’s death and Jensen couldn’t stop the character bleed; some things were just too fucking awkward to talk about.
Jared chooses this moment to do his mind-reading thing. “You want me to help?” he asks gently.
“Yeah,” a breath. “Yeah.”
A grin breaks out across Jared’s face, lighting it up like some kind of fucking sun. “When do we get started?”
They choose a Friday night, one where they have no other plans and nowhere to go the next day. “Just in case,” Jared says and Jensen agrees, even though he doesn’t dare let himself ask or wonder what just in case means. They’ve both read up on administering high-volume enemas and watched the videos. Jensen has seen the way Jared’s eyes light up, squinting a bit at their corners, at the close-ups of the clamp to the tube opening, the way the person being filled moaned and twitched, and the faintest, almost imperceptible, softening of the flesh as it accommodated the filling colon.
On the day in question, Jensen walks in on Jared palming himself, jeans gaping open, to a video, a dark thing shot in candlelight and reddish, diffused lighting they’ve both obviously favorited and bookmarked, in which the huge bag empties into a naked male figure. The swell just above his pubes is the size of a large grapefruit. Jensen sweats to think of the same happening to him.
“Don’t worry,” Jensen hears Jared say from somewhere high above him. He startles, focus and panic breaking, and realizes he’s sitting in Jared’s desk chair, Jared’s hands still gripping his elbows. Jared must’ve stood, manhandled him into sitting. “We’ll go slow, start small and keep it mild.” A pause and Jared’s crouching in front of him. “The minute it gets to be too much, say the word and we’ll stop.” He searches Jensen’s eyes. “This isn’t supposed to be painful,” he echoes the online articles they’ve read. “This—” he gestures at the laptop, at the frozen image of a nude body arching in pleasure-pain, erection in full view, swollen penis curling up toward the swell just visible beneath the glistening, candlelit flesh of the slick, near-professional video. “Isn’t supposed to be what it’s like….”
“I want to do it,” Jensen cuts him off, shaking his head. “All of it. Make it high; make it big, I don’t care….” he pants in expectation.
Jared leans forward, kisses him so hard their teeth knock.
“Then you’d better get ready.”
By the time Jared comes into the bathroom, Jensen is a jittery mess. The tiled room is too warm with the heat running but Jensen doesn’t turn it off. Restlessly pacing, Jensen doesn’t quite know what to do with himself; he circuits between sitting on the closed toilet lid, standing by the sink, and leaning against the wall before going back to the toilet and starting over, hands worrying at the hem of his t-shirt. He’s naked from the waist down, but hasn’t quite been able to bring himself to strip completely. The fabric dampens in his palms. He knows that if he says the word, Jared will call this off, no questions asked, never to speak of it again. But the thing is, he wants it and the fact he’s nervous…. Well, it just makes him that much more determined to see this through. He knows they aren’t running into this half-cocked — they’ve done their research and he knows Jared will follow the directions in the booklet that came with the kit to the letter — so he has nothing to worry about.
“You done?” Jared says, coming into the bathroom, bearing the filled enema bag.
Jensen nods, mouth suddenly dry. The two-quart bag looks a lot bigger than he’d anticipated, now that it’s swollen with water. The rubber is bulging and tight, but not straining. Droplets bead the outside, drip to the floor as Jared hooks it from the shower curtain rod and attaches the tubing. Jensen hesitantly lowers himself onto his hands and knees in the tub, tucking in on himself. He’d relieved himself and showered so he knows he’s clean, but he can’t help but feel a bloom of shame as a warm hand settles on his hip. Jared.
“Hey,” the word is soft. “Relax.” The word is a careful order, and Jensen obeys, spreading his knees, chest flattening against the towels spread beneath him, buttocks slightly raised above his head, resting on his heels. He doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands, though, finally settling on tucking his curled fists beneath his chin like a small child’s.
“Ready?” Jared asks after he’s been still for several long seconds. “You comfortable?”
“Yeah,” Jensen huffs out, shifting his left arm so he can bury his face in the crook of his elbow. “I’m good.”
Jared’s hand slides from his hip to his buttocks. Jensen inhales as he feels Jared gently push aside one globe of his ass with a warm hand, exposing him to the air, and hard, unforgiving plastic at the opening of his anus. He tenses in anticipation. The nozzle withdraws.
“Shhh. I got you…” Jensen feels Jared’s thumb pass over his sphincter and the sensation makes him shudder. Jared presses his thumb against his opening, follows the ring of muscle in steady circles. The massage makes Jensen relax, his legs falling open, chest melting against the towels. The thumb goes away and he feels Jared’s pinkie finger press into his anus. The muscle tightens for a moment, and then goes slack as Jared works his finger in and out, rotating it this way and that. Jensen murmurs in pleasured protest as Jared pulls away.
The nozzle slides in and he feels his muscles clench around the foreign object. Experimentally, he strains. It doesn’t budge. Jared’s hand — big, warm, reassuring — settles on his sacrum, rucking up his shirt.
He feels nothing at first, but then he’s aware of a steady filling deep within him. It’s on this side of not enough and he instinctively raises his ass, dragging his shaft slowly and deliberately along the soft loops of the thick, prima cotton towel as he straightens his thighs, angling himself into something resembling a triangle. He grunts in frustration. He is half-hard, can feel himself weeping as he ruts his hips up and down against the towel, the friction of the towel against his penis maddening but not relieving.
“You alright?” Jared asks. The flow ceases abruptly and the water sits low within him.
“More,” Jensen mumble-growls. “Not….” He fumbles behind him, finds the tubing, and carefully, mindful of the precarious setup, feels along the length, searching for the plastic clamp. Jared must’ve figured out what he wants — needs — because he’s guiding Jensen’s hand back down with a murmured “I’ve got it.” Then, “All the way?” There’s a breath of preparation and suddenly there’s pressure and Jensen’s eyes fly open.
He gasps against the towel, ass still raised in the air. He holds the pose, thighs shuddering, the water rushing deep inside him. A stitch burrows deep into his side and he pushes a hand against it. Despite the counterpoint, the tightening grows and swells until it sharpens into a deep cramp that makes him catch his breath. He slides his hand beneath his shirt, pressing sweat-slick skin against sweat-slick skin, and kneads counterclockwise. He pants, rides out the twinge. Another one follows, hard and contracting. He hisses. Jared must’ve heard that time because there’s movement and Jensen doesn’t feel the pressure anymore.
“You okay?” Jared asks softly, uncertainly.
“Yeah,” Jensen exhales slowly. “Just starting to feel it.”
“You want to stop?”
Jensen pauses, assesses himself the way he knows Jared wants him to, shakes his head. He’s not cramping anymore, but his lower abdomen feels uncomfortably full. “No.” Another beat. “Get me on my side.” Jensen’s already pushing himself up with his hands and Jared rushes to hold the nozzle in place and spreads a large hand under Jensen’s left hip, supporting him as he rolls to lie on his right. He winces as the water redistributes, but then it settles heavily into place. He splays his hand against the fullness, just beneath the hem of his limp t-shirt. He breathes, smiles reassuringly at Jared. “I’m good.”
This time, the flow isn’t quite as strong; it’s slower, steadier. The high saline content kicks in, though, and Jensen breathes through the pangs, still palpating his belly in languid circles, soothing the spasms that grip him in regular intervals and moving the water deeper through the colon. It’s not as bad and he learns when to expect the crest and ebb of the waves. He knows it has to be more than thirty seconds by now, or maybe it’s not; time has tunneled down into a pinprick of now. He thinks he hears Jared say something about almost being done, but he isn’t sure. There’s a precarious moment when his belly gurgles and a rumble of gas moves through him, loose and wet and ominous, but it passes and nothing happens. Finally, finally, the intake stops and Jensen continues to rub his pelvis. He doesn’t quite know what he wants—there’s too much going on; he’s sweating profusely, shivers jittering his legs, the warm tightness of his middle pulling his skin taut from the inside, the low roar of the heat, the sensation of air blowing over his body…
He is half-hard, pre-ejaculate dribbling from the tip of his penis and onto his thighs. He cradles the bloat with one hand, breathing slowly and deeply to manage the sensory assault as he slides his other hand lower. He strokes the curve of his penis, working it in his fist to full erection, passing his thumb over and around the head. Jared smiles at him, hazel eyes squinting slightly at the corners, and comes in for a kiss. He feels Jared suckle at his lower lip, deepen the kiss, and his hands reach up, cup Jared’s face between his palms, the tight zing within him fading into the background. Jared’s hand encloses around his length, thumb stroking up-and-down the curve, languidly skimming his glans in a lazy circles before going returning to the shaft. Jared’s caresses slide around the ridge of circumcised skin, then there’s a faint scrape of fingernail against the too-sensitive, swollen skin of the head. Jensen whines, high and desperate, back bowing. The flick-touch of thumbnail comes again, a longer, deeper graze running around the circumference of his glans. Then, raw and overwhelmed, he’s ejaculating. The spurt is shorter than usual, but leaves him spent and gasping. He collapses, hips still twitching, his body beginning to shiver. Teeth chattering, he curls on himself, legs pulling up tight against his belly.
Jared kisses him again, tender and chaste. “Let’s get that out of you.”
Jensen’s shaking his head before Jared’s finished talking. “I want to see.” Jensen says, struggling to rise. Jared wraps sturdy hands around him and supports him the rest of the way. Jensen’s legs shudder beneath him when he finally stands. He gasps, pants, at the change in position, feeling the water rush south. He clutches at Jared, holding position until the surge passes; he still feels like he needs to evacuate, but the immediacy is past. He’s grateful Jared’s so tall, so top-heavy as he carefully lifts one foot, then the other, out of the tub, using his boyfriend as a support. Leaning heavily into Jared, Jensen hobbles the three steps to the mirror, Jared’s hands cupping his elbows securely. The plastic nozzle is still seated in him, the tight sphincter around the smooth flare acting as a plug, keeping everything inside.
Jensen stands in front of the mirror, his back pressing against Jared’s front, his hands splayed on either side of the barely-imperceptible swell. He looks debauched; lips reddened, sweat soaking a deep vee down the front of his shirt, penis still half-curved in its nest of ginger curls, flushed and high against his thigh, not quite half-hard but not flagged either.
He slides up his shirt higher with his wrists, still keeping his hands pressed to the skin above his pelvis. “It’s so small,” he says, disappointed how little the water shows through the skin; from the way it feels, his entire lower belly should be bowing out, big and tight like a pregnant woman’s, instead of something barely the size of a grapefruit or a baseball half-lodged in his gut. He slumps, head lolling backward against Jared’s throat as Jared slides his large, warm hands over the sweat-beaded bloat, tracing the fullness and curves of the enema. The pressure makes his belly start to ache again, the liquid heaviness pooling deep into his rectum, and he’s reminded of just how full he is. It makes him feel slightly nauseous. Jared seems to sense the sharpening cramp and settles his palm over the swell, thumb stroking it gently. The heat and motion teases away the pain, but Jensen still breathes slowly as the twinge ebbs, arousal tightening his sex. The double pressure is almost too much — he turns his face to kiss at Jared’s jaw, misses. “A little more?” he mumbles, winces as his muscles tighten again. The cramp lasts longer this time.
“Not tonight.” Jared smiles against Jensen’s forehead. “But definitely next time.” Another pause. “Look…” Jared wraps long arms around the length of Jensen’s torso, hands cupping hips. Jensen lets out a surprised huff as Jared turns him, cradles him more securely as he stiffens in pain. “Look,” Jared repeats, nodding to the mirror. Jensen obeys as Jared lifts his sodden shirt, rucking it almost to his chest, and from this angle, in profile, he can see the fullness all through his abdomen. It’s still not the extreme of the videos, and he’s still vaguely discouraged how little two quarts seems inside him. “You’re so full,” Jared murmurs, “all through here—” Jared touches his soft belly with a reverent finger, tracing out the curves and dips in his flesh and where his muscles has lost some of its definition. He pokes in, a little too low, and Jensen gasps, clenching up his ass. He’s about to lose it. “You’re all right,” Jared murmurs, smoothing down Jensen’s shirt, settling a splayed hand over his abdomen. Jensen relaxes incrementally.
“Ready for the cold water? We need to induce more cramps for you to….” Jared trails off apologetically and Jensen flags, turning to face the mirror once again. Apprehensively, he bends forward carefully to grip at the edge of the counter, staring at the plastic measuring cup filled to the one-cup line. There’s a chip of ice still floating in it. He breathes deliberately as Jared unhooks the tube from the bag, picks up the water, and tips it down the tube. It rushes fast and deep into him.
He gasps, instinctively rising up on his toes. He holds the position for a beat, clenching his jaw, and sets his feet flat on the bath mat with a slow exhale. The bath mat is soft and plush beneath his toes. He feels Jared touch his elbow.
“Now let’s get that out of you…” Jared says as Jensen tentatively straightens and turns. Jensen hisses, grips at Jared’s arm at the assault on his insides. Jared wraps his arms loosely around Jensen’s hips, allowing Jensen to curl against his chest for a moment. At Jensen’s nod, Jared backs him up slowly to sit on the toilet. With deft movements, Jared has the nozzle out. It takes a long moment of nothingness, then there’s a gush, strong and forceful. It’s a false start, though, and Jensen remains seated, pressing gently on his belly, trying to get everything moving again. He’s shivering, now, despite the heat that’s still roaring from the vents, his center of balance unsteady. Jared’s there, though, and makes things better, stripping him of the clammy, clinging shirt, and wiping him down with a warm, soaked washcloth, murmuring something about how it’s just an overload. There’s another gush of fluid from his anus, this one longer, and the pause that follows is shorter. Soon, he’s passing gassy blasts of water and softened lumps of stool and that, too, subsides. Jared reaches around him, flushes the toilet for the fifth time. Jensen is pliable and loose-limbed when Jared gets him standing and into the already-running shower. He’s grateful when Jared doesn’t let go, but doesn’t step into the stall with him either. The steaming water helps and, with one last cramp that burrows deep in his rectum and builds into a stabbing, burning swell of pressure that almost brings him to his knees before expelling in a loud, embarrassing, protracted belch, he’s clean.
“Come on,” Jared says softly, shutting off the spray and wrapping him in one of their thick, warm towels. Jensen suspects the towel is fresh out of the dryer, but he’s shivering again, jaw chattering too hard to try to talk, and can’t be too sure, can’t piece together how Jared could’ve managed the feat without leaving him or how it didn’t cool with all the time that must’ve passed. Jared keeps both arms wrapped around him, tucking Jensen’s head down to rest against his clavicle. “Let’s go to bed,” Jared murmurs gently, guiding him out of the bathroom, leaving the mess behind.