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“What the hell did you do?!” Jensen’s yell echoes down the hall to Jared’s room, a harbinger of the fury he sees in his roommate’s eyes when he bursts into the room. The recessed lights catch on the lenses of Jensen’s thin wire-frames, momentarily whiting his eyes out to inhuman blankness before he shifts and the opaque glare is replaced by bottle-green wrath.
Letting out the breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding does nothing at all to calm the dragonfly flitter of Jared’s heartbeat, but it does soothe come of the ache in his chest. The book he was really only pretending to read gets set aside, hands not shaking enough for Jensen to notice. He puts his money on wide eyes to get him out of the worst of this and the tiny edge of a smile he doesn’t quite fight hard enough to hold back to keep him in just enough of it to be fun.
“What’re you talking about?”
Jensen’s fists clench at his sides and Jared can practically hear his roommate’s blood pressure rise. Alright, maybe he went a little overboard.
“Danneel. Harris,” Jensen grits out, face steadily growing darker with mounting anger. Ok, maybe Jared went a lot overboard.
“Yeah,” Jared nods, hoping that the gulp of his throat is a lot quieter than it felt. Not that he’s actually scared of Jensen or anything, not more than a little anyway. He knows Jensen wouldn’t actively hurt him, but there are a couple dozen ways this could go and it’s still up in the air which one Jensen will choose. “Hey, weren’t you booked with her for tonight?”
Jensen’s lush mouth twists, his gaze on Jared cold enough to send a shiver up his spine and another down to his rapidly filling cock. Jensen all pissed off and don’t-fuck-with-me in that crisp, starched shirt and fucking three piece suit like a perfect little Ken-doll… it’s just too damn hot for words.
“Yes, I was,” his roommate replies tightly, “Until someone called the agency and cancelled the appointment.”
Jared draws in air through his teeth in an exaggerated hiss, “That sucks, man. Hate to hear it.” His stomach is practically quivering with nervous anticipation.
Jensen’s an amazing Dom, not so much because he has exceptional skills – though he’s done enough information gathering to write a fucking dissertation on kink, and carries each and every one out with a level of dedication and precision that never fails to leave Jared wracked with awe – but because of how he understands Jared; know exactly which switches to flip and fuses to connect to light him up like the Fourth of goddamn July. In fact, the only complaint Jared has is that Jensen’s so precise, so careful - it’s a masterwork, but it can also be frustrating as hell.
Maybe it’s just the Dom in him, or maybe it’s some kind of needy sub thing, but whatever the reason, he’s fucking dying to see what it would be like to take the Swiss-timepiece discipline of Jensen’s and wind the spring so tight it pops. The fact that the opportunity presented itself to do so and simultaneously mess up an evening with Jensen’s favorite client – the one he always gets extra dressed up for, the one who demands more of his time than any other, the one Jared knows has offered Jensen a special, end of the night ‘bonus’ more times than any of the others (and who sounds like a raging bitch, by the way, in Jared’s opinion) – well, he couldn’t exactly pass that up, now could he?
“I’m sure you do.”
The shift in Jensen’s voice drags Jared’s attention back to the moment at hand. He’s too cool, too calm; sleek and deadly as a straight razor and it makes Jared’s dick start of leak in his black, silk boxers at the same time his gut reflexively clenches with worry. Fuck, but Jensen just rides Jared’s fight or flight responses like he’s got a goddamn saddle. And hello, kink Jared didn’t know he had – Jensen, saddle; Christ, he needs to stop thinking things.
Jensen moves smooth as the satin shining at his lapels as he shucks his jacket, folding it just so over his arm and then setting it aside on the dresser in a neat stack. Just as fluidly, he begins unfastening the buttons – one, two, three - on his vest, the top one on his shirt, leaving them both hanging open when he bends down – damn, what a sweet piece of ass – and digs through the bottom lefthand drawer.
Oh, fuck yes.
There’s a slim wooden box in Jensen’s hand as he comes around the side of the bed, glossy, dark woodgrain and brass hinges attracting Jared’s eyes like a magnet. He doesn’t collect collars idly; all three of the ones he keeps are special, but the one Jensen’s holding is his favorite – custom made to fit Jared; his first big splurge when he started making real money as an escort. Just looking at the box there between Jensen’s fingers would be enough to have him hard enough to ache, assuming he wasn’t already.
They’ve only done this a handful of times so far, everything so new, still slightly tentative, but Jensen handles it like a pro. He flips open the box and takes out the collar with the casual kind of reverence, stroking it idly – possessively - with his thumb as he turns to face Jared. It’s only then that Jared realizes he hasn’t moved a muscle himself in possibly a really long time, almost shaking with the tension of holding still.
Jensen slides the collar around Jared’s neck; supple, black leather and shining, silver buckle cool on his skin, pebbling his flesh with goosebumps. Once it’s fitted into place, Jensen checks the tightness with a fingertip beneath the band like always, fingernail catch-dragging just a little against the delicate column of Jared’s throat. He might be able to stop the moan that jolts free then, but he doesn’t really try.
“Now, Jared,” Jensen purrs, cat with his eye on the canary. The jut of the buckle gets wedged up underneath Jared’s Adam’s apple and Jensen holds it there, not enough pressure to take his breath away, just enough to make him aware of it, shadow of a pulse of not-quite pain. “Who do you suppose would have cancelled my appointment, hmm? And why do you suppose they’d want to?”
Those were almost certainly words that Jensen just said, maybe even sentences, and Jared’ll be damned if he knows what any of them were because while Jensen’s finger is still keeping the collar buckle tight against Jared’s throat, his thumb is busy teasing along Jared’s lower lip, pulling it down to expose the wet, tender underside. If he could tip his head down to capture that thumb he would, but as it is, all he can do is look up into Jensen’s eyes and try to regulate the hot-cold-hot-cold flash that’s sanding him down from the inside out.
“See, the only reason I can think of for someone to do that would be to make me look bad,” Jensen presumably continues, though it’s really hard to piece together what’s going on when Jensen’s sliding off his glasses and setting them aside like he’s about to get down to business. “And I can’t imagine why anyone would want to make me look bad when they should know that all that was going to do was piss me off.”
He gets his wish then, Jensen’s thumb dipping just inside of his mouth for Jared’s tongue to writhe against, making the catch on his collar dig in harder, impossible to swallow the spit building up in his mouth. The pressure’s going to leave a bruise at this rate and the thought makes Jared’s cock jerk, desperate for attention, but he keeps his hands flat to the bed – like he knows he’s supposed even though Jensen hasn’t said so; Jensen hasn’t had to say so.
Warm breath ghosts across Jared’s cheeks, fine, peach-fuzzy hair standing on end and it suddenly occurs to Jared that he closed his eyes somewhere along the line. When he opens them, it’s to find Jensen’s face hovering above him, almost, but not quite, close enough to kiss.
“So that real question, Jared,” Jensen murmurs, tongue sneaking out to tickle Jared’s bottom lip, “is why would you want to piss me off?”
Faster than Jared can blink, Jensen’s shoving him flat to the mattress, slamming right past lazy-anticipation, right into knife-edged thrill and back again as Jensen just leaves him there, turns and stalks into the bathroom. Jared's halfway up to follow him because teasing is one damn thing but now Jensen's just toying with his emotions, but then his roommate's coming back, Jared's hairbrush in one hand, the other indolently waving at him to get back on the bed, all royal disinterest.
"Forearms and knees. Boxers off," Jensen commands, the same bland boredom coloring his voice like he honestly doesn't give a damn about all of this; Jared some mildly annoying pest to be dealt with. And that, right there is exactly the reason that sometimes in the sub-space, Jared thinks Jensen was built for the explicit purpose of Domming him... or maybe the other way around. Jared can do the cat and mouse thing when he's the one in the driver's seat, play it loose and easy to make the tension build, but he doesn't have the kind of patience Jensen does for the game, always itching for the hard-fast-dirty.
Jensen could do this all night, all week, hell, maybe for fucking ever, because he knows that it hits that 'look at me, love me, want me or I'll make you' chord Jared's got buried deep in places a shrink would probably love to get at; brings out every 'I'll show you' little kid instinct that landed him in detention a couple times a week back in school. If Jared's an instrument, then Jensen's his ingénue, playing him like he was born to do it.
What it does is gets Jared rolling into position fast, thumbing his nose at the implied apathy with an extra arch of his spine the pops his pert ass up just enough to draw the eye, one of those Victoria's Secret catalogue moves that he knows shows off the goods just right - he's worked damn hard for this body, fucking right he's going to show it off.
It doesn't filter into his head until a couple of second too late to wonder why Jensen's holding a hairbrush.
The answer comes swift and merciless in the form of a wood-on-flesh slap loud enough to make Jared gasp even before the sting flows through him. The only thing that keeps him from scrambling away instinctually is Jensen's hand, heavy and unyielding on the back of his neck. Jesus fucking Christ, Jensen's spanking him!
Jared's never been one to keep a lot of stuff around, minimalist or whatever you want to call it; he just thinks that choosing to carry things around with you in life makes them important and if you have too many things, the importance of them fades. So while he's not some big spender out blowing his cash, the stuff he does own tends to be the best; special. That damn hairbrush, for example, is a specialty item; boars hair bristles, hand-placed in a cherrywood handle - over a hundred bucks a pop. And Jensen's beating his ass with it. There's probably a very valid reason for why that makes this even hotter but Jared's brain shorts out way before he can work out what it is.
The sound of each blow is impossibly loud in the silence, firecracker snap a spilt-second before the pain melts like hot butter into his skin. Jensen's good at this - good at everything; it'd make Jared want to punch the guy in the face if all that God-given talent wasn't directed at making him feel good-bad-everything - laying hits over every square inch of Jared's ass and upper thighs, spreading them out just enough that when he comes back to fill in the spaces that aren't glowing pink yet, the edges of the brush land on already tormented skin, amping up the fire.
Hotter still is Jensen's hand, massaging one cheek while he works on the other, rubbing muscle-deep like he can work the inferno-ache even deeper into Jared's body and fuck if it doesn't work. He hears himself moaning and doesn't give a flying fuck because he's too busy feeling frayed, flayed, the world a field of black emptiness around this scarlet ember of sensation. Blood replaced with fire, the heat of it is in every part of him; his face, his chest, his throbbing, painful cock. He may very well be fucking crying and trust him, it's been a damn long while since that happened.
By the time Jensen stops he hasn't got a clue how long it's been, how many hits he’s taken, only that he's happily present himself and beg for more, even knowing he'll already be black and blue tomorrow. His head's swimming with it; burn and pleasure and too many bucket-loads of endorphins to tell the difference between them.
He thought he was overheated before, practically cooking in his skin, until Jensen lays out over him, spooning him where the kneel, and Jared realizes he was freezing to death. Quaking with shivers, with too much pure voltage pinging around his system, and Jensen's the only thing keeping him from flying apart like a cartoon robot, tiny pieces of who he is scattered all over the floor like so many nuts and bolts. He used to think he was into spanking; turns out he didn't know the meaning of the word. Who the hell could blame him for being halfway to in love with Jensen?
It takes a while, but Jared does eventually remember how to make his ears work, listening to Jensen shush him and tell him everything's alright, how good he is. Against the curve of his burning ass, he can feel Jensen's cock through what must be fine wool slacks but feels like a Brillo pad on Jared's raw skin. He's granite-hard, almost as much as Jared is, and it must taking be one hell of an effort of will not to rock up against Jared's ass and get himself off, but you'd never know from the way Jensen's acting, every ounce of his incredible focus on kissing Jared's temple and rubbing gently over his arms.
It wouldn't take more than the impression of Jensen's fingerprint on Jared's dick for him to go off like no human being ever has before, so close to overload he can feel it itching in his teeth. He wants to hit that brink almost as bad as he wants to hold onto this forever, teetering right at the edge, made up of nothing but all the things Jensen makes him feel.
Jensen's trying to get him to lay down, still whispering non-sense praises and reassurances at him like this is over and it's so not fucking over. With an effort, Jared scrapes together enough muscle memory to push air across his vocal chords, forces his mouth to make words of the gravel-and-broken-glass sound the crackles free.
"Don't you dare stop."
The buttons on Jensen's shirt dig against Jared's spine a little as his roommate startles.
"Jay," he says carefully, like he's talking to a crazy person, "It's ok, I'm not mad anymore. I wasn't even... I could never be mad enough to h... you should have safeworded. I didn't mean to take it so far. Shouldn’t have even started something when I was upset."
And shit, he just can't take Jensen apologizing to him for making him feel this thing he didn't even know was possible and he hasn't got the capacity to explain it even if he had the strength, so instead he just wraps himself in the aimless swelter of emotion bubbling inside and lets it spill out on a snarl.
"Not safewording. Not done! Come on! Just fuckin' like you; talk about miles and give me inches! You wanna push me, then push me, you fuckin' pansy-ass bitch!"
Jensen's new to this and cautious about this, and God knows he fucking angsts about this because the guy angsts about whether to buy 2% or skim but at least he gets that whether or not he can figure out what the limits are, Jared knows them, and he blessedly doesn't question it before pinching at the abused skin of Jared's backside and reigniting all that too-much pain/pleasure even if the look in his blown green eyes says he'd like to.
Then he's moving, body-roll grinding his cock - a lot softer than it was a minute ago, if still semi-stiff - against Jared's ass. Jared gets that too - easier to stay in Dom sometimes if you don't have to see it, don't make it personal. Except it is fucking personal; it's them and while Jared doesn't exactly know what they are anymore, he knows it's important, essential, and he's in serious danger of being so junkie-blind for it that he'll never be able to live without it. Bridges they'll cross when they come to them.
Bright, sharp, slow pain that flat-out refuses to register as anything but stripped-raw sensation until it's dragged all the way from the join of ass and thigh to the dip at the base of Jared's spine where hot skin returns to normal. Hairbrush. Fucking hairbrush; stiff bristles rasping over his reddened skin this time like sandpaper and flame. He's never going to be able to do his hair again without sporting instant wood.
The touch lingers at the valley of his spine for a moment - maybe Jensen hesitating or maybe just slathering the anticipation on thick - before it sweeps down over the other cheek, white wells of light painting the backs of Jared's eyelids as his body just trembles with it, not a clue what to do with all of that feeling exploding below the waist. The bristles caress down his thighs, through thin prickles of hair, back up, feathering over his perineum before scraping down the inside of the other leg. Up again, holding there between his legs, fine pins-and-needles circles on waxed-smooth skin before finally moving away; thinking about it, letting Jared think about it.
His balls fucking ache, nipples tight and tender around the rings - because Jensen always stares at the rings; won’t say that he likes them best, but Jared can tell - like they've been clamped with weights and Jensen hasn't even gone near them. Hasn't laid a hand on him in any way that counts.
“You wanna come, don’t you, Jared?” Jensen murmurs low, bloom of warm air on blood-rich, spanked-red skin. He’s right there, his mouth, his body, every little bit of it giving off heat that makes Jared throb more sweetly. He wants Jensen’s touch so bad he can taste it; hands all over him, feeling him out, owning him. What he gets is Jensen’s mouth - plush and slightly damp as though he’d just licked his lips - slick, molten softness with the faintest edge of teeth. Jared moans helplessly, the sound shunted back at him from the overwarm sheets he’s just barely avoiding faceplanting into by the grace of his shaky arms.
“You wanna come so-“ Jensen licks slowly up the inside of Jared’s thigh, “-so bad. Don’t know if you deserve it, though. You lied to my client-“ Jared yelps a thin sound when Jensen digs his teeth in deep enough to leave a mark. “You messed up my job, made me look unprofessional-“ the nips to his sac are gentler but still enough to make Jared choke on air, brief shock of cool as the thread of precome stringing between the sheets and Jared’s cock snaps when he jolts.
“And then, as if all of that wasn’t just begging to be put-“ Jensen’s teeth scrape just shy of Jared’s hole, making it reflexively clench, “in-“ the tiniest bit of skin caught between teeth, so, so close to his opening but not quite there, “your-“ Jensen’s tongue drawing a wet circle around furled skin like a bullseye and Jared’s about to split through his goddamn skin, desperate for anything, everything, that Jensen wants to do to him, “place,” he’s expecting a bite or a lick or Jensen’s tongue stabbing inside, muscles locked up and braced for it, but instead it’s a cool, startling stream of air blown across him. It’s like Jensen’s breathing straight up his spine, a ticklish tease of air along his thrashed nerves that sets him shaking once more.
Jensen chuckles darkly, fingertip skirting the edge of the pucker to make it jump again – can’t seem to stop, like his body is begging for what Jared can’t find the words for. The rumble of sound slinks under Jared’s skin, an injection of burning, liquid want that he’s not even sure he can contain with so much of it already searing his veins.
“Even after all of that trouble you got yourself into, you had to go and lie to me about it too.”
God, Jensen. His voice, his words; it’s like they’re all over Jared, thick enough he ought to be able to lick them off his own skin. And he wants to; wants Jensen in, on, all over every last piece of him until he’s steeped in it down to his marrow. The things this man does to him, how could he have ever lived this long without it?
“So I really just don’t think you’ve done anything to be worthy of coming,” Jensen muses as he strokes one knuckle back and forth maddeningly over the stretch of skin between Jared’s ass and his balls.
Jared’s breath hitches, comes out a sob because it’s true; he doesn’t deserve Jensen’s hands or his cock or his tongue but he still wants it so bad it’s like dying. If Jensen leaves him hanging, he doesn’t know what he’ll do, except whatever it is, it’ll be what Jensen told him to and for whatever reason that thought cools some of the panic-laced clench building in his chest.
He’s never been good at begging – he’s always been able to take what’s dished out, suffer in the pleasure and give almost anything else, but there’s too much Dom in him to ever really sit right with begging – but he’s doing it now like that’s all he’s ever done; like the only words he knows are the ones pouring from between his lips as a prayer.
“Please! Please Jensen, Master, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I should never have lied to you, shouldn’t have gone behind your back. Please forgive me, Master. I’ll never do it again, I’m so sorry. Please, Jensen!”
The splay of Jensen’s hand is a solid weight on Jared’s back, an anchor that Jared’s mind and body immediately latches onto for dear life. It slides over his side and around to his chest, pulling as it spreads over his heart. He really hasn’t got a clue how Jensen manages to pull him up to a kneeling position but he’s instantly grateful for it. Jensen’s warm against his back, even through the shirt and vest that feel impossibly scratchy on his oversensitive skin, but that minor irritation feels right because he’s still being disciplined, hasn’t earned the feel of Jensen’s smooth skin on him.
“Oh, I know you won’t do it again, Jared, because I promise, if you ever did, there’s not a single, solitary moment of your punishment you’d enjoy,” Jensen warns, creamy cool, his other palm cupping the swollen heft of Jared’s sac, rolling it idly like his own personal stress balls. “What I want to know is why you did it?”
It’s like his blood is all moving in one boiling, sluggish lump; sliding from the ache in his ass and groin up through his chest, turning it hot and tight, only to flood his face with the radiating heat of shame. He’d planned to play this off as a way to rile Jensen up, that it was just coincidence that it happened to be this client Jared cancelled on, but he can feel Jensen’s heartbeat thudding against his back, Jensen’s slightly uneven breath against the curve of his shoulder, Jensen’s stiff cock pressing against his abused flesh through wool – he honestly doesn’t mean to grind back against it, earning himself a warning bite at the join of neck and shoulder to match the flaring pain in his backside – and he’s too deep in to let himself lie to Jensen now; never does it very well in the first place. Especially once Jensen’s hand curves up into a loose, barely-there grip around the base of his cock, sliding up and down in little fractions of a motion that would absolutely be enough if Jared was allowed to let himself come.
“I wanted you with me instead of her,” is barely a sound when it comes out, strangled around the knot of embarrassment in his throat.
The lead-lined moment hangs in the air between them, pre-thunderstorm tension that raises the hairs on Jared’s arms. Too much, too soon – it was just supposed to be sex, except for how Jared’s wanted more than sex from the very beginning. Maybe now’s not exactly prime time to mention it, though.
“And I wanted to see you lose control,” he adds after a brief hesitation. Not a lie, but not entirely the truth either. He’d wanted that – still wants it – to be able to watch Jensen come apart at the seams, to be the one to make him, but if it had come right down to it, he’d have been happy to spend the night channel surfing with Jensen as long as it meant he was with Jared and not that woman. Fuck, this is shit he just really doesn’t need the time to think about and he’s probably lucky that they’re back to chest because it’s all got to be in his eyes. Bad enough to feel it, he shouldn’t force Jensen to have to deal with it too.
The soft touch around his dick firms, pulls a slow, gritty drag all the way up to the leaking head that’s heaven and hell packed into the space of a second. Jared doesn’t even remember he has fucking hands until they’re already white-knuckled around Jensen’s thighs; hanging on by nothing but the power of Jensen’s order not to come and the skin of his damn teeth.
He loses a sound that might have been a roar if his jaw wasn’t clenched so tight around it that he can hear the enamel grind. He almost misses the words Jensen’s pressing against his ear, only manages to focus back in on it when the brush of Jensen’s lips distracts from the sanity-splitting, syrup-slow slide of his fist up and down Jared’s cock.
“If you want something,” Jensen whispers, sultry-deep, the very tip of his tongue dipping into the curve of Jared’s ear – fuckfuckfuck – while the hand on Jared’s chest slides down to set fingernails just below his navel and rasp them back up; red-hot lines of pain so sweet it’s like honey on his tongue, “ask for it.”
There are a couple billion answers to that, but, floodgates broken, the one that rushes free is, “Please, Master! Please pleaseplease. Don’t make me come without permission, please let me, Master. Help me! Please, please!”
Follow-through is one of the best, worst, most goddamn perfect things about Jensen and it hammers through Jared like a sin-slick lightning bolt when suddenly the hand that was on his chest is resting between his ass and Jensen’s body, one finger pushing inside the too-long-untouched pucker of his hole, just barely slick enough with whothehellcares to ease the way.
“Come for me,” Jensen growls, biting down hard on Jared’s earlobe and he could absolutely do it from that, all by himself with not another touch, but that finger inside him nails his prostate anyway like he needs some damn encouragement and Jared’s entire body seizes.
He comes like the world's ending; because it is, crumbling into tiny, glittering shards all around him, leaving nothing behind but silver-white light and a burn that's too hot to be hot, touching off the implosion of all the oxygen in his veins. Jensen’s finger keeps rubbing at his insides, drawing it out while Jared’s body thrashes and screams at him that it can’t take anymore, punching a whole new string of ropey, white pulses out of him just when he’s certain there can’t possibly be another drop left in him; pretty sure he’s just liquefying organs now to dribble out of his dick at Jensen’s behest.
The universe is gone for the length of a second then slowly starts to fit itself back together around the solid warmth against Jared's skin. Jared has skin, remembers having skin, remembers Jensen touching it. Jensen. Yes, Jensen. That's a good place for the universe to start.
Jared's can't talk yet - can't even exactly see except in that funny, time-delayed way like he's drunk off his ass - so he can't tell Jensen what he needs and just has to paw at his Master's fly – how had they ended up laying down? - instead. Buttons are tricky, and maybe evil, but they're no match for Jared's pulling-really-hard skills and then finally, blissfully, he's got a hand on Jensen's dick.
Jensen's hard, skin so warm and soft Jared kind of just wants to pet him and nuzzle him and keep him all to himself but mostly he wants to make Jensen come screaming his name. Coordination - not Jared's strong suit at the moment. He's heard of people coming their brains out, but it may have actually just happened to him; fucking medical miracle. Luckily, Jensen, in spite of his earlier reticence - damn, Jared didn't even know he knew that word; maybe he came his brain out and grew a new one - seems to have found all that pretty damn hot too because it doesn't take many of Jared's sloppy, probably lame, strokes to have him shooting.
Most of it ends up in Jared's hand; sticky and wet and... God it's so fucking sexy he can't even... it's all just... yeah.
He dives in to catch the stray spurts that stain Jensen's shirt and vest, lapping bitter musk off of expensive cloth, relishing the feel of Jensen's skin underneath. Jensen wheezes like a geriatric, sucking in harsh breaths that push his chest into Jared's face which is awesome and should just keep on happening for the rest of forever.
Jared's mouth finds its way to the spot just below Jensen's collar where his shirt is trapping body-warm air. It's wonderful; even better when he starts to mouth at skin, nipping and sucking a mark there like a signature. Jared's. He growls a little just thinking it and Jensen lets out a puff of shocked laughter. Why does he always do that after sex? Jared bites a bit harder just because he can.
"You're the one taking that to the dry cleaner, I hope you know," Jensen grumbles at him, but his voice is smiling. It takes Jared a second to understand that it's because his come-messy hand is now fisted in the back of Jensen's vest. Oh well, the dry cleaners have dealt with enough of Jared's jizz to be able to clone him by now; they'll get over it.
"You're ok, right? I didn't break you or anything?" Jensen asks after a minute, at which point Jared realizes he totally failed to respond to the last question.
Jared shakes his head lazily and smears an "'M good," into Jensen's skin. Does it again on mute because Jensen's body feels nice against his mouth.
His skin is tingly, a little bit tender all the way around like he’s swollen all over or steam-burnt. It’s good, kinda makes him want to rub himself all over Jensen just to feel it everywhere. One of these days, he’s going to actually get Jensen naked for this and then they may both have to become shut-ins because the chances of Jared ever letting Jensen out of bed after that are slim to none.
He's really close to being asleep the next time Jensen speaks, poking Jared in the side to make sure he's paying attention.
"If you ever pull something like that with my clients again, Jay, I swear I will kick your ass.”
It's Jensen's 'dad' voice; all 'for your own good' and 'I know best'. It should probably be creepy, but it just makes Jared feel warm and fuzzy. These are the reason's he's never going to go to therapy - there's shit about himself he really needs to not look at in any greater depth.
“You know I like you better than her, right?” is quiet, spoken into Jared’s hair as one of Jensen’s hands cards through the sweaty tangle. There’s no space in Jared already to feel anything but happy and sated, but something in his chest that seems to glow a little brighter with the admission and it goes right to his head like a tab of Ecstasy. He grins giddily against Jensen’s skin and doesn’t have the brainpower left to talk himself out of sucking another mark there.
“You are not going to sleep on top of me. Again.” It isn’t exactly an order, and they’re not exactly sceneing at the moment, so Jared decides to go ahead and ignore that. Jensen talks too much anyway. One of these days Jared’s going to work up the courage to shut him up with a kiss. One of these days is going to be a fucking awesome day. He really hopes it comes soon.
Jensen heaves a sigh that makes his chest rise and fall hard beneath Jared. “Fine. Stay there,” he huffs, “Way too big for this crap. Damn pain in the ass.” His arms are tightening around Jared as he grumbles though, and he’s nosing into Jared’s hair, planting gentle kisses to his forehead, so Jensen can pretty much say whatever he feels like because there’s no way Jared’s moving. He burrows his face a little deeper into the curve of Jensen’s neck and falls asleep to the warm smell of Jensen all around him.